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Then came the decision

Hi all,

few weeks ago commenting on an entry the many options that were buzzing in my head. After much thought, and seeing that I have little to end the novel I have in my hands, I've made a decision on the historical novel that will follow.

with great regret on my part I will leave for a time in the history of the eastern Roman empire, leaving the stories I have in my head on Byzantium in return for a dip in the eighteenth century English. In the election have played a number of factors but, if I must be honest, the one that has been heavy Constantinople. Literary journey took her six years streets and, at this point, I need to distance myself a bit of the second Rome. Although not a goodbye, just au revoir, then no doubt over value again later on the shores of Marmara with imagination and a good story.

I have not yet traced the history of my new novel, only a few characters and a vague idea in mind. I also have to start from scratch with the documentation, ie, events, clothing, boats, weapons, construction ... And, as you can tell from these few words, the novel is set in one of the periods in which war was plunged our beloved country. I do not know how I will carry First look at the history of that time, but I guess I can not sit on the keyboard to write before, at least one year, so that this interlude I have thought to use the time by three works of non-historical themes.

I know it's an extremely ambitious goal, but I think with a little planning is acceptable. This year I had a professional certification and two annual courses I have played down UNED long time, so eliminating these two factors I think I'll be able to get more juice in my spare time.

In principle, in summer I have thought about starting the first of the works, which consist of a novel transformation elaborated script mock assault on a bank 'with surprise'. Why this novel? Because virtually every scene I have sketched and, with minor changes could be easily marketable in the international market, which leads me to the need to find a good agent when finished, but hey, better to go step by step. Once

(Christmas, God willing) the next will be the development of the story I wrote for the contest Hislibris, but left the door open to other possibilities, as I have found that such long-term planning are often be too feasible.

And the third will be to my nephews, the that long ago I promised to write a story in which they were the protagonists. Since it is not a novel to publish the will from time to time in the free holes. Now I have the plot more or less raised on the head, so hopefully not too complicated, just have to find the holes to get to the computer (which is enough)

Anyway, those are my expectations, not mean that tomorrow there is something that pour down my plans. But in principle, how well things are going my next historical novel would not see the light before ... 2014! Better not think I get depressed ... Greetings

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Some news

Hello everyone,

few weeks ago I said I was going to write some reviews for a friend who is setting up a military-themed website. Finally and is almost ready, so here I leave the link in case you want to take a look:

http://war-combat.com/

In another vein, I have given a big push my current novel and I have written about 75%, I think in a month or so complete it will achieve, if all goes well and the reviews of the UNED not distract me too much. And although I do not expect to see the light easily, here are the prologue for your enjoyment. Greetings

FOREWORD I should be scared. However, the feeling in my insides is deception.


Actually the fault is not mine. We see so many movies and television cheap just convinced that what the screens show a true reflection of reality. Therefore, the interrogation room that gave me more pity than fear. I expected a bright room with a large mirror that occupied an entire wall as a large window on the suspect to transmit the accuser look invisible half dozen detectives.

To my surprise, the room that you could almost waited patiently with his arms covered. The green layer of paint covering walls showed many cracks that sounded like a huge spider web, obscured by the passage of time. The famous glass mirror by which the police could see inside the room without being seen was only three or four inches of width, so that if two people want to look at while most should do it over the shoulder another. In those circumstances, respect and fear me as I reach the police were gone in minutes.

And despite this, you should be scared.

The door opened, emitting a dull snap that heralded the emergence of the inspector. With the same coolness he had shown in our first meeting, Detective Arteaga walked into the room, slamming the door behind him. He sat on the empty chair opposite me and placed a thin manila folder on the table. Without a word, drew several pictures of the cabinet and placed them next to each other on the cold surface. All of them showed a dead person, and all were known to me. Then I looked in silence, though his eyes seemed to say: 'now I know that you've killed'

kept his gaze for a moment, deliberately ignoring the macabre pictures that separated us, relaxing the muscles of the face to avoid the My face may betray feelings who crowded inside. Finally, the detective sighed, allowing his lips curled into a smile.

- What if we started at the beginning? - Said.

For answer, I just raise both eyebrows in a gesture of indifference. For the trust that showed their eyes, the detective seemed to assume that the whole affair had a clear beginning, a self-revealing moment in time, as the kick that marks the beginning of a career. And what's more important that home, to find a reason why a normal man comes to sit a day in an interrogation room as a suspect in several murders.

My name is José María Fernández, and I am one of the millions of insignificant people who populate Madrid. Until recently, my life would not have served to fill even a single paragraph. Married with two children, worked as an accountant in a multinational company based in Spain. My forty-six years that brief sentence enclosed all my life, a life without emotions, smooth, a normal life. In fact, I remember having experienced any unusual experience. I have not saved anyone's life nor have I ever been in danger of losing mine. I have fought in wars, or entered burning buildings, even a child during the transition. I have always exercised a trade away from any violence or complication other than the continuing struggle with bosses and coworkers. If a dictionary for the word 'normal' next to it you would find a picture of me. Even my appearance is monotonous. I am not tall nor short, neither handsome nor ugly, neither fat nor thin. Basically I'm the typical middle-aged balding and incipient stomach caused by a sedentary lifestyle. Brown eyes, brown hair ... the last thing I expect when I walk down the street is that someone to notice me.

Perhaps this is why, when the detective launched into the air his words I found difficult to recall a moment that could put the name of principle. Actually, yes was a key moment, a signal. It was the crack of dusk that I marked the path. But my story would be pointless to start talking about that specific event, because there are many factors that influence up to that point and, above all, what happened next. To understand the events that led me to this narrow interrogation room must go back, until the time when I'm not different from any other time in my life was still dull and vulgar.