I’m writing 2 stories right now. I’m very interested in learning the history and culture of an area, and writing from that knowledge. Coincidentally, both stories involve time travel. The rules of time travel, and my philosophical explanations of it are different in each, probably because I started one 2 years ago, and one a few months ago.
Story #1:
After the Black Death, Europe is rebuilding. In these chaotic and uncertain times, a nobleman fleeing his dastardly cousin, Ring of Roses, stumbles upon a hiding Templar’s dwelling in the forest. He discovers a time machine and flees, accompanied by Roger Bacon’s psychic (and humorous) brazen head.
Story #2: “Ticktunnel Woods”
Ten-year-old Viola Morris did not ask to be born the daughter of a mad physicist. She did not ask for her mother to die. She did not ask to move from her orderly London townhouse to a farm in the village of Ticktunnel Woods on the Welsh-English border. She did, however, make one wish.
“I wish life were more like fairytales.”
On Midsummer’s Eve, on the abbey hill, when the lines between the old and the new world blur, her wish comes true when she meets a man in a yellow raincoat.