andy cannon
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Everything posted by andy cannon
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TBH I have never created characters less self aware than these two. Only the narrator of Blame it on the Eggnog even comes close.
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I remember a few years ago when the Flyers traded Claude Giroux, superstar player, captain, literally the face of the franchise--- a banner hung on the outside of the arena with his face fifty feet tall. I think he was fairly phlegmatic about since he was traded to a team in playoff contention, but the Philly fans were sad and still miss him.
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Jackson Three Months Later I hated meetings almost as much as I hated losing championships. The first usually ended with accountants explaining why the salary cap was everyone's problem but theirs. The second stayed with me for months. Unfortunately, today's meeting promised both. I looked through the glass wall of Chicago Wolves General Manager Brian Keller's office towards the practice rink below. Morning skate had finished half an hour ago. Equipment staff drifted a
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Thank you! Heated Rivalry is a huge inspiration. I have watched the scene where Shane and Ilya sit and the table with Shane's parents so many times I have memorized the dialogue. Also the "stupid Canadian Wolfbird" scene. Just superb character development and writing.
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Jackson's POV coming up.
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Thanks! I hope you enjoy!
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There are a couple of popular genres that leave me cold, so I know what you mean. I hope you find something to keep your interest!
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Noah It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jackson Lemaire is a fucking asshole who had somehow accumulated an entirely unreasonable amount of hockey glory, yet here I was, sulking as I watched him on the cusp of lifting the championship trophy. Adding to the insult was the memory of his Chicago Wolves team eliminating us from the competition just two weeks ago. The insufferable smirk on his face. And that playoff beard! Mine looked like a few bits of dryer lint stuck on my chin. His
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Noah Lindholm and Jackson Lemaire have spent six years trying to beat each other during hockey games. Now they're expected to play on the same line for the Philadelphia Bobcats, and neither is happy about it. At first, everything is a battle: practices, power plays, stubborn personalities and a locker room determined to tease them into getting along. But somewhere between a children's hospital visit, team barbecues, delayed flights and countless hours on the ice, rivalry gives way to something quieter. Neither notices that conversations last longer, silences grow easier, or that they're becoming each other's first choice for company.
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chapter ### Chapter Thirty one Snow fell rarely and never stayed long in Penmere . It arrived one Friday evening on a wind from the north, settled briefly upon the rooftops and the higher slopes beyond the harbour, then disappeared before midday beneath rain drifting in from the sea. Christopher watched the last patches melting outside the kitchen window while the kettle boiled. Marco was attempting to understand the coffee machine. "It should not require this many
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--- A few days later the sea had forgotten its anger. The storm had passed east during the night, leaving behind washed pavements, broken branches and a harbour littered with driftwood. Fishing boats returned one by one as the swell settled into the familiar winter rhythm that everyone in Penmere recognised. The wind still carried a sharp edge, though it no longer possessed the voice that had shaken the cliffs. Christopher walked along the promenade with his hands in the pock
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Rain swept across the summit until the standing stones appeared only as pale shadows within the darkness. The sea struck the cliffs below with such force that the ground trembled beneath Christopher's feet. Marco stood just beyond the circle beside the outer stones where Vale had vanished. Neither of them spoke. Beyond the harbour, the clouds were breaking apart, revealing a narrow strip of pale sky above the sea. Marco rested both hands upon the stone. He turned when he heard Christop
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The wind drove sheets of rain across the summit. Christopher climbed the last few steps towards the circle while Marco remained behind. The ancient stones emerged and vanished again beneath curtains of spray. Water streamed between them, carrying soil and broken leaves towards the cliffs. Christopher stopped within the circle. For a long moment nothing happened. The storm roared around him. Then, quite naturally, he became aware that someone else stood opposite him. Vale. He looke
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The first warning arrived before dawn. Christopher woke to the sound of the wind. It pressed against the windows with a steady force that set the old sash frames trembling in their fittings. Somewhere outside a loose gate struck its post again and again. Rain rattled briefly against the glass before the gust carried it elsewhere. He lay still for a long moment. The sea sounded different. Every child raised in Penmere knew the voices of the water. Calm mornings carried a soft breathing bene
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Night had settled over the Tor before the three of them reached the summit. Clouds drifted slowly across the moon, allowing silver light to wash over the limestone before drawing it once more into shadow. The wind carried the smell of salt from the sea below, while somewhere beyond the cliffs waves broke with slow, patient rhythm against the rocks. The excavation lay silent beneath protective coverings. The ancient circle had disappeared beneath earth once more. Christopher looked from
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I am so sorry! That was left over from an earlier draft, but I have corrected that.
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Christopher arrived back in Penmere just before dusk. The train curved along the final stretch of coastline, and the sea appeared beyond the window with such sudden familiarity that something inside him eased before he consciously recognised why. The water lay grey beneath a sky streaked with pale amber where the sun had begun its slow descent. Gulls wheeled above the harbour entrance. The Tor stood beyond the town, dark against the evening light, as familiar as it had been every day of Christo
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Christopher packed a single overnight bag. He told the school he needed a day away before the half-term rush. Hannah accepted the explanation without question, though she studied him longer than usual before wishing him a pleasant break. He left before sunrise. The train climbed steadily away from the coast, following valleys that gradually widened into farmland. The last glimpse of the sea vanished behind wooded hills. Villages appeared where the stone carried a different colour and
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One would reasonably expect that with nearly twenty centuries of observation and cogitation that Vale could come up with a better response than "maybe?... I dunno" but here we are. Some answers in the next chapter... maybe? I dunno.
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Christopher did not seek Vale immediately. Three days passed after the incident upon the harbour wall, three days in which he returned to school, marked exercise books, attended meetings and attempted to behave as though nothing had changed. The effort became increasingly difficult. Memories continued slipping through the boundaries of ordinary life. A Year Nine pupil asked a question about Roman Britain and, for a moment, Christopher found himself searching for an answer in a language
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I prescribe a double shot of Highlands single malt and bed rest. Repeat as needed.
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I wish I could say that all would become clear in the next few chapters, but the I worry that the confusion may remain!
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Beats the cliche of miscommunication as the catalyst for a relationship crisis!
