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The Reading List

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It is a commonly know fact that writers need to read. It is also quite common, certainly in my house, that my life consists of work, family, writing, and reading, but unfortunately due to inconvenient things like needing to sleep my reading often gets pushed to one side. This however doesn’t mean that I buy fewer books, only that the ‘to read’ pile gets bigger. However I now have a few days to prioritise reading again, hooray! So the reading list is as follows, Duma Key Stephen King – finish. The Institute Stephen King – finish (I know but bear with me). Then I have some new books, and for the first time in a long time I am about to read an author new to me, Matt Haig with The Midnight Library. ‘Between life and death there is a library.’ Well that little sentence certainly drew me in, I’ll let you know what I think. Then I have JK Rowling’s or should I say Robert Gilbraith’s latest Comoran Strike offering. Now that is a big book, but hopefully I’ll get through most of it before the weirdest Christmas and New Year ever is over.

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The Little Servant – The Wait’s Son

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Hi, below are the final (!) opening paragraphs to The Little Servant – The Wait’s Son. I hope you enjoy..

The Little Servant – The Wait’s Son

Part One December/Winter 1280

Chapter One

Benedict’s eyes widened as he looked at the sumptuous food. He was sitting at a table laden with it and was being bid, by an unseen host, to eat his fill. The chair he sat in was huge, and his small frame was supported by a red velvet cushion.

The wonderful smells tempted him, and the variety of foods excited him.

Finally, he decided to start with some delicious looking fruits housed in smooth wide-bellied pots, and as he ate, the sweet sticky syrup dribbled down his chin. He sighed with a deep satisfaction.

‘Benedict!’

He was about to take another mouthful when he felt a rough hand catch him by the shoulder. The sheriff had found him out, he was sure of it. He tried to get down from the chair, to run, but he was held fast. The hand was too strong.

‘Benedict. Come on boy!’

Rising from the depths of his sleep he felt moisture on his chin and a prickling on the side of his face. He was gradually aware of a chill throughout his body.

‘Benedict, wake up, I need your help!’

With alarm, he realised that the hand on his shoulder belonged to his father. The sweet fruit juice was just drool from his sleep. The itch, an imprint on his cheek from his straw pillow.