Topher Lydon

You know what my friend... I am going to toss you a light story I wrote last month, that might cheer you up for Christmas. My gift to you, you get to read it first Now fetch cocoa and slippers.

plural. We have one here in England. There's one in Canada waiting to creep his way into power. France has one, Germany has one. They're salivating at their chances. America is, unfortunately, not alone. My blame falls squarely on Russian interference. This is chaos by design and the day we wake up and realize we've been at war for over a decade, we might be able to do something about it.

:: spits chaw out onto the roadside, hefting a belt buckle over a belly that looks like it is about to explode out of the too tight shirt:: Hi, my name is Buck, and I like to....

Oh Mi Hermano, Enrico places a warm hand around your shoulder. You see these little order cockroaches? They are just a symptom of a much larger problem, si? Comes from allowing something rotten to find it's way inside. No no, mi comrada, we must look at the bigger picture. Once I have Andres back, we will go on a campaign to stamp out the mother of all cockroaches. I am... nothing if not practical. Have you ever tried real Colombian coffee, have a cup, put your feet up. Watch papa Coyote take this Mister Smith and his Abernathy lap dog to school on .... what is the lovely American term, short bus? Si, I like this plan. They are overdue a little lesson in humility delivered by a son south of the border, and a son North of it working... ahh the expression eludes me... buddies? partners? team? Uggh it matters not, just know that they are due pain, and we will deliver it to them.

Cult of homophobic, racist bigots? El Coyote is going to eat them for breakfast.

Morning folks. Ned's learning to fit in, as Big Brother's should.

Chapter Nine Monday, December 9th, 2019 WORLD END: T-minus 93 days, 08 hours, and 15 minutes. East Block, Parliament Hill, Ottawa The war for the soul of the continent was not being fought with tanks or missiles—not yet. It was being fought in a cramped, windowless sub-basement office in the East Block that smelled of stale Red Bull, high-grade stress, and aggressive cologne. This was the "Engine Room." While Will Carter stood in the Situation Room looking at

Challenge accepted

I don't know... Peter's fiesty, spicey, and knows where the kitchen knives are kept.

21 Chapters in this one, so we have a bit to go. Should be done just before Xmas, then I have a couple of Xmas specials to release for other books. I have one done for Return of the Sun, contemplating one for Goofball, and I am *thinking* of a Watcher's Christmas Carol :: shakes head:: I am insane, a day for it I am afraid, over dosed on eggnog, and bailey's laced coffee... *ahem* not too much, just you know... Christmas cheer.

So I am closing in on my endgame for this book. I am predicting around 20 chapters. But these chapters are significantly (some of them double or triple my usual length.... nature of the beast with a book this complex) longer. So it's going to top out around the 110-120 k word count of the other two. I know how it ends, I know what comes next, and I hope it will all come together the right way. I think it will, I spent all morning writing chapters 11-13. I have two further chapters after that prewritten, there is also significant portions of 14-16 done. Justice for Jane Heppel will also come due, for those demanding it after book One. Sorry mental spillage as I am thinking.

Oh I promise a fitting, justified and poetically appropriate end for Hale. Chapter 14 or so... just to give you lads something to look forward to.

Hums MCR's Teenagers scare the living hell out of me

Some badges are earned in fire. Bobby Grady's for example

**Chapter 12: The Things That Go Bump** The night above the Mary Jane mine was not silent. It hummed with the electric tension of a storm that refused to break, a palpable dread that seeped from the very granite of the mountains. The moon was a sliver of ice behind a veil of high, scudding clouds, leaving the valley floor in a suffocating, ink-black darkness. The air was cold and still, holding its breath. High on a ridge to the north, nestled in a cradle of granite and scrub pi

Teenagers, man... Will thought facing the American invasion was bad, he is going to have Three Teenagers to deal with, at the same time. I think I hear the King of the North running away whimpering.

Tommy shone in this chapter. Taking what he's learned about handling Jacob, and helping Uncle Will. I adore these kids, they each bring something to the table. Something vital. I am rather eagerly looking forward to telling their own stories in the future.

Smith, ahhh Smith, such a magnificent moron. Putting Andrew in a box was probably not the smartest thing he's ever done. Sooner or later Andrew's going to get out of that box, one way or another, and then there will be a reckoning. Be it at Andrew's hands, Enrico's or one very angry Will's.

I also like that you can feel the tide has turned in this one. Enrico has flipped the game, which needed flipping. The kids are finally protected. Enrico knows about Rushton. Sarah... oh Sarah, hello Sarah :: cat and canary grin :: and Peter's home.

That poor little good boy is about to be corrupted with cookies and video games. And considering his Mom is looking set to be the Tiger-est of Tiger mom's... this will be entertaining

The key I wanted to get across is that those kids are now protected. Xue is about as lethal an operative as Enrico has, she's the mother of Alex, she has to be, and positioning her with the boys ensures that anyone tries anything again, and they are in for a bad, bad day.

Another big one, but there's a lot to get in for it. Good morning, excuse the mess but I got it done

Chapter Eight Sunday, December 8th, 2019, at 9:30 a.m. WORLD END: T-minus 94 days, 4 hours, and 30 minutes 24 Sussex Drive, Ottawa, Ontario. The silence at 24 Sussex Drive was oppressive, a hollow echo in the wake of abandonment. For Jacob Carter, standing at his bedroom window watching the snow bury the lawn, the whole house felt like it was holding its breath. He adjusted his glasses, the familiar frames feeling leaden lately. Behind him, the predictable so

Enlistment age in Canada during the war was 16 Just a heads up, running a few minutes behind my usual 6am deadline, I need to revise a scene. I will get it out as soon as I can (in the next hour)