So this is how it pans out.
I'm researching my speculative fiction Pi. A trilogy...something I have always wanted to write.
At the equinox the planet received a call from 3.14159265359. What the message contained would be the end or the beginning. You make the call. You decide.
Crispin Stitt is suffering. He needs to take control of his life, but when his editor hates him, his publisher won't talk to him and his wife wished he was dead, pinning his hopes for a happy life on his latest manuscript is optimism in the extreme.
So I started this one. It is just the ticket to keep me entertained while I write. This one is zippy and set in England, which suits my humour down to the ground. I am on the boil with this one.
When the 46th in line to the throne of England is popping by to congratulate Winnie Pollock on reaching 100, the village of Beetling Down goes all out for his light supper. But with the rivalry of the Tripe club -v- the Trotter Epicureans for catering, there is more to the story than a silver condiment set