Jane
 

I'm mulling over a start on a new novel set in the same world as Odalisque, and with some of the same characters. The title I currently have in mind is Jane. The little I've written reads as follows:

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshes. A chill breeze blew, against which I wrapped my cloak. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Lingering in my mouth and heavy on my stomach lay a dinner of beans and sausages. Better not to consider what kind of meat had been mixed with bread and herbs inside the skins.

Although not a soldier, I was with our army in Essex. Coming to my occupation, it seems so monstrously dull it’s small wonder that my first impulse was to state that Modesty and I were lovers. By nature, I am an ordinary person. While the empire depends on we who keep tally of its transactions, my calling lacks glamour. Not for me to strut in thigh boots, gauntlets and cuirass – sometimes gleaming, sometimes deliberately dulled – in the manner of Modesty Clay. We served the Majesty of the same Empress, she as cavalry officer, me as a fiscal inspector.

There – I’ve said it. Fiscal inspector. Whilst others slaughtered Her Imperial Majesty’s enemies on the field of blood, I merely counted the pennies paid to them. That was what brought me to Essex, and Modesty Clay’s independent company of light cavalry. It was not that I expected any misappropriation of the soldiers’ pay, although that needed to be checked. It is to be hoped that the honour of one of Her Majesty’s officers – and the good sense of our soldiery – would prevent such a thing. The penalty of enslavement provides a powerful additional argument in favour of an honest distribution of Her Majesty’s money.

Prizes, in my experience, are far more likely to give rise to malpractice. In fully ninety-nine cases from a hundred, I am convinced, this arises from simple arithmetic errors. My feeling is that schoolmistresses should use greater vigour when spanking the principles of long division into their pupils. But one cannot blame a gallant officer for the failings of her childhood tutors. In such cases, it is enough to redress the distribution of prize money, taking it from the overpaid to make necessary restitution.

Re: Jane
 

A goodly start. I must encourage you in this sequel. Are you going to blog it?
And is it anything to do with the JANE books by Evadne Price?

Re: Jane
 

Thank you, Des. :)

I hadn't yet thought about blogging. It seems too early. But I thought it might be interesting to post the first few paragraphs.

I didn't think of Evadne Price's Jane at first. Of course, on a little reflection, Evadne Price came to mind. Originally, I was seeking a monosyllabic ordinary name. My narrator says that she's an ordinary person. :o

Re: Jane
 

Work on Jane is going slowly. I'm not entirely sure where the story is going, and I'm trying to feel my way. That may be a problem with taking a central character, rather than a plot, as my jumping off point -- but I think that the approach has its advantages, too. :p

...and a character who says that she is an ordinary person, too... :confused:

I have written a bit of dialogue, which has maybe livened it up a bit. :)

Re: Jane
 

It's still in rough draft form, but here's a bit on which I was working on Wednesday:

While the prospect of being involved in a battle at sea worried me, my churning stomach was a more immediate concern. Not long after the Furious had been sited, I made my way to the rail to be sick. At first nothing arose from inside me. Just as I was concluding that I would not, after all, be physically ill, my stomach seemed to turn itself inside out. Almost at once wet splashed into my face – it took me a few moments of identify the moisture as my own vomit. A cry of disgust escaped my lips.

“Valuable lesson, little Jane,” the captain said, laughing. “Never throw into the wind.”

“Seagirl Spratt,” called Lieutenant Jones, “dip a bucket into the drink for Miss Brewster to clean herself up.”

While the first bucket of sea water sufficed to clean my skin, it took a couple more to tease regurgitated food from my hair. Dabbing at my shirt removed most of the muck from that, but it remained in need of a proper wash – whilst continuing cold and clammy. The smell of my own filth as I cleaned it away did nothing to settle my stomach.

As the morning continued, preparations for battle progressed. Sailors fetched stones for the catapult, I think part of our ship’s ballast. Marines daubed a sooty substance over the hitherto bright cuirasses, greaves, vambraces and helmets. Others stacked crossbows and swords ready for use.

Around midday, against my better judgment, I went down to lunch. Having forced a little food down my throat, I wished that I hadn’t, and soon returned to the deck.

Unexpectedly, a sharp breeze in my face made me feel a little better. Glancing about with renewed interest, I saw the Furious for the first time. Had it been an object at arm’s length, the warship would have been perhaps two inches long. A second craft, evidently – even my untutored eye – designed to carry cargo, seemed to be under tow. With little idea as to the vessels’ size, there was no way to gauge the distance separating us. Even had I known how far away the ships were, it would not have signified very much without knowing the range of our catapult and theirs. It occurred to me that I might ask, but was shy to do so.

Capstans creaked as sailors tightened the catapult ropes. Others rolled a surprisingly large boulder into its waiting cup. The first exchange of fire was clearly expected shortly, and it seemed wise to go below. Only a continuing queasiness stayed my feet. The cool breeze on deck helped to feel a little less sick.

With a loud thud and twanging of ropes our catapult released its boulder. Wide eyed, I watched it dwindle to the size of a pebble and vanish. A tiny splash disturbed the sea close to the stern of the Furious. The capstans groaned more urgently and a second rock rumbled into place. A great splash spattered us with sea water, falling like rain. They had returned our fire. Feeling, now, that I’d be safer on deck should our hull be holed, I remained where I was. A second time our catapult released its burden, noisier than before. This time, I saw no splash. Sailors and marines roared our triumph.

“What is it, Lieutenant Jones?” I asked.

“We’ve smashed their afterdeck catapult on only our second shot, Miss Brewster. Brilliantly well done.”

“Does that mean that they can’t shoot at us?”

“Not unless they can bring their three main deck catapults to bear, Miss Brewster. They’ll try to turn about to do that, but we’re faster and more manoeuvrable than they are.”

“So we’re safe?”

“Given good sailing – and we can expect nothing less from Captain Grey – we’re safe enough for now, Miss Brewster.”

“And we can sink them?”

“We could always do that, little Jane.” The captain laughed. “But you, of all people should know better.”

“Me of all people?”

“You of all people, little Jane. Your job is to oversee the spoils of war. We don’t want to send our prize to the bottom, if we can help it.”

“Besides, Miss Brewster, they have a merchant ship as a prize. There’ll be prisoners in their hold – prisoners we shouldn’t drown. If it comes to that, the crew of the Furious would probably prefer enslavement to death. The sea is the enemy of all, sailors try not to drown one another.”

“So they’ll surrender to us?”

“Eventually, little Jane.”

This cryptic remark worried me, but I didn’t care to ask what would need to happen before the Furious surrendered. Perhaps because we were manoeuvring to avoid their main deck catapults, our ship rolled and pitched more violently than ever. Inevitably, I felt increasingly ill. Having sucked my finger and raised it to the wind, I returned to the rail.

Leaning over, rather to my surprise, no vomit rose in my throat. Thuds echoed in quick succession. Looking up, I saw that several arrows quivered in the planking – the nearest only two or three feet from my head. Spraying sick, now, I ran for the hatch. Huddled in the hold, I listened to the sounds of battle – thudding, shrieking, clattering. In my refuge, I was safe from arrow fire, but – should we lose – not from enslavement.

Re: Jane
 

:) This morning I am quite excited about Jane. My starting point was my central character, without any very clear idea of what would happen to her (apart from what was implied in the first small beginnings of the book -- which wasn't much). Suddenly, this morning, an entire plot clicked into place -- and suddenly I know where Jane is going. The plot will resolve itself into a love triangle that grows even messier as it expands to a pentagon. Poor Jane! But a resolution is at hand...

It's a curious moment -- having a plot emerge (seemingly without much volition from me) where formerly there was none. :confused:

Re: Jane
 

Apart from polishing and (possibly) later tinkering, I think I've now finished the first chapter of Jane. If anyone wants to see it, let me know! (I've sent it to one person without being asked.) :)

Re: Jane
 

I've had a strange moment with Chapter 2 of Jane today... The writing has been going very slowly. I couldn't see where the current little bit was going, or why I should write it at all. It just seemed wrong. But I pushed on (slowly) with the idea that I might be about to delete quite a chunk. Then, suddenly, today, the little fragment of story has fallen into place. And I find myself thinking -- Oh, so that's what it was about... and I'm left surprised by something over which people might expect me to exercise more conscious control.

Strange business, writing.

Re: Jane
 

I've completed my draft of "Jane" Chapter 2 today. It's not at all how I intended the book to go -- and nothing much happens in the chapter -- but I think that it may be good.

Re: Jane
 

Here, not yet polished, is the start of Chapter 2:

Rain drummed on the canvas above my head. The musty smell of damp clothing pervaded the tent. Crouched, to take advantage of what light there was, my knees ached. From the direction of the marshes, something squawked, probably a bird.

The wind, abruptly changing direction, sprayed rain through the flaps – I shifted the ledger away from the wet only just in time. An especially violent gust all but ripped the tent from its moorings. The pole to which a lamp was attached jerked, setting the shadows dancing. Columns of figures, on which I was attempting to concentrate, seemed to shift in time with the shade. It was impossible to work in these conditions. With a sigh, I laid aside the account books.

An hour before it had been late summer. Now, the dimness of a stormy mid afternoon suggested evening – of the year, as well as the day.

“I don’t know how you can see the figures with so little light,” Modesty said.

This was her tent – although fully four times the size of mine, it was a cramped space in which to work.

“I can’t,” I replied glumly.

“Then why try? Tomorrow the sun may shine. Do you fancy a glass of whisky?”

My mother had no objection to my having a glass of wine or beer, but considered me too young for strong spirits. Once, Nicola and I had made ourselves thoroughly ill with a bottle of whisky. Although not liking to admit it, the experience left me thinking that mum was probably right. On the other hand, what harm could one glass do? Modesty Clay was a responsible person, and surely didn’t envisage me drinking too much.

“Thank you,” I said, “that’d be nice.”

“Are you sure your mother would approve, young Jane.”

“Probably not, but it’d only be one glass, and she’s not here.”

“Fair enough, Jane Brewster. But I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was corrupting you.”

“I’ve had whisky before,” I said quite truthfully, without bothering to mention how ill it had made me.

“Bad, hard drinking Jane Brewster behind the pony sheds.” She was laughing at me.

“It was down by the stream,” I said defensively.

“So much more sophisticated… Here you go,” handing me a more generous measure than I’d expected.

Remembering Nicola and I drinking whisky by the river, I sipped the pale liquid cautiously. My previous slight experience of strong spirits did nothing to prepare me for the fiery stuff in this glass. Choking, I almost spilt the drink – but just managed to save it. Modesty laughed.

Re: Jane
 

Looks great Odalisque!! I did notice a typo in the last line I think Jane almost spilled the drink instead of splitting it hehehe

"Now, the dimness of a stormy mid afternoon suggested evening – of the year, as well as the day." I really like this line!!! Thanks for sharing!!!

Re: Jane
 

Thanks, Candy! :) You must have read the last post on this thread very soon after I posted it. I noticed that she'd almost split her drink very quickly, :D and did a swift edit.

May you never split your drinks! :drunk:

Re: Jane
 

I finished Chapter 3 today (barring a some polishing scheduled for later in the week). Here are some reflections from after the battle:

“Why did you ask,” I said, after the whisky kiss had tricked down my throat, “about whether I needed to sleep?”

“I’m still tense, after the battle. You’ve released the beginning of it, but there’s much more to come. But, if you need to sleep, I’ll try to manage on my own.”

“What was the battle like?” I asked, steering the conversation away from masturbation.

“What do you think? You saw the girls when they came back. We cut and were cut. It all happened in a blur, really. My sword slashes and orders were mostly instinct. It’s only afterwards that I can think.”

“That’s what the whisky’s for, isn’t it, Modesty? For me it was to seduce you – for you to still the thoughts.”

“It comes down to the same thing, Jane. If we thought, we’d miss life – the pain and pleasure alike.”

Re: Jane
 

I dropped from sight on this board because I was ill and, afterwards, feeling a bit under the weather. But I've been fully recovered for a week or two...

The main reason for the extension to my absence was "Jane". A large proportion of my recent computer hours have been devoted to work on my novel. If anyone's interested in seeing any of the completed chapters, please let me know... I'll need your email address to send them, of course... Candy seems enthusiastic about the book.

I'm back now, anyway, although I don't expect the TLO to occupy as much of my time as it once did. The same, I suppose, goes for the rest of the Internet. Maybe it goes double for the rest of the Internet.

Re: Jane
 

Welcome back, Pet. :-)

Good luck with Jane - which I hope to read when I've finished 'Odalisque'.

Others here may be interested to know that my comments on each chapter (and your counter-comments) have reached Chapter 34, linked from here:
http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html
des

Re: Jane
 

I completed work of Chapter 6 today. Here's a snippet:

“Anyway, you were telling me about that New Year, the one when I was a chorus girl, and you didn’t stay up till midnight.” I sensed that Modesty was steering me away from a saddening topic, just as I’d diverted her a little earlier.

“Yeah, well, Nicola came over at lunchtime. We had soup made from the Solstice goose carcass. It was jolly good. Then, after we’d eaten, Nicola and I went out for a walk. We met a couple of girls from school who we hated – and called each other names. I thought we’d won the battle. My last insult was cunt-arsing ####wits, pretty strong stuff.”

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t have approved – nor your headmistress”

“Too right they wouldn’t!”

“And – after the cunt-arsing ####wits?”

“We went home and helped mum get the chicken dinner on the table. She allowed Nicola and me to have a glass of elderflower wine apiece. We felt really grown up. And Nicola was sleeping over with me, so we didn’t really mind being packed off to bed.”

“You were packed off to bed after the chicken dinner?”

“No – not that early. We weren’t babies. Nicola washed the dishes, while I dried and put the things away. It had to be that way round because I knew where everything went. Then mum got out her squeezebox, and we sang songs. Rolled back the rug and danced as well.”

“We had a squeezebox player for our showgirl routine. Her name was Harriet, a blonde. At that time she was about your age, now. She was always giggling.”

“My mum doesn’t giggle much, but she likes to play. She’s quite good, too. Better yet, she played the latest songs, like the one that began…” I started to sing softly, but jauntily.

I like to wriggle with a wriggly girl
Take her down and give her a whirl
Grab her by the hand, and let her twirl
Twirly whirly wriggly girly
Early, late or anytime girl – woo-hoo!

To my surprise, Modesty joined in before I’d completed the first line. Singing together, we rose from the bedroll and danced under the moon. She took the lead, clasping my waist tightly. After a couple of choruses, we fell to the ground, making love beneath the stars.

“It’s funny, you know, but I danced to that song not long before the masked ball – and our showgirl routine. It was at Solstice…”

“Roast goose?”

“Two of them – but there were twelve of us at table. Afterwards I danced with the usurper’s daughter to that song. And we made love.”

“Was she pretty? Or as young as I am?”

“She was much older than you – twenty-seven, I think. And not exactly pretty, but there was something about her… hard to describe…”

“That makes me think – I wonder what we’ll say of each other, Modesty, in years to come.”

“You’ll say that I was an old degenerate from whom young girls should have been protected.”

“I don’t think I will… But what are you going to say about me?”

“That you were a saucy young madam, who should have still been at school under the watchful eye of her headmistress… but secretly using filthy language to girls she didn’t like.”

“Do you think you will – really?”

“No – I expect I’ll say that you were lovely, sweet and innocent, a breath of fresh air in this camp. I’ll say that I loved you, although I never meant to do it.”

“You didn’t mean to, did you, Modesty?”

“You know damn well I didn’t.”

She sounded close to tears. Reaching out, I held her tight, lying on the damp grass, a cold breeze playing upon our near nakedness. It seemed to me, in that moment, that I was the adult comforting she the child. Never before had I known Modesty so vulnerable. With an access of wisdom beyond my years, I sensed that her captain’s persona masked a myriad hurts from an often painful life. We kissed chastely, as though I were her mother. One day, I realised, I would have a daughter – and would strive to protect her from suffering such as my lover had known.

“I wish…” I said.

“What do you wish, my love?”

“I wish that I could lift from you every bit of suffering you’ve ever known.”

“Then I wouldn’t be the person you love any more.”

“Do we have to be hurt, Modesty?”

Re: Jane
 

I have now completed eight chapters of "Jane". If anyone is interested in reading them, feel free to send me your email address (in a private message). I've sent chapters as email attachments to a couple of TLO members, and am willing to send them to more of you. :)

Re: Jane
 

There's something on which I'd like to ask the opinion of people on this site...

In the current chapter, I introduce someone whom (on the basis of her dress, make up, jewellery, hair) we would probably regard as a Goth. But I felt that, in Jane's world, people would not use the term "Goth". So I needed to coin a new term. I came up (instinctively, and with no thought) with the name "gravehouse" to describe the look. Now, I'm wondering whether "gravehouse look" is a propitious phrase for describing this. What do people think?

Re: Jane
 

Necrophyte? :eek:

Re: Jane
 

tomb-groomed

Re: Jane
 

I think "Gravehouse look" would fit into the story better than the other two suggestions. But the other two made me laugh more!! LOL:D

Re: Jane
 

dead gaudy?

I bet any Goths in your fiction are dead gaudy even drop dead gorgeous! :)

Re: Jane
 

I agree! :)

Re: Jane
 

Those you who have read my novel Odalisque (either in its final form or as the Of Bondlings and Blesh draft) will surely recall Lady Jenna.

In Odalisque, Jenna conspires to have her cousin (who is also her friend and lover) enslaved. At least one person has seen Jenna as a very bad character, but she did (it seems to me) have some extenuating circumstances. All the same it was (at best) a shabby way to treat someone.

Jenna is now also a major character in the chapter of Jane I’m currently writing (Book 2, Chapter 5). I didn’t realise that Jenna would appear in the chapter until half an hour or so before I started to write it. She seems rather larger than life (but she was a princess, so that’s only to be expected), and dominates the chapter. Her presence renders this chapter more like Odalisque than is any previous chapter of Jane.

Re: Jane
 

I've been doing a bit of extra work on the first chapter. It used to begin thus:

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshes. A chill breeze blew, against which I wrapped my cloak. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Lingering in my mouth, and heavy on my stomach, lay an early lunch of beans and sausages. Better not to consider what kind of meat had been mixed with bread and herbs inside the skins.

The meal had been presented to us by a surly waitress in a disreputable-looking crossroads tavern. A dirty table and filthy floor left me reluctant to eat. But I was not a good sailor, had parted company with my breakfast, and now found myself hungry. My party of diners comprised six or seven soldiers – and me. The duty of one of our number, Corporal Bobbi West, was to escort me to Captain Clay’s camp from a shabby seaside settlement where a rickety pier allowed small ships to berth. The country was still too dangerous for a civilian to make her way without protection. In any case, the district was poorly charted, I was no map reader, and I’d certainly have lost my way.


It now begins in this manner:

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshland. Chill breezes blew, tossing the reed bed into motion, almost like breaking waves out at sea. Sunshine, dodging its way through a rift in the cloud bank, did little to warm the air. A cold blast assailed me, more fierce than those that preceded it. Against this fresh onslaught, I wrapped my cloak tighter about my person. My chiffon scarf having worked loose – a turquoise flag flapping in the wind – I tucked it back into place. As I did so, my fingers brushed the golden goddess image about my neck, its associations reassuring to the touch. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Spending unaccustomed time in the saddle, my bottom hurt. After a sea voyage, my belly weighed heavily. Lingering in my mouth, and settled uneasily in my stomach, lay an early lunch of beans and sausages.

Comforting associations, evoked by the religious image, naturally included notions of the protection and bounty one may receive from a goddess. Yet I have never been a fanatically devout person. Whilst honouring the goddesses, and keeping their festivals, I’d generally retained a distance from their worship. At that moment, more importantly than contact with divinity in any direct way, the image about my neck brought back childhood recollections of Mum taking me for blessing in the temple. When I was aged perhaps five or six, the priestess had at first seemed fierce, and I clung tightly to my mother’s side. Then, catching my eye, the holy woman had smiled and winked, and in the sunshine of her gaze the world grew momentarily golden. The goddess figure also evoked the reassuring memory of my best friend Nicola presenting her to me. Clustered about were familiar faces from work – Lauren Good, Lisa Vanherring, Miss Frobisher, my boss – and so on. Somewhere in the background had been the sneering face of Julie Rhodes, the receptionist, but here on this foreign shore there was comfort in bringing even her to mind.

The meal, which sat so heavily in my stomach, had been presented to us by a surly waitress in a disreputable-looking crossroads tavern. A dirty table and filthy floor left me reluctant to eat. Better not to consider what kind of meat had been mixed with bread and herbs inside the sausage skins. But I was not a good sailor, had parted company with my breakfast, and now found myself hungry. My party of diners comprised six or seven soldiers – and me. The duty of one of our number, Corporal Bobbi West, was to escort me to Captain Clay’s camp from a shabby seaside settlement where a rickety pier allowed small ships to berth. The country was still too dangerous for a civilian to make her way without protection. In any case, the district was poorly charted, I was no map reader, and I’d certainly have lost my way.

Anyone any thoughts on that?

Re: Jane
 

I think the rewrite is better, Pet. It conveys more information and imagery. Good imagery never hurt.

Re: Jane
 

Thank you. I think the new version is better. I hope the additional imagery sets the tone of the book more effectively. The new material also introduces some characters, who will subsequently be important, at a very early stage. There are other changes, too, such as placing her doubts about the meat content of the sausages a little later than before, perhaps more in their proper place.

Re: Jane
 

I've emailed a couple of you directly about this... and might have emailed a couple more of you, had I not lost your email addresses in a major computer crash.

I've been thinking about making "Jane" the start of a series of (at least four) novels. This is what I've (so far) sketched out for the project:

Novel Series Project

Possible title: The Warriors of Love

• Volume 1. Jane (as currently conceived)
• Volume 2. Odalisque chapters 1-25 reworked
• Volume 3. Odalisque chapter 26-50 reworked
• Volume 4. A novel bringing together Jane and Tuerqui

Reworking Odalisque.

To be abandoned:

• Footnotes
• The epilogue
• Coarse elided dialogue
• Rigid structure of four sentence paragraphs
• Occasional passages at odds with current drift of the series
• Grammatical oddities (we slaves, etc.)

To be introduced:

• Material in the text to replace any absolutely necessary footnotes
• Helen Brewster and Janice Sherrin (the mothers of Jane and her friend Nicola) as characters

And that's it, so far. The temporal sequence of the novels would run Vol 2 - Vol 3 - Vol 1 - Vol 4.

I think, in any case, that Odalisque is too long to stand as a single novel. I think that it would run to more than 1,000 printed pages. Chopped in half it should make two substantial novels.

Does anyone have any thoughts on this?

Pet

Re: Jane
 

That seems to come out of the blue. No hint of that in your last handwritten letter.
Lawks! Corks! Crikey!

I'll say more in my next letter. But you must surely go for it. :)

Re: Jane
 

Get out the cleaver, Pet. ;)

Re: Jane
 

Reading this thread has a wonderful psychological effect on my writer's mind -- it makes me want to be productive. Indeed, it heightens my growing interest in trying to write a novel. You have revealed, here, to me, that there is an experience in novel-writing that cannot be duplicated in any other form. You've also instill'd within me a desire to read more novels, as opposed to short stories. The only novels I am reading at the moment are THE TENANT and OSCAR WILDE AND A GAME CALLED MURDER. Thanks for the inspiration. (I've also just this instant subscribed to your MySpace blog, which will lead me to more of your fictive work.)

Re: Jane
 

My Blogger site:

Golden Goddess and Bloody Times/Of Bondlings and Blesh

contains a draft version of Odalisque. That has been superceded by a greatly changed (and much better) version. And that, it seems, is likely to be changed again later this year (and into next year, too, I expect). I hadn't bothered to change the Blogger version of the novel because I was convinced that no one read it in that place. Either Des or I could email you with the up to date (so far) chapters, if you are (or anyone else is) interested.

Re: Jane
 

Novels are a real trip! I've written two and for the first one I was like a dog worrying a bone for two years until I got it right. The second one wrote itself in three weeks. I don't understand the process very well myself but I can say one thing: the better you can see the whole story in your mind the easier it is to write the first draft. It's a lot of work but, even if no one else ever reads them, I have two works that I wanted to create to my credit. (For whatever little that is worth.)

Re: Jane
 

Last night, I thought of the name of the spring festival for "Jane" (and the rest of the projected "Warriors of Love" series). The new name is:

Lifenbud

I think it would be pronounced much like "leaf and bud" which has much to do with spring. It would also contain "life in bud".

I'm rather pleased with the name.

Re: Jane
 

I put the 18th chapter to bed today. Only two more to go... Then I plan to rework some of earlier chapters, but it's coming on! :)

Re: Jane
 

Today, I put the penultimate chapter to bed and made a start on the final one. :)

Really, I ought to be making more effort to engage a literary agent. :o

Re: Jane
 

I can't wait to read it!!!

Re: Jane
 

The latest chapter mentions the credit crunch:

“A bit of that, and a lot of just drifting into things. It all started, I suppose, when I discovered Royal Victoria Credit. Coming from Surrey, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.”

“Means nothing to me,” I said

“Me, neither,” Nicola added.

“It was one of the Usurper’s ways of raising money, sneakier than taxes. The RVC was a company he owned. It loaned money to help people buy things. Only, of course, they had to pay it back, and bit extra to line the Usurper’s pockets.”

“There used to be something similar in Surrey, under the Democracy,” Nicola said. “There were half a dozen companies who loaned money. The Empress did away with them all. She hates debt.”

“Viva Her Majesty!” Diqui replied. “She did good, there. Royal Victoria Credit seemed great when I was treating myself to shoes and fancy underwear. But when it came to paying them back, that was another matter. I fell a bit behind with the repayments – not seriously, though, and I thought it was all right. Then came the credit crunch.”

“Credit crunch?” Nicola asked. “It sounds like some kind of biscuit.”

“It was biting off more than we could chew. The economy took a downturn, money was much tighter, and RVC demanded immediate payment of all arrears. But I was skint that month, feeling the squeeze as much as anyone.”

“So you were enslaved for debt,” Nicola said.

“That’s about the size of it. Maybe they called me Barguin to convince the slave buying public that I was a bargain. If so, it didn’t work. With so much bad debt, there was a glut of slaves in the market, and hardly anyone had the money to buy them. So, I didn’t sell, and was set to work in the Palace Victoria. Martello Brown told us – me and at least a dozen others – that we’d have to work hard to recoup the losses the Usurper had turned on our loans. Saw that each of us had a sample whipping to drive the point home. Bastard! I skived as much as I could, of course, and notched up more doses of the whip.”

Re: Jane
 

After (as I thought) putting the penultimate chapter to bed, I noticed this creaky sentence. It had slipped through the polishing process:

There had been much truth spoken when, on the flat roof, Modesty had said that having no lives on our consciences was an innocence we should not lose.

Danger signs included the word "had" twice in the same sentence, together with "having" (which is, of course, another part of the same verb). Too much having in a single sentence, in my opinion. After some thought, this morning, I produced this revised version which is, I hope, much neater (although not much shorter):

Significant truth had been aired when, on the flat roof, Modesty spoke of having no lives on our consciences as an innocence we should not lose.

I'm contemplating splitting it into two sentences thus:

Significant truth had been aired when, on the flat roof, Modesty spoke of having no lives on our consciences. That was indeed an innocence we should not lose.

It's a bit longer than either of previous versions, but probably better.

The struggle to bash text into an acceptable form!

Re: Jane
 

I have today reached the end of "Jane". That is to say the final chapter now exists in draft form. There is still much work to do. From the start, I was very vague as to how the novel was to end. And important elements of the ending didn't occur to me until I was in the process of writing the last chapter. At the moment, I'm very pleased by the way in which the book will end. It seems to me an extraordinarily uplifting conclusion. Here, in draft form, are the final paragraphs:

Reaching out into the dimness of the auditorium, I squeezed the hand of Nicola, the Surrey girl in the next seat. She returned my pressure.

“That,” said Nicola as we emerged from the theatre, “is the finest show I’ve ever seen.”

“Life,” I replied, “is a fine show.”

We stepped out into the street, illuminated by many flambeaux, light reflected in puddles left by a recent shower. Heavily laden, an omnibus trundled past, freighted with revellers – laughing, singing. A pair of fine ladies in exquisite evening gowns and plumed headdresses clambered into a cab. The driver flicked the reins and the wheels clattered upon the cobbles. Onions, frying on a street trader’s brazier filled the air with a heavy scent. Barguin handed round the last of her honeycake candies. Placing one on my tongue, its perfumed sweetness filled my mouth.

The sweet seemed a metaphor for what life might be, and perhaps would be. I smiled at the reflection – and at my reflection, in a puddle. Daughters – I hope that your lives will be filled with such joy as was mine at that moment.