Only Murders in my Mind
Episode 37: Next Big Projects & Novel Ideas
[Music] Welcome to Only Murders in My Mind. A random thought production. Hi, I'm Carol Bissett, a crime writer. And I invite you with my co-presenters, Liz Hedgecock and Mike Jackson, each week to our conversations on all things murderous. Hello, it's Thursday, it's 5pm and it's another episode of Only Murders in My Mind. And would you guess I've got Liz Hedgecock with me? Hello, and in the con, we've got Mike Jackson. Hi, Mike. I'm not sure I'm going to talk to anybody. I still haven't worked out. Why are we trying to introduce me? We burst into keepals. [Laughter] It says, "I'm a figment to your imagination." I don't really understand that. What's this little voice we keep remembering? It comes from the corner. It's the cheeky smile that does it. I sometimes think I should just talk to myself. No, you keep us in line, Mike. God knows what's happening. If only I could. If only anybody could. Well, we're going to be quite selfish today. We don't normally do this. We're going to talk about stuff we're working progress. The things that we're doing at the moment, maybe just done. Maybe we're going to plan to do it and give our own work a bit of a sort of promotion. Well, also talk about our writing process, I guess, what we're working on. Why? How we do it? Why do we do it? Why do we do it? I've often wondered that. Fair point. For one of the things, people who are writers will agree with. It's a very lonely process being a writer. There's normally you stuck in a room or if your mate is stuck in his workshop. What do you call it? The studio. Sorry, studio. With the computer. You do quite a lot of long time, don't you, Mike, when you're making notes and things like that? I do a lot of, I don't know what I call free writing. Well, I call free writing. There is something called free writing. Incidentally, if you've never tried free writing, it's well worth it. Lots of research out there that shows that it unlocks the subconscious. Is that morning pages? It's the morning pages. Yes. So the idea is you just actually get a journal, a notebook, and every day you just write. And especially if you don't feel like you've got anything to say. I'm not necessarily talking about writing ideas for a book, but just writing. And the idea is that you say yourself 20 minutes and you're going to write. And what I read when I first discovered this, that if you get to a point where you think, I don't know what to write next, write, I don't know what to write next, and keep writing that. And what you'll be surprised is that there is something that happens between holding the pen or pencil, and that communication through to the brain and the subconscious, that you're fine by the time you've been writing for 20 minutes and you look at it, you'll think, wow, where did that idea come from? So I do that I have a journal and I write in there every day with a fountain pen, too. I have a fountain pen. You have a very nice fountain pen. And very envious of your fountain pen. It's lovely. And I sometimes find that I talk to myself there. I talk to myself a lot. And I write down things that I'm thinking about that I'm wondering about ideas. Sometimes for books, just some of the ideas generally. I write about not about ideas in my head, going through my head about AI at the moment, because that's something I'm very, very interested. It does make me laugh that on one hand, you will create images using AI, which is instant, and then you're writing long hand with your fountain pen on your actual paper. Yeah. And I think that goes back to conversations we've had before, both within the podcast, but the three of us also belong to the same writers group. About, I know, Liz, you've said before, you like writing for the sake of writing. I like creating stories sometimes using AI. And my joy of writing sometimes comes from the free writing. Yes. You know, I can sometimes sit for 40, 50 minutes just writing in my journal. And that gives me pleasure. And I wouldn't dream of using anything else but my fountain pen in a journal to do that. But I would experiment with writing stories using AI. And contradiction possibly there. No, you're playing with it. I'm experimenting. I know some writers still do the first drafting long hand, don't they? I don't because I consider, for myself, this is just a personal thing. That would be a waste of my time. I'd rather go straight with my first draft onto the computer. I think it's what removes the barriers between you and getting the words into a form where you can work with them. So I dictate. Yes. No, I've tried. Liz has said before about dictating. And I've tried that. And it doesn't work for me. No, I've tried it. But I long hand, I do. I do enjoy doing that. So Liz is a very busy writer. She's usually got at least two things on the go at once. Maybe the start of something and the end of something else. So what's in the, what's in, what you cooking in your pot at the moment? Okay. So at the moment, I have the first draft of Booker and Fitch Book Six. Wow. Which I've written with Paula Harmon, friend of the show. And it's called Death in a Dinner Jacket. It's like that. So I have that to be reading through. Paula's done her read through and now it's my term. So that's one of the things that I have going on. I have also been thinking about a little story, which is not within the scope of this show because it's a romcom. And that is to go with, I'm planning an omnibus edition of the novelets that I do, which I kind of romcom with a little bit of mystery in. So I'm thinking about doing a little story for that. I've got a sort of a plot which I'm working on in the back of my mind. So there's that. The one that is probably most of my work in progress at the moment is a novelet. I'm going to say it is about 10,000 words. It's called Ghost in the Machine. And it is hopefully going to be a little standalone in the spirit of the law series. And probably I will put it in with the omnibus edition for that. Yeah. Which I'm hoping will be out for Halloween. So this is the plan. I mean, this is the plan. This is the whole novelet idea too, because, again, this was mentioned at a recent writer's group meeting. And for some reason, I miss this idea of novelets. Because there are suggested wood counts for all sorts of, you know, what makes a short story, what makes a novella, what makes a novel and so on. And a novelet had missed me by. I don't know why. I'm quite intrigued by it. Lisa's just said then, she's writing this one, which will be a standalone book, of about 10,000 words. And being the lazy writer that, that appeals to me. Yeah. Yeah. Well, that's the thing. I think there is a market for them. I mean, if you look on Kindle, there's a Kindle short reads category. And I mean, some of those are very, very short. Like, less than an hour, there can be two hours, they can be more than two hours. I mean, a novelet. I think the word limits are something between 8,000 and 17,000 words. And after that, if it's bigger than that, it becomes a novella. Novella, yes. I was funny enough, after we had this conversation about novelets, I looked up on Google. Because I saw a song where somebody had talked about a short story, which is not the short that you were talking about, but a short story. So I looked it up to see what the definition of a short story was. And it was basically a story that could be read within one day. Gosh. Which a novelet probably could. Oh, easily. Yeah, yeah. But the thing is, I mean, if you really enjoy a book, a full length book, you can read it in a day. Yes, you can. Yes. Yeah. There's a long short story as well, isn't there? You can get all sorts of definitions with stories from six word stories right the way through to. Yeah. I mean, there's flash fiction, which is under five words usually. Yeah. There's some flexibility here. Look at it for everyone. Yeah. Oh, yes. And drag balls, which I enjoy writing, which are a hundred word stories. Exactly. Yeah. Yeah. Well, there's a great range out there. Yes. Yes. So yes, the plan with this one is it's going to be a little standalone, which I can also use for a reader magnet. Yes. That's another plan because it's affiliated with and it has the same characters as it's very in the law series. So that's the plan. And it's called Ghost in the Machine because I was basically thinking, that's a cool title. But I don't know what the story is that goes with it. Yeah. Which is an interesting position to be in. And Ghost in the Machine. I mean, I know it as a police album title. I'm sort of a child of the eighties. And then I kind of looked it up. I think I was thinking it's something else as well, but I can't remember what. It's a whole philosophical subject to, and that kind of played into it. Is this what we call gremlins in the old days? I'm trying to, I'm trying to think now, I can't remember exactly, but I'll just put something up on the blog about it. Yeah. Yeah. That'd be interesting. Yeah. Because I was kind of thinking what could be a, you know, a short little story that would, that would work and be self-contained. And that was, that was my plan for a little extra thing for the omnibus. But I'll read you the beginning. Okay. And it's set not long after the end of the first book in the spirit of the law series, which is the case of the four fingers. So I wanted to make an early one because I was thinking, well, if this is possibly a series introduction, I don't want to give the game away about stuff later on. So that's what I thought I'd do. So this is how it begins. And one of the other things that informed it was I remembered a meme that I'd seen. And I'll explain about that afterwards. It was nearly a month since we, Nora, Inspector Farnsworth and I, had solved the case of the four fingers. And sometimes I wondered if it had all been a dream. I had kept a copy of the newspaper, which reported on the case. And every so often, I checked it to make sure it had really happened. I suppose I'd expected things to ramp up for half of Merseyside to be to path to our door with cold cases they wanted us to solve, or strange phenomena for us to investigate. But no. If anything, it was even quieter than before the case had come along. Before my first visit to the bridewell, the disused police station, which we were still obliged to look after, like a smelly old pet, though it had turned out to be anything but a burden. Sergeant Daugherty was taking advantage of the peace and quiets get through the admin backlog, or rather to make sure we did. Tasha Hughes, Sam and I were all working our way through piles of paper. Even if the documents were electronic, they still weighed us down as much as the paper versions. I don't know where it all came from. "You know what?" I said one day, when Sergeant Daugherty was out of the office. "If any of this was important, it would have been sorted already." Hughes swiveled on his chair. "Have you been to Sefton Park, Steph?" "Yes, of course," I said, wondering where this was going. "What's the squirrels, aren't they? All going about their business doing squirrel things?" "Yes." Storing away nuts for the winter and whatnot. He paused, presumably for dramatic effect. Well, Sergeant Daugherty is like a great big squirrel in a sergeant's uniform. All through the air he squirrels away paperwork, whether it's needed or not, so he can pull it out in quiet times and keep our noses to the grindstone. The end. I caught Tasha's eye when we both giggled. The idea of Sergeant Daugherty, who was a wiry grey, ferrity sort of man, dressed up in a squirrel outfit, was irresistible. "I really hope he doesn't come back soon," I said. "Hope who doesn't come back soon?" "Of course, it was our administrative nemesis. What's going on?" He regarded us with suspicious, beady, squirrely eyes, and it was all I could do not to laugh. "Uh, well, someone came in when I was up at the front desk earlier and they wouldn't take no for an answer." "Umm," said the sergeant, "one of those, eh?" "Yes," I said, keeping my face straight with difficulty. "One of those. Would anyone like a drink?" And once I'd taken orders, I retreated to the kitchen where I could giggle in peace. "Home time couldn't come too soon. When I finally made it back to my flat another trial awaited. As I was letting myself in, the door opposite opened. "Um, hello," said the young man, who lived opposite. He'd introduced himself, but I wasn't quite sure what he'd said because he mumbled. "Davey, was it?" "Ah, hi," I replied. "I didn't want to see him rude, but I was pretty sure from the way that Tasha were grinned when she wished me a good night, that she'd somehow sneak to Snickers Bar into my bag, and I wanted to see if I was right." It was a sort of running joke we had. I'd been saving finding out as a little treat for when I got home, and I didn't really want to delay it by making conversation with a vague-looking floppy-haired lad. "Uh, weren't you in the paper a few weeks back?" I turned. Yes, I was. And I am vain enough to admit that he went up in my estimation. About that case, the cold case with that poor kid that got framed. Ooh, extra points. That's the one. I leaned against my door. "Did you want to ask me about it?" "Um, not exactly. It's just that something rather odd has been happening where I work, and I thought you might be able to help." "Oh, I see." I took a step forward, assuming I was about to be invited into his flat, but he didn't move. "It's a bit odd." "Oh, our team specialises in odd." "That's good, because it really is weird." "Now my hopes were sky-high, even though we were still in the hall." "What's it concerning? Where do you work?" "I work at the high school." "I knew where it meant it was maybe ten minutes' walk from our walk of flats." I started, though, the September before last, after finishing my degree. I teach art to the young ones. They gave me a bashful smile. They don't trust me with GCSE and up yet. "Uh-huh." "David, if that was his name, sounded as if he needed career coaching, but that definitely wasn't my job." "So, what's the problem?" "This is going to sound very strange, but I really don't know who else to ask." "I waited." "It's the printer." "Mmm." "So, yeah, the meme that I was talking about is, I think, I've seen it posted on social media a few times, saying rage against the machine. The machine in question probably was a printer." "Yes." "And I just thought, you know, what's the most obstinate, obstreperous, mean form of technology I can think of that could possibly be involved in this so much." "Exactly." "Oh, I thought, well, you know, what better, really, to have something?" "Once upon a time, it would have been a fax machine." "It would, wouldn't it?" "It would have seemed like a very long time ago, yes." "That's going to be good." "Yes, it is." "It's got me all ready, I want to know, I want to know what's going to happen with this." "Well, I'm at the point now of reading through it, giving it a first read-through and making editing notes, so that's where I might have been, it won't take too long, and then it will go to beta-read readers once I've been at an edit, because that's eating more as first draft form with a little bit of corrections." "So, you said it was 10,000 words? It's about 10,000 words, yeah." "So, you can see Liz is a very, very busy person, and she also is into her art at the moment, our illusion produces some beautiful pieces of artwork." "Well, I'm doing best, but you know, it's nice, it's a different thing from right, but I get that same kind of being in a flow state and time passing, which is nice." "It's important." "So, Mike, what are you working on?" "A couple of things, by the time this, hopefully, by the time this episode of the podcast goes out, I will have self-published a collection of sinister short stories round about each one, round about 700, 800 words, which is slightly longer than some of the stories. I'm also playing around with a YouTube channel, and it's called Tiny Tales, and I've put some of these tiny tales up onto our only emergency in my mind blog. And basically, what it is, it's me playing around with AI. So, the music that introduces these tiny tales is AI generated, and the voiceover that is telling the story is also AI voice generated. So, it's a mixture of me playing around with some writing and some AI. Tiny Tales, every now and again, one would appear on the only emergency in my mind, that blog, so you can find them there. You can see some of the ones that have already gone up. And we've also, a couple of the tiny tales that are there were stories that were written by listeners to the podcast, and with their permission I've taken the story, put an AI-generated voice to it, and stuck it up as a tiny tale. So, there are a couple of the things I'm doing at the moment. I want to extend that YouTube channel, because I sometimes see myself as less of a writer, more of a storyteller, and I think using that YouTube channel will give me a chance to do that. So, I'm thinking of doing some stories on there, but instead of using AI-generated voice, I actually use my voice and actually record them myself. So that's another thing I want to experiment with soon. And no doubt, I bet on the maze you haven't said it already. You're a novella. Yes, and how's it going? Well, since I've discovered that novella's along and not, novelets are short, I've changed my mind. I think I'll write a novelette. I was aiming for 17,000, but now that I've heard you can get away with 10,000, I'm thinking of having a rethink. Oh my. But I have actually got a chapter one of a novelette. Right. The working title, which I'll probably change, is called "Expiration Date." And it's a sci-fi type, but sci-fi, dystopian, that sort of idea. And basically, the setting is a world where aging has been cured, but population control measures mean that people must compete for the right to live past 50. Oh, so a bit low glims run? Yes. So, a geriatric version? Yeah, chapter one is called "The Notification." 50 isn't geriatric, shut up. I'm not played around with this much, so it will need some. Editing is one word, mucking around is the word I correct. Alex Chen stared at the holographic calendar hovering above a desk. It's soft blue glow illuminating the lines on her face. She traced her finger along her cheek, feeling the subtle creases. In just three months, even these small imperfections would vanish, smoothed away by the miracle of modern science. Assuming, of course, she passed the extension. With a flick of a wrist, Alex dismissed the calendar and leaned back in her chair, or office fading into darkness. Outside a window, New Singapore's skyline glittered against the night sky. Somewhere in those gleaming towers, eternals were living their extended lives, free from the spectre of aging and death. Alex's comm-link chimed, a heart-raced, as she tapped her wrist, projecting the message into the air before her. It wasn't the notification she'd been dreading, just a reminder about tomorrow's meeting at Infinity Corps, where she spent the last 24 years climbing up the corporate ladder. She dismissed the message with a sigh. Every communication these days said to jolt through a system. The extension notification could come at any moment, marking the beginning of the most crucial period of her life. Alex walked to the window, pressing a forehead against the cold blouse. 54 floors below, the street teened with life. Pre-extensions hurried about their business. Their faces etched with the same anxiety that Hux felt. Watching them, she wondered how many would still be here in a year, and how many would join the ranks of the disappeared. Those who failed their extension and were quietly removed from society. A comm-link chimed again, this time Alex's stomach dropped. The message bore the official seal of the Global Extension Authority, with trembling fingers she opened the communication. Citizen Alex Chen, this is your official notification that your extension evaluation will commence on September 15th, 2084. You are required to report to Extension Center 7 at 0800 hours on that date. Failure to appear will result in automatic disqualification and immediate initiation of end-of-life procedures. Your preliminary status is candidate. Remember, extension is a privilege not to write. Prove your work to society. Alex read the message three times, a breath caught in a throat. September 15th, barely three months away. She had known this was coming and spent years preparing for it, but seeing the date in stark official text made it real. In a way nothing else had. She sank back in a chair, mind-racing. Was she ready? Could anyone ever truly be ready for a trial that would determine when they lived or died? A soft chime from the door interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called, hastily composing herself. Sam, her assistant and closest friend, stepped into the office. But 45, Sam was also approaching his extension. His usual cheerful face now etched with concern. Alex, you okay? Your vital spike tonight? Sam stopped short, noticing the holographic message still hovering in the air. Oh, is that? Alex nodded, not trusting her voice. Sam moved closer, reading the notification. "September 15th," he whispered. "That's 87 days," Alex finished for him, a voice horse. "Hey, that's good," Sam said, forcing optimism into his voice. "Better than some, remember Jerry from accounting? He only got 30 days notice." "Yeah, I remember," said Alex. "Never saw him again after his extension date." An uncomfortable silence fell between them. They both knew the statistics. Only about 30% of candidates successfully earned their extension. The rest just ceased to exist. "Listen," Sam said, breaking the silence. A bunch of us are heading out to the interlouge. "Why don't you join us? It might help take your mind off things." Alex shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I need some time to process this. Maybe start planning my strategy?" Sam nodded. "Okay, but don't stay cooped up here all night." And Alex paused at the door. "You've got this. If anyone deserves an extension, it's you." As the door closed behind, Sam, Alex turned back to the window. Somewhere out there, other candidates received the same notification. Some will be celebrated tonight, seeing the extension as an opportunity. Others will be panicking, overwhelmed by the pressure. And some, Alex knew, would be making darker plans, exploring the black market for any edge they could get ethical or not. Alex closed her eyes, took a deep breath and made a decision. She wasn't going to panic. She wasn't going to despair, and she certainly wasn't going to cheat. She had 87 days to prove her worth, to earn her place among the eternals. It wouldn't be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever was. She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and began to plan. The extension trial awaited, and Alex intended to face it head-on. As she worked late into the night, the notifications were echoed in her mind. Extension is a privilege, not a right. Prove your worth to society. And that's exactly what she intended to do. I like that. See, you know, I'm thinking that feels longer than those of that lens. Yeah, that's about 900 words. Yeah, but I mean, pretty carry on. The whole thing. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's got to be intrigued. In my head, I was thinking, I don't know, ten chapters, twelve chapters, thousand, twelve hundred words. That was... You might end up with a novella after all. I hope not. That's a scary thought. Well, I actually started writing a novella, so I'm going to steal your thunder. No, please don't. I'm glad somebody else has. Take the pressure of me. This is a bit of an experiment. So, for the next few weeks, at some point during the podcast, I'm going to read out a chapter. It's going to be called Carol's First Draft. And then, with Mike's help, we're going to post it on the blog for your feedback. So, I'm going to be writing this with your help. Yeah. Sorry, Carol. When it goes on to the blog, it will be in the form of an aeration. Yeah. Yeah. With a nice picture. With a nice picture. Yeah. A bit of music. Yeah. People dancing. So, what genre is this? This is Cozy Murder Mystery. Something I wanted to have a go at, but I don't feel confident enough to do a full novel. So, I thought I'd start off with this, and we'll see how we go. So, when you listen to it, as I say, it will be taken from the first draft. So, these things very often end up, you know, people change, names change, and all the rest of it when you're actually. I might not get round to publishing it. You know, people think it's, I won't say a load of rubbish, but people think it's not got legs. I might only do four or five chapters. We'll see. Anyway. So, I'm going to read it out. I haven't got a title yet. Right. Chapter one. He's dead. He's dead. Slip looked at her friend's face to try and ascertain if Florence was joking or not. She decided it was not on two accounts. One. She was as white as a sheet and shaking. Note to self. None of her sheets were white. She had purple, orange, and stripes. But not white. Must look that up on wiki. Two. Florence did not have a sense of humour, not an ironical or cruel way anyway. Are you sure? Maybe he's just not well or asleep. Slip made her enter the apartment, but Florence put her hand across the doorway. I'm sure. On what makes you so certain? The bloody big knife sticking out of his chest and the lack of breath. Oh, and did I mention the bloody big knife? Florence slid down the door frame and sat on the step. "Mr. Arleside's been murdered," she said in a shaky voice. Slip sat down next to her. "What do we do?" called the police for a start. Florence plucked her phone from her tabard pocket and pressed nine, nine, nine. "Hello, emergency services. Which service do you require?" said a voice which sounded far too bright for the job she was doing. "Please, please. I want to report a murder." "What is this place?" asked D.I. Mark Road as they went through the gates and along a tree-lined avenue before a variety of buildings in size and structure came into view. "Retirement closed community, boss," said Bentilido, Mark Sargent. "They're all the rage now. With those that have got a bit of cash lying around comes from the state. Of course, it bloody does. Take Halloween, I can remember when we did Bob Apples and then had a hot pot supper. Now it's full on fancy dressing kids' hearts in old folks' bloody yanks. "They won't get that here, boss," Bent turned to Corn and saw a woman waving a dust ratting. "Guess that's it," he said and pulled to a halt. "Sacko should be here by now," Bent checked his watch. "Give them a call and see where the hell they are, Ben. We can't go in until they've done a basic sweep." "Yes, boss." "I'll go and have a word," Mark said as he got out of the car. "Thank God you're here," said a thin-looking woman who was about 40. She was tall with wild hair trying to escape from her grip. "Where have you been?" "We called ages ago," snapped another female who was a little smaller than a companion and heavier built. She had short hair and she was quite beautiful. "Now, ladies, calm down." He looked at his watch and then took his mobile phone out of his pocket. "It's approximately 17 minutes and 30 seconds since you call 999." "Approximate," said the curvy woman. "Well, yes, the seconds do tend to tick on." "Now, let's start with introduction, shall we?" "Socko will be here in 10 minutes, boss," interrupted Ben. "They hit a dog." "Give me strength," said Mark Rhodes under his breath. "Take notes," he told his DS. "I'm Detective Inspector Road from Burnwell CID, and this is my sergeant, Bentoledo, and you are. I'm Florence Child. I found the body. I'm Salik Brown. We work together. Doing what?" asked DS to Lido. She picked up her cleaning caddy with brushes, various polishes and cleaning paraphernalia poking out from under the dusters. "You're a detective, I've a guess." Ben just nodded. "Slip. That's an unusual name. Isn't it short for anything?" "Cow, slip," said the woman quietly. "Oh," was all Ben could think to say. "So, you're clean for the deceased. Presuming we have a deceased, that is. Oh, he's definitely deceased, Officer," said Florence with a shudder. "We have a cleaning contract with the agents who manage this retirement complex of the residents who want our services, pay them, and they pay us a clarified slip." "And this man is one of your customers," Mark queried. "Yes, Mr. Armsides, but it was on one of our first clients. Lovely man. Quiet. Kept himself to himself," added Florence. "Just then a van and two cars pulled off alongside the DI's car." "Sorry, Mark," said a woman with an accent as she got out of the van. "We hit a dog." "What a paraphernalia." "Went own went ballistic." "On your glancing blow. No damage to the van." "Oh bloody hell, unbelievable," said Mark to himself and then mobilely, all loudly. "Thank you for joining us, Catra. If you could get a riddle on, we'd like to see what's going on there in some time today." "No problem, Mark," said Catra, as she pulled on a white over suit. Quickly she was ready and holding a large black rag. She went past the group at the door and into the darkness of the crime scene, giving Mark a dazzling smile as he passed, while she passed him, Ben just cuffed. "Right, thank you ladies. If you could give DS to lead or your contact details and come to Burnwell police station tomorrow to give a official statement, then we can do your fingerprints and take DNA swabs at the same time." Mark went to go to his car, but slipped, stopped him. "Just a cotton-picking minute here, DI, whatever," rode. "I'm not about to give anyone my DNA. I mean, you're not heard of the Geneva Convention on Data Protection Act." "Oh, the Geneva Convention is to protect civilians joining war times." Mrs. Ms. Ms. Brown will do. And you say, "Who says this isn't a war situation between police and innocent citizens?" "I do. This is to eliminate you from our inquiries, Mrs. Brown, especially as you and your colleague frequent these residents. Your fingerprints and DNA will be all over the place." "But after I've dusted," put in Florence indignantly, "please." "Your cooperation on this would be most helpful," said Mark, trying very hard to keep his cool. "I'll think about it," said Slipp. "Thank you." "A mark," Catherine called from the doorway. "You can come in once you have suited up. There's something odd you should see." "At last. Thank you, lady. See you tomorrow," said Mark, and he dismissed the two women. Finally, he and Ben got to see what was inside the apartment. The hall was narrow and dark without lights turned on, but this led into a lovely modern apartment, all white, shiny, with pale rugs. Not at all what he was expecting from a retired gentleman. It was clean at almost like a clinic environment until he turned a corner. Lion on his back was the victim, a large kitchen knife deeply planted in his chest. His creamed pajamas were now stained crimson, and he had a halo of his own blood around his body. "What is it you want me to see, particularly?" he asked, Catherine. "Look in his mouth," she said. Mark went down, and as he did so, his white suit gave a large ripping sound. "Bugger," he said. "Mark, you need to come to the gym with me," said Catherine. "Think of all the sweating we could do together." Mark tried to pretend he hadn't heard this, and knelt down to look at the victim's mouth. "Rice Krispies," he said, as he found a mouthful of the popular breakfast meal. "Yes," replied Catherine, without a smile. "The serial killer has struck again." Oh! [laughter] So that's the first chapter. Oh, that's fun. I just apologize to our listeners in America because when Carol said "bloody yanks," she wasn't talking about you. No, no, no. There's a family called the Yanks down the road. See what I did there? Oh, that was lots of fun. Yes, are you enjoying writing it? I am, yes, because it's so completely different to what I normally do. And as I say, if our listeners could help me with this, give me some ideas, comments. I won't cry too much if you don't like it. I just thought it would be an interesting thing we could do together, you know? And then if it is okay, I will publish it as a novella, probably, because it's not going to be along. Yeah. Do you think that if it goes well, could you see writing more with these characters? Yes. So basically, you know, these poshry time of village, they have a Kelek cleaning contract. So it's nothing to do with the Thursday merger club. No. No similarity. What's that? We'll give them the cleaners there. It is rather different. Yes. So as I say, we'll see how. But Slip, who doesn't like to be called a full name, who wants to be called clown slip. And we'll find out why she's got that name and another chapter is gets all a fax mixed stuff, a bit like me. And says the wrong words in the wrong places. So hopefully that will make it amusing. No, I thought it was a great start. It will be an interesting exercise. Yes. Yes. I'm looking forward to hearing more. Thank you. So as I say, we'll have chapter two next week when we do our next podcast. So I think has anybody else got anything? I think that's been really good on it. It's been interesting. Yeah. Because we talk about everybody else's work. That's right. We rarely talk about our own. So often. And it's, we don't push our boots at all, do we really? No. But please buy them. Please buy them. No. Oh, we were doing so well until that. But if you are interested, if you go to the only murders in my mind blog, there are links in the description. Carol's Amazon page, my Amazon page, and this is Amazon page. They're also in the description of each episode. So yeah. Thank you, producer. But above that, we just don't want to mention our books at all. No. But the blog is at. Only Moses in my mind. Wordpress.com. And don't forget to leave a comment, a review or a like. Yes. And if you haven't subscribed, then that's an option. That's an option. If you click for notifications, then every time we spend 30 minutes talking about stuff, you will find out. Yeah. We're a threat or a promise. We've only got to get another 850 subscribers and then we can go into the big league. OK. Thank you, everybody, for listening. It's been a joy, as always, with my two friends here. And we'll see you next week. Bye. You have been listening to Only Murders in My Mind, a random thought production, produced by John Bissett. The music in peril was composed and recorded by OM Studio Strings. [MUSIC PLAYING] [BLANK_AUDIO]