It’s hard to imagine but it’s been almost four and a half years since I wrote the first chapter of A Rainy Night on Drury Lane. Little did I know then what kind of story would unfold out of my first exploration of fictional writing.
Money trouble forces private detective Richard “Dick” Wentworth out of an early retirement and back into the hard boiled world he had happily left six months earlier. Senator Robert McWilliams has mysteriously vanished, or is he hiding on purpose? A Rainy Night on Drury Lane
In the interim I’ve managed to participate in NaNoWriMo twice with mixed results. My first time resulted in a 33,000 words treatment for an idea that since has expanded to a project I’m currently calling Fantasy Novel Trilogy. It has grown to such a scale that I’m nowhere close to finishing it. Much to the dismay of a friend and former co-worker.
But that’s hardly a surprise.
The second time gave birth to an eclectic mix of different story ideas. One of which is about an assassin for hire who suddenly finds his gun talking to him. Let me know if you want more of that story.
But we’re not here today to talk about these stories. We’re here to talk about Dick.
Dick oh Dick.
You do manage to get yourself into trouble, don’t you Dick?
Dick who, for those of you who has already read the story the first time around, dies at the end.
Dick who, for those of you who haven’t read the story, well, he dies at the end.
But rather than having it spoil the story, I think it’s every bit as enjoyable knowing what fate befalls our reluctant hero.
Having said that, let’s just get on with the book, right?
What follows is an excerpt from the newly written prologue, That White Blinding Light.
Walking towards Patrick’s Ale House, Catherine tried to not let her nerves get the best of her. Summer was racing towards them this year and she already found it difficult to move around during the day because of the heat. But she also knew better than to complain though, as any ‘real’ New-Yorker would instantly remind her of a heatwave a few years back, “Whose like can never be contested.”
So she tried to enjoy the cool night air but found herself too distracted by a million little thoughts, all which wanted her attention.
Stepping into the tavern the smoke and smell of an evening’s worth of cigarettes took her by surprise and she found herself struggling to breath through the thick wall of smoke.
The alcohol was flowing freely and Catherine could hear a delightful fiddling tune—that instantly reminded her of home—in the background. Even so, she didn’t want to spend a minute more than necessary in this place.
“Excuse me, where can I find a man named Rory?” Catherine carefully asked the woman behind the bar disk.
“That’ll be ’im, right over ’dere,” the woman replied as she pointed towards an unkempt man engrossed in a game of Darts he was only observing, with one hand stroking his beard and the other hand safely rested on a pint of ale.
“Are you… Rory?”
“I may or may not be, love. I take it your not a guard by the looks ’o ’ya,” the burly man in front of her never dropped his eyes of the game of Darts.
“Whadda want? I’ve got no bloody time for culchies,” trying to get something out of his teeth Rory’s tongue was moving around methodically.
I hope that’s given you enough of an inclination as to whether you might like my story or not.
Having finally finished this project, I’m already eager to start a new one. Stay tuned for the next episodic story.
In the meantime, I sincerely hope you enjoy reading, as much as I enjoyed writing, A Rainy Night on Drury Lane.