#ReadAroundTheRainbow: Someone insults your main character. How do they react?

Read Around the Rainbow

As you’re probably aware, #RAtR is a blogging project I am doing with a few friends who also write LGBTQIA romance. You can find everyone by clicking here or on the image to the right.

This month we’re talking about how one of our characters might react if they were insulted. This is quite a hard one for me because once I’ve finished writing I tend to let the characters lie and move on to something else. If they have more to say, then I write them another book, or a short story. So… I’ve been having a conniption about this for the last month and now here I am the day before the post is due, sat in a coffee shop still having a conniption.

So… for the purposes of this post I’m going to write about Lew and Alec. They are my very first characters from Lost in Time, the first of the London Calling trilogy and they live in the early 1920s.

Alec’s a police detective, in his mid-thirties. He joined the force as his first job (although his family wanted him to be a barrister) and was a military policeman during the war. He’s a measured sort of person, pretty buttoned up, but he does have a temper. He’s hardened or numbed or scarred, however you want to describe it, by his time at the front like most of his contemporaries.

Lew is a newspaper photographer/journalist. He’s a bit younger than Alec, in his late twenties or early thirties by this point. However, he was born in the mid-1980s. He’s a quiet sort of person too, much less assertive than Alec and with a completely different life direction. He ended up in the 1920s because a magical accident pulled him back through time from 1916 to 1921.

When I started writing Lost in Time in 2016 we were in the middle of the centenary of the First World War. I was very conscious of the men I knew in my childhood who had been through that experience and the stories my grandmother, who lived from 1894 to 2000, told me. In later years I also became friends with Mr AL’s great aunt, who’s father was very twisted out of shape by his wartime experience. Essentially there was a whole generation of men with PTSD. I had the idea that I wanted to contrast that experience with someone born a hundred years later. The time-travel bit in the book was pretty much incidental, a plot device to allow me to explore that contrast, which soon spiralled out of control into a fully fledged universe of hidden magic.

So where does that leave my characters in their reactions to hostility directed toward them?

Alec is definitely on much more of a hair trigger than Lew. There’s a scene in the book where he finally loses his rag with Lew, goes for him physically in the police station and has to be dragged off him. I think I drew that from my conversations with Mr AL’s great aunt, who talked about how her father came home from the war with a drink problem and a terrible temper. Apparently one of the women on their street told her off when she was angry with him, telling her that before the war he was the most gentle, genteel man she’d ever met and it was his experiences that were making things hard for him, and the rest of his family, now. So I’d say that Alec is rather like that; he keeps his trauma bottled up and quite trivial things can set him off. His natural inclination is to be a calm, steady person, but his experiences have made him much more of a loose cannon.

Lew though, is much more sanguine generally. He’s been through the care system, he’s was a journalism student and he hasn’t been through the physical and emotional meatgrinder Alec and his contemporaries have been subject to. He’s pragmatic in the same way Alec is; but his trauma is different. He comes across as a much softer person, although inside he has a core of steel. His reactions are more tempered generally. Yes, he loses his temper. But it’s not cataclysmic for him, it doesn’t leave him feeling blown to pieces afterwards like it does Alec.

Scroll on down to read the snippet from Lost in Time that inspired this post.

Here’s everyone else who wrote this month. Click through to read what they have to say!

Nell Iris : Ofelia Grand : Lillian Francis : Fiona Glass : Amy Spector : Ellie Thomas : Holly Day : K. L. Noone : Addison Albright

Lost in Time: Alec finally loses patience with Lew

(CW: Violence)
They sent a uniform to wait for Tyler at his flat, but in the end, he came to them. Alec watched him walk into the detective pen proud as you please, cap and goggles dangling from one hand, fishing in a leather bag slung cross-wise across his body with the other. He didn’t see Alec until Alec walked right up to him and planted him a facer. 
He stared up from the floor between two desks, kicking backwards as he propped himself up on his elbows against the grubby carpet to escape further blows, eyes slightly glazed from the punch and papers and photographs spilling out from the bag all over the place.
“You lied to me, you bastard.” Alec’s opening lacked style, but it got straight to the point. “You did know him.”
He pulled Tyler up again by the front of his overcoat for the pleasure of slamming him face down on to the nearest desk and wrenching his arm up behind his back. He was driven by an almost unstoppable desire to manhandle him. The other man had been pushing his buttons since they had first crossed paths and both his anger at being lied to and his frustration at the case exploded into furious violence. There wasn’t much space—the office hadn’t been laid out with prize-fighting in mind, a small, calm part of his mind observed—and he ended up with Tyler flat on the table, pressed underneath him with his arm wrenched up behind his back, both gasping for breath.
“You fucker! You lying bastard! Did you kill him? You’ve known him from the start and I’ve been running round like a blue- arsed fly trying to work out what’s going on. What the hell is happening?” He jerked his arm up a bit higher, eliciting a yelp of pain that the other man tried to mute. “Start talking, else I’ll break your arm.”
It felt good to be hurting someone. He stifled the thought.
Tyler’s arse and thighs were taut against him as he held him down and the man shifted uneasily as Alec added more pressure to his arm. He had got like this in France sometimes. Every so often he’d become overwhelmed with the monotonous daily grind of investigating Tommies who’d crossed the line—who’d turned their hand to investigating Tommies who’d crossed the line—who’d turned their hand to a little unsanctioned murder, other than Jerry, of course; or been caught forcing the local girls, or worse. There’d always been something dirty and disgusting he’d been tied up with and it had sickened him. He’d been able to hold it in check for long periods, sometimes longer than others. But eventually, his disgust and frustration had always boiled up from the black, sticky pit of silence he jammed it down into every morning when he first rolled out of his tiny camp-bed and put his feet on the floor.
He’d beat a man unconscious once—he’d been caught forcing a child in one of the little French villages close to the lines and he’d been shot, in the end. But Alec had worked him over first. He’d had to be pulled away by his sergeant. He was ashamed of it. He believed in the rule and process of law; but in France that had been ramshackle at best and he had been as ramshackle as the structure of military discipline within which he’d been working.
The only thing that would empty out the sticky, tarry pit of self-disgust had been violence. Or sex. Or sexual violence. The man underneath him gasped and writhed again and Alec realized he was still putting an almost breaking pressure on his arm and pressing close against his arse. He took a breath and stepped back a little, easing his grip.
“Okay, you bastard!” The man’s language didn’t shock him. “Back the fuck off and let me go and I’ll talk. For fuck’s sake!”
He stepped back another half step and then another and released Tyler’s arm cautiously, tensed for a continued attack. Instead the man pushed himself to his feet and cradled his arm against his chest, turning round and glaring at Alec venomously. “You arse. You didn’t need to do that.” He was clearly in pain. “I knew you’d find out eventually. I needed to check a few things, first.”
Grant stepped up next to Alec and put a hand on his arm. “Perhaps it would be better to take this into your office, sir?” He took a painful grip on Alec’s elbow and propelled him through the door for at least a semblance of privacy. Grant looked at Tyler, who was cradling his twisted arm against his chest and looking decidedly ropey. “You, come here!”

Lost in Time (KU) from the London Calling Trilogy (Box Set)

#SampleSunday… The Quid Pro Quo

The Quid Pro Quo cover, A. L. Lester

I’m jumping on the #SampleSunday hashtag on twitter this week, with an excerpt from The Quid Pro Quo for you…

The Quid Pro Quo is a romantic historical paranormal murder-mystery set in 1920s rural England where nearly everyone is queer and the main couple is m/transm. Think Agatha Christie, but queer! With monsters! It’s the sequel to The Fog of War, but it works as a standalone set in the Border Magic universe.

Simon pressed the heel of his hand down onto the place the pain was radiating from. That usually helped. He sometimes wondered if there was anything still left in there. He should probably get it looked at. X-rayed, they called it, didn’t they? The hospital in Taunton had a machine, he knew.
He sighed. “Look, I didn’t just come up to show off my weaknesses to you.”
Kennett made a harrumphing sound that could have been a laugh. 
“I came to ask about two things. Her alibi. And the way she describes what happened at the seance.” 
“Look,” Kennett drew a breath and said in a firm voice, “she didn’t do it.”
Simon glared up at him, not quite ready to get up off the bench and fall over into the other man’s arms again. “That’s all very well. But you can’t just say that and then tell me you can’t say why you know!”
Kennett screwed up his face. “I just can’t, Mr Frost. And that’s all there is to it.”
Simon managed to stand. For all Kennett was small, he was intimidating. He scowled furiously up at Simon, face creased with anger. There was no trace of the sardonic wit about him now.
“Was she with you that night?” Simon asked quietly. It seemed unlikely, a girl like Miss Hall-Bridges and Kennett, who was a good twenty years older than her if he was a day and a lowly ex-soldier to boot. But he’d seen stranger relationships.
Kennett choked. “Bloody hell, no!” he said, almost with a shudder. “Absolutely definitely the wrong tree, Detective Frost!” There! He did return Simon’s interest, else Simon was a Dutchman.
Simon took another wobbling step forward and Kennett stepped back. Simon finally felt as if he was getting somewhere. There was something there. Why were they all protecting the woman? It was clear she was the best suspect—on paper, she had reason. But it was also clear that despite the evidence, nobody thought she’d done it. Including Simon.
Not that a lot of other people didn’t have reason to dislike the victim as well by the sound of it. His take-away from speaking to people who knew her painted a picture of the deceased as an entitled, arrogant woman who expected people to jump to her tune. He stopped that train of thought. There was never a reason to kill anyone. Never. Just because most of the people he knew had spent the last few years seeing that as the solution to all their problems didn’t mean it was right.
He drew a breath. “Then point me toward the right tree for goodness sake! If you have evidence that it wasn’t her, you’re morally obliged to let me have it!” he said, finally after a moment of silence.
Kennett shook his head again. “No, Detective Frost. I can’t. It’s not my place.”
Simon eyed him narrowly. He was backed up against the wall of the hallway, calm and not at all intimidated by Simon’s greater height.
“Do you know who killed her?” Simon asked him. 
Kennett’s eyes flicked away and back again. He shook his head. “No. I don’t.” He knew something though. He finally sighed and stepped forward, putting him chest to chest with Simon and Simon had no alternative but to step to one side and let him past unless he wanted to make something of it. And he didn’t. He really didn’t. He moved aside.
Simon was left looking after him as he went down the hall to the kitchen, the door propped open against the building heat of the day. He followed him into the room, watching him fill the kettle and put it on, helplessly standing there with his hands fisted in frustration at his sides, hot with irritation in the warmth of the morning and the lit range. 
“We’re done here,” Kennett said, sliding the kettle onto the hotplate and turning to face him. “You should leave, before Dr Marks gets home.”
“What, so you can sort out an alibi for Miss Hall-Bridges between you?” Simon said snarkily.
There was quite a long pause and then, from behind him, Dr Marks’ voice, deep and calm and very, very flat said, “No need, Detective Frost. Lucy and I share a bed. She didn’t go anywhere, all night.”
The silence was as absolute as if a shell had gone off and deafened him.
`

London Calling release day!

Today is the official release day of London Calling, the box set of my 1920s London Border Magic series! It comprises Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind.

To celebrate I have a giveaway! Roll up, roll up! And read all about it!

London Calling Box Set

The London Calling Box Set

Queer British Lovecraftian historical romantic suspense set in 1920s London.

Lew Tyler is dragged from 2016 to 1920 by an accident with border magic whilst he’s searching for his missing friend. He’s struggling to get to grips with life a century before he was born.  Detective Alec Carter is trying to solve gruesome murders in his patch of London, weighed down with exhaustion and a jaded attitude to most of his fellow humans after four years of war. In the middle of a murder investigation that involves wild magic, mysterious creatures and illegal sexual desire, will Alec and Lew work out who is safe to trust?

Sergeant Will Grant, Alec’s right-hand man, is drawn to the mysterious Fenn. Is Fenn a man or a woman? Does Will care? And Fenn…Fenn has a secret. They live beyond the border between 1920s London and the magical Outlands and they need to get home. Are they prepared to achieve that by double crossing Alec, Will and Lew?

Two couples hold the fabric of reality in their hands. Will it make them or break them?

WIN!

To win a copies of the London Calling audiobooks, Lost in Time, Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind, pop on over to the Audiobook Draw and throw your hat in the ring! Id’ be really grateful if you could share it on social media once you’ve entered if you could bear to…you’ll get more chances to win and more people will see it! (You can also listen to excerpt and buy them here)

Lost in Time,. Shadows on the Border & The Hunted and the Hind audiobook covers

Read an Excerpt

Carter on his doorstep when he got home again was just taking the piss. All Lew wanted to do was climb into his bed and sleep and pretend he was in his comfortable flat-share in 2016 and could wake up and listen to his iPod.
He didn’t even bother to greet Carter this time, just wordlessly locked up the bike and opened the door into the flat so he could come inside. He was glowering again. Lew wished he could say it didn’t suit him. “Come in. Glowering doesn’t suit you.”
Carter grunted wordlessly and suddenly Lew had had enough of it.
“No, honestly. It makes your face all scrunched up—” he demonstrated, “—and I’m sure it’s bad for you. Wrinkles or something.” He couldn’t seem to shut up. Poking a bear would probably have been safer. He wanted to get through to him, though, he wanted to make him growl. The other day and being punched in the face had at least proved Carter had some emotion in there somewhere; he couldn’t feel anything from him, most of the time. He chucked his biking goggles onto the small settee and turned to the kitchen cupboard. “Do you want a drink? I’m having a drink. I’ve had a shit day so far...a shit week, in fact.” He paused, considering, “...maybe even a shitty two years. And so, I’m going to have a drink. You’re welcome to join me.”
He clattered the bottle and a couple of glasses out of the cupboard and smashed them unsteadily down on the counter top. He felt unsteady all over, actually, as if he’d already drunk too much. Adrenaline, and lack of sleep, probably.
He pulled the cork out of the bottle and started to slop spirit into the glasses. Then, all of a sudden, Carter moved to stand close behind him, still not speaking. He hadn’t been expecting it and it made him even more mentally off balance.
He could feel the warmth of the other man’s body through the back of his shirt, although they weren’t touching. He was boxed in by his arms, either side of him, hands flat on the counter. It was shockingly intimate, although Lew didn’t think Carter meant it to be. He meant it to be intimidating. The otherman said, softly, “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what’s going on. Why have I got more dead men turning up with the same wounds as your friend Fornham?”
Bloody hell. More of them. That was very, very bad. “Get off me.” Lew spoke equally quietly.
There was a pause for a second. “No,” said Carter.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with. Get off me.” Again, that pause.
“No.” His voice was rougher this time.
Lew noticed Carter’s knuckles were white where he was holding the countertop either side of the whisky bottle and the glasses. He shivered.
Suddenly he could feel things coming off Carter after all: the want and the fear and the desperate sense of disgust at himself. The anger and the confusion he felt toward Lew because he wanted Lew and yet he didn’t trust him, with this or with anything, and it was all against his better judgement. The emotions hit him like a wall coming up out of the dark all at once and completely floored him; and he gasped.
Slowly, he pushed the bottle away from him—always with the drink when Carter was around, he absently thought—and turned around, careful not to touch him. They were nearly of a height—he didn’t have to tilt his head much to see that Carter’s eyes were green. Lashes long and dark. He didn’t pull back. It was mid-afternoon and his beard was coming through.
Lew swallowed. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
It came out rougher than he had intended and Carter’s eyes dropped to his mouth.
“Then don’t!” He pulled back angrily and turned away, hands shoving fiercely through his hair. “Tell me what’s going on!”
“Carter...Alistair...” He couldn’t bear the wave of confused anger and emotion coming off the man and he stepped forward and put his hand on his arm, turning him back toward him.
“Alec...”
Carter jerked back as if he’d been burned.

Buy London Calling
London Calling Box Set

The Flowers of Time: Deleted Scene

Look what I found! I’ve been trying to organise my documents folder a bit–don’t laugh, I bet you’ve all been there–and I found this deleted scene from the the first draft of The Flowers of Time.

The Flowers of Time. A determined lady botanist and a non-binary explorer. Mystery, suspense, monsters and romance in England and the Himalayas in 1780.

My first draft was a mess, honestly. I wrote it over a long period, some of which was during the three weeks I spent in a specialist hospital unit trying to get my seizures sorted–and there were quite a few repeated scenes and double-ups that eventually got chopped out.

Sometimes taking things out is fine, I can see the story will run more smoothly and effectively and I have no emotional attachment to the words I’m deleting. And sometimes I can see that things need to come out and it still really hurts to pull them. This was one of the latter.

Here Edie, our plucky botanical-artist heroine is well on the way to becoming a seasoned traveller. I wanted the physical journeys the characters made (to England for Jones and to India for Edie and then on over the mountains together) to reflect their character growth. There were a lot of strands to plait together and I said quite a few things more than once and had a lot of scenes in there that didn’t move the story forward. This really slowed things down–it’s basically an info-dump about Edie’s initial experience of India, which is interesting if you’re a history nerd (raises hand) and in love with Edie (raises other hand) but less useful to a reader who wants to find out what’s going on for goodness sake! rather than read a history book.

So here we have a deleted scene…part of Edie’s journey.

Despite their father’s occupation as a navy captain and two of her brothers following the same profession, and despite her mother’s early married years taking place on the oceans on board her father’s ship, Edie had never left dry land before this adventure. It had been a terrifying and amazing journey. The cramped quarters and frankly noxious living conditions had been a revelation. She had much more sympathy with her father and brothers now she had lived for a few months in the way they did their whole lives. It had taken seven months from leaving Portsmouth on the Athena to their arrival in Bombay. She had spent the time sewing rough hessian and linen in to bags that would hopefully help to keep alive the plant specimens she planned to send home by retaining moisture round the roots.

When they finally arrived at Bombay it had been a feast to her sense-starved self. The sea-voyage had been magnificent, but the ship was so confining. She wanted to be off seeing the countryside, drinking in all the new experiences she could.
She had left the practical travel arrangements to Bennett and Henry since they seemed to wish to be busy and were dismissive of her assistance. They had procured good quality square tents, one for each of them, a folding camp bed each, some stools and chairs that also folded and the various bedding and cooking accoutrements that were necessary. There were conical tents for the servants and Carruthers’ assistants to sleep in and some mules and camels to carry everything. All in all there were a couple of dozen in their party, which included a handful of Company Lieutenants that were both to assist Carruthers in his geographical and astronomical measurements and serve to protect them.

She had refused to travel in a litter around the city or on their journey like the few other British ladies. Most of them thought her peculiar. Why take up the time of four men though, when she could just as well ride her own horse? She found the handful of ladies married to the East India Company men a little tedious, if she was honest with herself. The whole of the John Company, really. They were very concerned with keeping up standards as though they were in London and had seized on her the moment she had crossed the pounding surf in the small boats that ferried passengers and goods from ship to shore, wanting to know the latest gossip and fashions.
More interesting were the ladies who were not quite ladies, married to some of the soldiers and lesser Company employees.

There had been a pair of sisters on the ship who had been going out to join their cousin. Because Edie had left her maid at home, she had engaged both of them to help her with her toilette aboard ship. Their cousin was married to a soldier and ran a millinery shop. Both sisters were hoping to find husbands. One was a seamstress who would to join her cousin’s business and the other was a baker who was hoping to open her own patisserie near the Company accommodations. There were a number of women in equivalent trades in the small British community and to Edie, their way of life seemed much more sensibly geared to the foreign heat and customs than that of the greater ladies who strove to maintain British manners.
That aside, Bombay was fascinating. A swirl of heat and noise and color and dust and smells that turned her head inside out and round again . They had stayed in the city for three weeks preparing for their onward journey to meet Miss Jones and her party at Srinegar in late May in order to travel over the Himalaya to Leh before the monsoon came in July
.

You can find The Flowers of Time at all the usual ebook retailers (yadda yadda yadda!) and it’s available in paperback and audio too.

The Flowers of Time

The Flowers of Time

:: A determined lady botanist : a non-binary explorer : mystery, suspense, monsters and romance : England and the Himalayas in 1780 ::

A determined lady botanist and a non-binary explorer make the long journey over the high Himalayan mountain passes from Kashmir to Little Tibet, collecting flowers and exploring ruins on the way. Will Jones discover the root of the mysterious deaths of her parents? Will she confide in Edie and allow her to help in the quest?

It’s a trip fraught with perils for both of them, not least those of the heart.

“…an enjoyable escapist story, with magic, romance and adventure. The characters were eminently likeable, and I wanted to spend time with them”- The Lesbian Review

Amazon : Audible : Everywhere Else

The Flowers of Time: Travelling in the Himalayas in 1780

The Flowers of Time

I’ve been revisiting The Flowers of Time over the last week or so because I’m thinking about writing a companion novel. One of my betas described the book as ‘an eighteenth century road trip’ and that’s a good description of quite a large chunk of it. Jones, Edie and their companions travel over the Himalayas from Srinagar in Kashmir to Leh in Ladakh.

Before the two hundred and fifty mile Srinagar-Leh Highway was built in 1962, the journey between the two cities took about three weeks on two or four feet. The Highway was pre-dated by a track named the Treaty Road from about 1870. The Treaty Road in turn followed the path of the old Central Asian trade route north to Yarkand and in to China. People talk about The Silk Road as if it’s a single route…actually, there are a lot of different Silk Roads winding all over the area that have been used for thousands of years.

You can click through and see the rough route on Google Maps – there are also satellite photos and some Street Views, which give you a really good idea of the landscape. The modern highway is closed for a significant period of each year because of snowfall.

Edie and Jones’ journey is loosely based on that of Isabella Bird, a British woman who followed the same route a hundred and ten years after my story is set, in 1889. She wrote about her travels in a book called Among the Tibetans, which I drew on heavily. The route would not have changed all that much between Edie’s day and hers.

Whilst in one sense Isabella was firmly rooted in her time and her British Empire background she was also unusual in that she traveled a lot, often without the requisite-at-the-time white male company. The biography I have of her describes her as ‘the foremost travel writer of her day’. She began her travels in the 1850s as a young woman, when her doctor recommended it for her health. Between then and her death in 1904, she wrote books about her travels in the Americas, Hawaii, India, Japan, China and Persia. She has a really good turn of descriptive phrase and I’d recommend her books if you can stomach her paternalistic attitude to her servants and the people she meets. It’s a fascinating insight in to how simultaneously closed and open minded people can be.

landscape photography of snowy mountain
Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

The route Edie and Jones follow was only accessible on foot and it wasn’t always possible to ride. It was sometimes so narrow that if you met someone coming the other way, one of you would have to get off the track out of the way, if there was room. If there wasn’t room, sometimes people lay down so the pack animals coming from the other direction could jump over them.

Traders and travelers used mules, ponies, yaks and even sheep as pack animals. I found some really interesting descriptions of salt being brought down to Srinagar from Tibet on the backs of sheep.

There are three high passes on the trip, the tallest of which is the Zoji La, at 11,500 feet. You can start to feel odd with altitude sickness at about 4,500ft and become seriously unwell at 8,000. I wanted to talk about the potential for that and did some looking around for historical account. The earliest I could find for the Himalayas was a cautionary tale by some Chinese traders who traveled between Xian and Kabul in about 35BC, who wrote about the Great and Little Headache Mountains.

“On passing the Great Headache Mountain, the Little Headache Mountain, the Red Land, and the Fever Slope, men’s bodies become feverish, they lose colour and are attacked with headache and vomiting; the asses and cattle being all in like condition.”

Jones knows all about this, obviously, so she’s watching out for it.

dark silhouette of camping tent
Photo by Skyler Sion on Pexels.com

Edie’s snowlotus obsession encompasses about three hundred species. The one she’s particularly interested in is the Saussurea Lappae or Costus. Like all its family it likes high altitude and low temperature. I don’t know whether Edie was successful in bringing any live plants home. It seems unlikely they would have survived the journey at sea-level very well. That part of Edie’s character is loosely based on my mother, who is a very skilled plantswoman and at the time of writing this still runs her own horticultural nursery, in her eighties. She was also drawn heavily from Marianne North, a botanical illustrator of the same period of Isabella Bird, who travelled all over the world painting both plants and the landscape around her.

The most challenging thing I found to write about the journey itself was the camping kit! I couldn’t get the feel of what the characters were up to settled in my head unless I could visualize what they were drinking from or sleeping on, or using to cook with. I started off with the TV adaptation of Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe novels (Sean Bean was just a bonus) and spiralled out in to the many and varied webpages by immensely skilled re-enactors out there as well as museum inventories and lists of what soldiers on the march might carry.

Finally, I also learned a lot about yaks. Yaks only have to eat 1% of their bodyweight daily, as opposed to cows, who have to consume 3%. And they get heat exhaustion if it’s warmer than 59f. They are extremely cool creatures and I wish Mr AL was more amenable to me keeping a small herd in the garden.

The Flowers of Time is available in ebook, paperback and at Audible and Apple Books.

The Flowers of Time is available in both ebook, paperback and at Audible and Apple Books.