Blood-thirsty cults and new events!
Fancy a thriller? Plus from lectures to online readings, we'd love to catch up with you in January.
A very happy Friday Scribblers,
How is 2024 treating you?
I have a heart-pounding prologue from psychological thriller ‘The Sleepless’ by Liam Bell for you today, but before we begin our story, I wanted to mention three events we have this month! Hope to see some of you there and have a natter?
Manchester: Wednesday 24th January 1-2pm Lunchtime lecture at House of Books and Friends
I will be talking about how FOTW began, what the day-to-day running looks like and what I’ve learnt along the way!
Leeds: Wednesday 31st January 6.30pm. New Gillion Street by Elliot J Harper launches at Truman Books!
We launch the quirky science-fiction debut of life on another planet…with alien dictators?!
Online: Monday 29th January 6.30pm. Voices of Remembrance: Holocaust Memorial Day.
Online Poetry Reading with Viv Fogel, author of ‘Imperfect Beginnings’ and friends. Profits to MSF/Medics without borders.
Now sit back and enjoy the assured storytelling voice that belongs to Liam Bell!
Plus use code SLEEPLESS15 on the FOTW website for 15% off the beautiful French-flapped edition of The Sleepless.
Blurb:
Grafton is a single dad who works in local radio, but he’s always dreamt of being a ‘real’ journalist. When he gets a whiff of a story – a Scottish commune whose residents believe that sleep is a social construct – he decides to investigate… something tells him ‘the Sleepless’ might finally provide answers about his wife, Liz, who abandoned him and their son Isaac for a similar cult in India.
As Grafton is drawn deeper into the extreme world of the Sleepless, Liz reappears, and Grafton has to race to save both himself and his son…
Prologue
The disciples stood facing the platform, with their faces upturned. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, the armpits of their white robes grew slick and pungent. They were waiting, as Liz was, for Swami Ravi to emerge.
She watched the dust swirl and settle. Liz had put sheets over the entrances and newspaper over the wire-mesh windows, but still it found a way inside. The room wasn’t the sterile one Ravi asked for, but she hoped he would focus only on the stage beneath the spotlight – the taped-down plastic sheeting and sparkling instruments laid out on their tray.
He emerged from the shadows. As he strode onto the platform, heads flicked sideways to follow him and there was the sound of breath catching in multiple throats. Liz closed her eyes. It was her favourite noise in the world, the collective gasp at the very sight of Ravi.
“Dear ones,” came his familiar voice. “We have sacrificed much these past days and weeks, our adherence to the methods has been strong and we have lived the life of the wakeful. You are to be congratulated.”
Liz opened her eyes and murmured her thanks along with the others.
“But…it is not enough. We know this. This project is not to wrestle some sleep back, not to be content with saying that we have seen the error of that habit. Our teaching is not that we can survive on less sleep, friends. No, no. We are aiming for the life of the truly wakeful.”
His dark, curled hair was slicked back from his face. Liz tried to have it trimmed every fortnight or so, but Ravi didn’t like to sit still. Even now, he paced the platform as he spoke, his heel squeaking against the plastic sheet as he turned.
“In my conversations with the so-called experts,” he said, “a common critique emerges of my methods, yes? I have told you this before. This is what they say – it’ll mess you up, they say. And why? Because of these toxins. Even the chemistry of our bodies has grown reliant on sleep. Whilst we are unconscious our brain cleanses itself for the new day…”
He stopped, abruptly, and turned so that he was facing his audience. As always, Liz felt he was staring directly at her, talking to her and her only. A flush blossomed across her neck, quite separate from the prickling heat of the room.
“We lose seven or eight hours a night,” he hissed slowly, “to a fucking clean-up operation. Think what we could do with that time. Think what we could achieve, friends, if we were able to drain those toxins. Like extracting pus from a wound, yes, and leaving only clean blood…”
He extended an arm out to the side of the stage. The Sleepless craned their necks forwards, peered into the shadows. Only a select few knew it would be Max. He was an unremarkable man with thinning blond hair and a tension at
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