After a few delays, I’m posting the next two chapters on consecutive days, as together they’re over 2,000 words… short chapter today.
I’m still juggling life problems, so it’s been tough writing my next Freedom Flights episode. I’m aiming to post it by the end of the month.
Now enjoy another Fevered Fuse chapter. Links to previous chapters can be found via my updated Snowdon Shadows page on the left-hand sidebar.
*Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
***
Chapter Four
Revenge
Friday 1st April 2016
Images, memories flicker on the edge of my mind as I skim stones.
The smell of musk and jasmine.
A name hovers out of reach as warmth floods my chest, and invisible fingers tease my body.
Someone I loved. I stare at a white mark on my finger. From a ring? Am I married?
My first love?
I tap my bracer, and letters tumble out.
Gwawr had signed ‘Enigma Code’. A nudge – a clue.
C for Cryptology – my Cryptograph. My weird juggling of the initial letters of clues to get an acronym.
But who hovers in my past?
B for Bran Blevins – my secondary school’s star rugby player.
Sunlight scatters across the llŷn.
Bran was not the first. Not musk and jasmine.
N for Nerys.
Nerys Jernigan kissed me – another girl. We fell in love. Shared lips and secret fondles.
Faced our fears and the taunts. Who realised? I knew how to stay low-key – as a Goth. My identity – at first.
Nobody discovered my first tattoo – or even the second. Except Nerys.
But we were outed by the bullies. C for Cadell.
Cadell Pryce, the choirboy-look-alike from Hell with the manic smile. He wielded the school bullies like a gang leader. They called us ‘dykes.’ D for Dykes and Degenerates.
A threat we thwarted. O for Outsiders and Organised.
My defiant words echo in my head.
“We have to stand up to them, resist—”
R for Resist and Rebels.
Nerys persuaded me to teach our friends Jiu-Jitsu.
At first, the situation didn’t escalate.
The bullies were suspicious. They sensed the change. We stuck together whenever we could – deterrence. Created a Goth patrol. Stalemate for a few weeks.
Our black garb spread, as did our concealed thorny-rose tattoos.
Mine is visible now on my naked ankle. I caress my rose, remembering fingers tracing its leaves. My caresses climb up my legs, between my thighs – until I shiver.
A chill wind stirs the lake, fractures the peace, shatters the calm. It disturbs my lonely urges. I tremble and glance around.
Can’t I have such drives? What do I need?
Water calms me – cools my confused feelings. Another swim.
Swimming in a lake is safe – safer than a pool.
The stink of chlorine makes me shudder and remember.
Bodies bomb me, hands grab me, push me underwater. That acrid taste fills my mouth. I lash out. Wriggle free – but no escape.
Dive deeper and away.
They follow. Trapping me with their bodies and arms. I can’t breathe. Water engulfs me. My vision glazes – after I see a leering face.
A black arrow darts past – grapples with an attacker. Then another arrow shoots past.
Hands pull me onto the side. Lips reviving me.
Is that a tongue?
Focus through the fog. Musk and jasmine disperse chlorine. The tongue is teasing and tasty. I want more.
We made time for more – three weeks of passion on the beach. Secret and forbidden.
Forbidden in the Welsh chapel eyes of my nain and taid.
Something, someone, forced us apart. Changed us.
I shudder and clutch my body, pressing my left breast to calm my pounding heart. Through tears, I remember my taid’s words. ‘In the eyes of the Lord, we can’t be the judges. But our reputation in the community.’ I perjured myself in the eyes of God. I pretended to like a guy.
Did one weakness destroy another? The shakes don’t settle. My pounding blood floods my head.
The ‘C-O-R-D-O-N’ I let divide us. C for Convert. O for Organised. R for Resistance. D for Degenerate. O for Outsiders. N for Nerys.
Was my enforced ‘change of heart’ so easy? Did I conform? Get married?
B for Bran Blevins. The perfect match in my family’s and God’s eyes. Leaving Nerys as a doomed first love. A schoolgirl crush – betrayed.
Apologies for the delay in posting the next two chapters. I’ve been juggling life problems and writing my latest Freedom Flights episode. Once that was posted on Thursday, I could schedule this post.
In Chapter One, Sparkle thinks about creating a ‘mnemonic’, which I am changing to an ‘acronym’ to be more accurate, although an acronym is a type of mnemonic
I would like to know how often you would like me to post, for instance, three times a week? I realise daily might be too much, whereas weekly breaks the flow.
That is more of a problem if I post short segments. So, second question: what’s the best length? Under 300 words? Around 1,000 words? This time, Chapter Two is 264 words – similar to Chapter One. Chapter Three is 1,706 words, which might be too long. However, there are longer chapters that I’ll have to post in parts to make them more readable.
Your feedback will be much appreciated. Many thanks.
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
*
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
**
Chapter Two
Speed Kills
Monday 11th July 2011
Lime-green is not cool. I’m resolute. Well, I try to be.
I wanted a Kawasaki Ninja, even if it wasn’t black. My scooter bored me. Will this blood-red Aprilia motorbike satisfy me instead?
B for Blood not Black. OK.
Speed is the addiction to drive away my frustrations.
But my tad says speed’s another killer he must curb. It’s his job.
I soar around a bend, then open the Aprilia’s throttle down the last straight towards Tremadog. The distinctive blue and yellow markings lurking behind a stone wall warn me and I slow – Heddlu.
I can’t have Sergeant Anwyl’s North Wales Police colleagues reporting his daughter for speeding. Seventeen is never an excuse. I must evade a first offence. Bad career move.
The town is busy, although not heaving like nearby Porthmadog which draws the tourists now the warmth of summer has banished the rain for a few days. Reason to avoid going that way and getting held up. I have a better way to save time. No marks for getting to college late.
The main road north is busy, and I wait for my chance to dive across the roundabout, then cut through to the coastal road along the Llyn Peninsula.
Control the speed. Other adrenaline boosts will come. Time to negotiate traffic.
The shadow of the railway bridge looms. As I slow for the roundabout beyond, a brick dislodges.
It falls. I swerve – into the ditch.
Instinct causes me to smash my bike. Tumbling. Alive.
Sheep bleating. Ewes and lambs. Whistles. Commands to dogs.
A distant tractor.
A farm. Familiar and hovering at the edge of my mind.
Smells are an elusive clue. Blossom scents drift in on the cool breeze. Baking bread tempts my nostrils and stirs my stomach. Clean laundry spoilt by sweat – mine.
So hungry. How long have I been unconscious? Or asleep?
Finally, vision. Shafts of sunlight creeping across a wooden floor. Towards the bed with its blood red sheets – wrinkled and tossed off. Embossed bracer undisturbed on my wrist. Black nightdress not hiding the bruises. Superficial. So, something protected me. Motorcycle leathers and a helmet.
As I stir, the nightdress rides up revealing a spiral seashell tattoo on my right hip. Hidden, unlike the red briar roses on my right arm and ankle.
When did I get so many?
But facts fragment like a mirror crashing without end. Like my motorbike tumbling in pieces.
Use that last memory. Bad move as my head throbs. But the accident is an anchor in a storm of memories.
I shuffle the sounds and smells into order.
Home. Well, at the family farm in Snowdonia. Mam must be cooking.
What meal?
The light on the floor suggests middle of the day – lunch?
Once she’s finished home schooling my chwaer. Lack of hearing hasn’t dulled my sister’s mind, and Gwawr has ambitions. Sign language and lip-reading have taught the family to adjust to her world without sound – to understand more.
My problems dissolve to nothing in comparison.
Was the accident connected?
I’ve been confused for years about who I am. My identity as a girl. Is that why I was attacked? If it was targeted bricks on the edge of my vision – edge of my memory?
Concussion causes memory loss, but enough remains.
Revenge. Mine or theirs? I’m presuming it was an attack. Wasn’t it?
Who by? Names taunt out of reach.
Get dressed. Food might trigger clarity.
I open my wardrobe and clues tumble out. Black clothes – tick. Long sleeve wetsuit – tick. Doc Martens – tick. Scuffed motorcycle leathers.
Why aren’t I in hospital? I should have been taken to one.
Why am I hearing lambs in mid-summer? Spring?
How many months have I skipped?
A wall calendar tells me. Five years.
What have I lost? Missed?
I want answers even if my mind won’t co-operate.
Who gave me the extra tattoos? The spiral seashell on my hip makes my heart race. Why?
Choosing the right gear is not hard. Bomber jacket the final touch over a T-shirt. Doc Martens setting off the jeans and studded belt. All black. They trigger a reaction. I tap my bracer. A for Assault. B for Bike. R for Revenge.
A knock at my door derails the thought process.
I respond in Welsh. “Dewch i mewn.”
Nothing happens, even when I repeat “Come in” in English.
I open it. Stare at Gwawr. Or is it? She’s older. Not the pre-teen in my head, but a beautiful teenager. No longer our childhood protégé, but an attractive woman.
Bury the confusion.
Too late. She reads me so well.
I sign, “Head spin moment.”
“We were worried about you, cariad.”
Embrace her. Tears.
My last memory is not who I am. I’m not that speed-obsessed seventeen-year-old.
The gap in my head is a chasm of years.
Hide this turmoil. The holes will vanish.
“I sensed you were awake.” Her smile betrays concern. “Everyone will be pleased. We feared the worst. But we aren’t meant to give clues. Doctor’s orders.”
Standard procedure for amnesia.
How do I know that?
“Mam’s food always inspires me.” My observation impels Gwawr to link arms and lead me down the stairs, saying.
“Always my inquisitive sister.”
Mam is carrying a steaming pot to the wooden table by the kitchen. More names – more memories. Mam’s parents, my nain and taid, sit at either end of the farmhouse table.
Everyone looks at me and cries out.
“We prayed for you to wake.”
“We missed you.”
“Welcome back.”
Hugs and kisses for the resurrected.
“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” Mam’s vegetable soup is superb – thick and hearty. The bread, fresh and memory laden. “I can’t remember the last time I ate properly. Before I left for college?”
Years have passed, but I want a reaction – information.
“Is that your last memory?” Mam struggles to hold back her tears. “Anything else?”
I ensure I’m facing Gwawr as I speak. She’s mastered reading lips, if we enunciate clearly.
“I remember where I am. The family farm, Tyn-y-llyn. Tick – who you all are. And who I am. Yes, crashing my bike on the way to college is the most vivid image, even if some of the details have gone.”
Mam stands up. “I need to call Doctor Vaughan.”
“Is he the one treating my amnesia? If that helps us. I realise the accident must have been years ago. But it’s where my mind returns to.”
And there are fragments demanding attention as they drift on my periphery.
Why? The doctor might clarify – if he wants to.
Childhood memories. Another home.
Before the divorce. Did I cause the break-up? For the same reason I was attacked?
My identity.
But the speeding teenager on the bike isn’t me now.
“Did I smash up another bike?” Searching faces is better – sometimes – than asking simple questions. “That bridge over the A498 was the perfect spot for an assailant. I always slow there. Position myself for the roundabout—”
I’ve been there since. On another bike – a black Ninja.
“Taught by the best.”Gwawr signs the clue.
Who is the best? Motorcycle cops. Tad’s colleagues.
So, the accident had positive consequences – their help. Or was their involvement in place already?
More questions. More rabbit holes for my mind.
Nain and taid grasp each other’s hands – glance at me then each other. Shaking more than old age brings.
“Please, give me time. Everything is there.”
I stand. Touch my toes, then my nose.
Tap my bracer as my tattoos tingle a thought.
S for Siblings.
“Time to walk down to the lake. I have to swim.”
“Not in those clothes, cariad. You have—”
“A wetsuit upstairs. Thanks, nain.”
#
My skin remembers the fabric – warm, protective, close-fitting. Neoprene. Perfect for wild swimming in any weather.
I change, keeping the bracer on as usual.
Gwawr joins me in her suit. She brings towels in case the sun fails us.
We jog to the shimmering water, the llyn that gives our home its name. Generations of Pughs have worked these mountain pastures above the lake.
We lay the towels on rocks warming in the sun. I climb another rock and dive in. It was always safe here. Embraced by the water, the moorland, and the sky.
I dive deep, feet propelling and arms pulling. Breath retained, released slowly. Push for the far bank. It’s possible. Determination.
But something feels wrong. This isn’t the water I crave. No waves pounding the beach. I grab for a fleeting image, but it shatters leaving just a taste – sea salt.
Why?
The coast road to college in Pwllheli by the sea. Except I’m no longer that teenager.
I dive back into the freshwater. My sister a rippling shadow beside me.
My mind knows but teases me. Sidestep the jagged edges. Lateral game-play. The childhood quirk. Gwawr looks the same age as I was when I crashed. Seventeen with my life unclear. College awaiting a real vocation. Indecisive. Torn between parents. Sheep in my blood but an urge to help people.
C for Crafty and Curveball and Clues.
Gwawr will play by my rules. Not the doctor’s orders.
Back on the home shore, the chance to probe.
“How’s college? Better than mine was?”
She dries herself, humming melodically, then signs.
“My sneaky sister. Research will get me to Uni – history probably. I’m tempted by law. But potential clash. Any suggestions? Advice?”
Law sounds like tad’s calling – law keeper. Heddlu.
“Not farming then.” I glance at my hands. Not calloused enough to be a true Pugh. “None of us had Alwyn’s gift with machinery, except Uncle Ivor tinkering with the tractors.”
“And Owen serves by fighting fires. Uniforms don’t appeal to me. And you always were a fighter. The teenage champion outsmarting law and order. Age has never stopped you – or troublemakers.”
Encouragement to delve. Have I got time? Time is different for a historian than for police like tad. A fighter for justice. What do I believe is worth fighting for? Did I challenge tad? Or did I heed his example?
“For truth and justice – and the Welsh way of life. From sheep to streets. Never a dead end then.”
“Can I leave you, Sparkle? Until your doctor comes. I have an essay to write on the Enigma Code.”
I gesture back to the farmhouse and smile my agreement. Her clues have been enough triggers for my mind.
C for Cryptology as in the Enigma Code.
A for Assault. B for Bike. R for Revenge. S for Siblings.
CRABS
Acronyms – my mind triggers. The rivets on my wet bracer help. And the tattoos tingle with new thoughts.
A number tumbles through my brain. For what? Evidence 101.
BRACERS if E is for Evidence and a second R is for Risks and Riding.
Could tad have persuaded me to join the police? At 18? Could I stand the discipline? I’ve never conformed, even if chapel keeps me from straying too far. But I’ve taken risks – risked the censure of others.
Where did those risks take me? Was the accident the price I paid? Did someone attempt to stop me? Even try to kill me? I had enemies even then and earlier.
But murder seems extreme. Or did I deserve it? I was a target. I took risks and stood up for the underdog. Do I still? Or was that my lesson? A lesson that decided my fate and career.
I skim stones across the llŷn and shift focus, unleashing my mind.
In my 7th January IWSG post, I discussed what I was considering doing with ‘Fevered Fuse’, the first of my Snowdon Shadows novels, featuring Sparkle Anwyl. Having pulled back from the traditional publishing route after a few reactions/comments to the first rejection, I began looking at serialising it on Substack, but I only have four followers. Here I have 980, even if the number drops for most posts.
Therefore, I have decided to post ‘Fevered Fuse’ on Writing Wings in serial form, starting today with Chapter One. However, as soon as I realise fewer people are interested than the numbers reading Freedom Flights, then I’ll no longer bore you. The next episode of Freedom Flights has been delayed due to personal issues.
Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.
FEVERED FUSE
A Snowdon Shadows Mystery
by
Roland Clarke
(Police Procedural Fiction)
Chapter One
Shadow Assailant
Friday 25th March 2016
Was the text a trick?
‘Urgnt meet @ SA. Plz. CU1900. C’
My tattoos tingle, so I tap on a random rivet fastening my leather wristband. My mind imagines the initial letters of clues to get a anagram. One tap for each letter. My Cryptograph habit is as constant as my wrist bracer.
T for Text and Talsarnau. C for Cadell or Carys?
Neither come inside the Ship Aground. Not Cadell the manic offender, nor Carys the disarming importer. Both need me sometimes. Why here in Talsarnau?
But nobody approaches me as I remain drinking and watching. Listening to Welsh gossip. Reading lips slurring our language.
Do people know what I am?
Tattoos tingle and fingers tap out letter clues on my black biker bracer.
N for No-show. M for Mystery. O for Offender and I for Importer.
Are these clues I should pursue?
S for Ship and Secrets. A for Aground and Absent. C for Cadell and Carys. R for Reason and Ruse.
I leave.
Nobody follows as I trudge to my motorbike in the shadow of a tree. Moonlight glints on metallic black, and I mount, easing on my helmet.
NARCOTICS.
C for Cryptology – my Cryptograph. Are my weird acronym mind-games misleading me? But the childhood quirk has kept me ahead and alive – and some say indispensable.
Who sent the text?
Cadell, who bullied and stole, but never touched drugs.
Carys, whose brother dealt in replica art. She has a way with everyone – especially us girls.
ROMANTICS
My phone rings.
I answer on my earpiece. ‘Sparkle Anwyl.’
A moving shadow makes me duck. But the blow smashes me off the bike.
Darkness engulfs me as the words lime-green is not cool swamp my throbbing brain.
Although I knew January’s Insecure Writer’s Support Group post was moving closer, I needed to give this month’s question more thought. That meant reassessing my writing intentions.
Although I’ve stopped submitting my Snowdon Shadows police procedural, Fevered Fuse, to publishers, I haven’t abandoned it. Too much went into it, from my time and inspiration to my editor’s input over the years, and to the beta readers’ and other readers’ encouragement.
Although Substack was an option, I must increase my Substack followers before I post any of ‘Fevered Fuse’ there. Otherwise, I could release it in serial form to Sparkle Anwyl’s fans, but only after another novel featuring the quirky lesbian detective is finished. Another option is to submit the shorts covering Sparkle’s early cases, which are the origin of ‘Fevered Fuse’.
Three draft Snowdon Shadows novels exist: Fates Maelstrom, Seeking a Knife, and Ruined Retreat, offering years of work.
Naturally, my heart is still in Wales, although I remain 100% behind the brave people of Ukraine.
As for my Ukraine saga, Freedom Flights, our Ninja Captain was correct in saying, “I know you are passionate about Ukraine. Keep after that story. Don’t let people forget”. The people of Ukraine are why I keep writing. I’m still attempting to write enough episodes to cover two earlier months every current month. Except in December, I only covered events that took place between June 1st and early July 2025. I will eventually post the second part of the July episode.
Slava Ukraini
Heroiam slava!
**
Every month, IWSG announces a question that members can answer in their IWSG posts. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
January 7 question – Is there anything in your writing plans for 2026 that you are going to do that you couldn’t get done in 2025?
For a few hours, I was unsure which unfinished opus needed to come out of the vault, after I ignored it in 2025. However, I spent New Year’s Day working on ‘Fates Maelstrom’ after my number one reader, Rebecca Douglass, gave the opening three chapters her seal of approval. One day of writing became four, as I was convinced this had to be completed… well, draft six became my 2026 priority, alongside Freedom Flights.
I started ‘Fates Maelstrom’ back in 2012 as a psychological mystery set on Dartmoor in Southwest England. However, when the plot was relocated to North Wales, I added a new character – Welsh detective, Sparkle Anwyl. This was planned as the first of the Snowdon Shadows series, until various Sparkle shorts evolved into ‘Fevered Fuse’. So, Fates Maelstrom v6 is set after the Fevered Fuse events and features some of the same characters, like Kama, which creates interesting backstory challenges. Also, the plotlines have developed since v5, and the POVs, which were 3rd person, are now just Sparkle’s 1st-person POV.
The crucial issue is allocating writing time over 2026. My intention is to commit to writing per month, Freedom Flights for three weeks, and Fates Maelstrom for one week.
Please note that the Snowdon Shadows page on this site is not totally up to date… yet.
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and our hashtag is #IWSG.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group Day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Although I knew December’s Insecure Writer’s Support Group post was speeding closer, I forced myself to focus on completing November’s priorities first. So, this month’s question had me stumped… out with no runs. But I’ve jumped ahead and need to back up to address my writing intentions.
Last month, I said my Snowdon Shadows police procedural, Fevered Fuse, was shelved, but some kind writers offered to critique a few chapters for me, as that decision was preying on my mind. They helped me devise a strategy for the series… well, for the first two books, in chronological order. Naturally, my heart is still in Wales.
‘Fevered Fuse’ needs work before it is publishable, unless I release it in serial form to fans of Sparkle Anwyl, its quirky lesbian detective. One issue could be that the novel attempted to incorporate Sparkle’s early cases and her earlier teenage conflicts.
‘Fates Maelstrom’, the second book in the series, is my priority and a better use of my final time here, if I avoid all the pitfalls that plague ‘Fevered Fuse’.
The two other titles, No. 3, Seeking a Knife, and No.4, ‘Ruined Retreat’, will remain as drafts to revise if an earlier title encourages readers to demand more of Sparkle.
As for my Ukraine saga, Freedom Flights, our Ninja Captain was correct in saying, “I know you are passionate about Ukraine. Keep after that story. Don’t let people forget”. The people of Ukraine are why I keep writing. I’m now attempting to write enough episodes to cover two earlier months every current month. Hence, in November, I covered events that took place between April 1st and May 30th, 2025.
Slava Ukraini
Heroiam slava!
**
Every month, IWSG announces a question that members can answer in their IWSG posts. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
December 3 question – As a writer, what was one of the coolest/best gifts you ever received?
My first thought was, “I’m stumped, or I’m floored”, since nothing came to mind.
Then, like last month, I remembered “A Sailor’s Life for me”. Aged about eleven, I wrote an essay on ‘A Day in the Life of a Navy Helicopter pilot’, which was among the winners of a memorable three days with the Royal Navy. All the prize-winners went to Portsmouth, toured HMS Victory, visited the Fleet Air Arm’s HMS Ariel, went inside a docked submarine at HMS Dolphin, and travelled on the guided missile destroyer, HMS Devonshire, along the South Coast from Portsmouth to Devonport. Of course, I didn’t join the Royal Navy, as my career took a different path, as I covered last month.
HMS Victory in drydock at Portsmouth Historic Dockyard. Date: 9 May 2008 (according to Exif data). Source/Author: Ballista
However, prizes aren’t gifts, and that means thinking of one that gets me off the floor…
Maybe a tape recorder. Recently, my wife, Juanita, bought me a recorder so I could tape crazy thoughts at night or when my laptop was asleep. Great gift and better than the high-tech digital one that was too small for my fingers in the dark. The only problem is when Juanita asks who I’m talking to. Perhaps creating an acronym, as my detective Sparkle Anwyl does, is my most accessible mnemonic device.
Looking at my desk reminds me of other cool gifts: the decorated notebooks that friends and family have given me over the years… some too attractive for my scrawl.
There are sure to be cooler gifts, but they’ve evaded recall.
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and our hashtag is #IWSG.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group Day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
The months seem to pass by so fast, and another Insecure Writer’s Support Group post is almost here. Time again to update my writing plans…or rather to request some feedback.
Since my Snowdon Shadows police procedural, Fevered Fuse, was rejected after my first submission, I’ve been thinking about my next step.
As I let my editor know what happened, she kindly sent me some suggestions. The one that struck me as most achievable at this point was being active on Substack, on which I discovered I had a dormant account. First, I should start writing short pieces, and then she suggested I post one of my existing novels or novellas in serialised form, which I should monetise.
I have four possible manuscripts that I could serialise, and that’s where I need help choosing the best one.
Fevered Fuse: Although this is fully edited and an excellent choice, I’d better hold this novel back as long as I’m still submitting the manuscript.
Freedom Flights: As the present-day episodes are on this blog, I could serialise the pre-2022 growth of the Chayka Family and their aviation business based in Canada, Chayka Air. The first four chapters (54 pages) are written, but the first one is my short story in the 2020 IWSG Anthology (No. 5), Voyagers: The Third Ghost, so not useable.
Tortuous Terrain: An early draft of the sequel to Spiral of Hooves, my published novel, so in need of revision &/r editing. A possible means to promote my debut book.
Eagle Crossing: An early draft of an extensively researched alternate history set in a 21st-century Viking North America arising from Leif Eriksson settling Vinland permanently in 1000 AD, and founding Kanata. Has potential legs.
I will probably still submit Fevered Fuse to at least two more of the small publishers on my researched list… but only if I’m convinced that the manuscript is publishable (as it stands). Or I will continue revising ‘Fates Maelstrom’, the second book in my Snowdon Shadows series, until it reads almost as engrossing as the audiobooks I listen to.
I’ve just posted another episode of my Ukraine saga, Freedom Flights. If you manage to read Conviction and Commitment, Part 1, please be patient waiting for Part 2. I must make it worth reading before posting it online.
Obviously, I’m also still following the news from Ukraine.
Slava Ukraini
Heroiam slava!
**
Every month, IWSG announces a question that members can answer in their IWSG posts. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience, or a story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
September 3 question – What are your thoughts on using AI, such as GPChat, Raptor, and others, with your writing? Would you use it for research, storybible, or creating outlines\beats?
Last month, I made my attitude to unscrupulous AI publishers clear. However, I can see the benefits of AI for our type of writing, even if I sometimes get frustrated when my AI-driven grammar software messes up my creativity – Copilot, I’m pointing at you.
As for the examples in the question, I don’t use them, nor am I tempted. I checked if any of the aforementioned ‘unscrupulous publishers’ produced them.
If I used any AI app besides grammar services, I would use Edwina, Fictionary’s Helpful AI Writing Instructor. Fictionary is the Story Editing software I’ve used on & off for some years, usually while writing early drafts and before I send a manuscript to my editor.
Incidentally, Kristina Stanley, best-selling author of the Stone Mountain Mystery Series, founded Fictionary and was one of the authors who helped me launch ‘Spiral of Hooves’.
Fellow writers, some of you might be interested in this FREE webinar on Thursday, September 11, 2025, at 2:00 pm Eastern Time, organised by The Authors Guild Foundation – The AI Revolution in Book Publishing. I would attend, but my carer is still here at that time. *
Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG, and our hashtag is #IWSG.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group Day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Writing Wings 