“The Strange Task Before Me” Gets a Release Date, and Here’s a Preview!
Mark your calendars, gird your loins (ideally not in front of others because, you know, propriety), and hide your Scotch—the forthcoming The Camelot Shadow prequel short The Strange Task Before Me: Being an Excerpt from the Journal of William J. Upton is set for release on November 20. You can preorder it through Amazon now, but only if you're exceptionally awesome. (For you non-Kindle readers out there, stay tuned for details on how you get your sweaty little mitts on a copy in other formats.)
“But, strange-looking man who keeps popping up in my update feed to shamelessly promote himself…will there be giveaways?”
Well, duh—what better way to shamelessly self-promote myself (hmmm…I think that’s redundant, but, hey—more me, so yay for that) than by flinging my wares out willy-nilly for all to grab? So, stay tuned for that, too!
In the meantime, here’s a brief preview of the story. Happy reading!
THE STRANGE TASK BEFORE ME
Being an Excerpt from the Journal of William J. Upton
18XX
11 June
My friend Alfie tells me that keeping a diary is all the rage in these early years of the reign of Queen Victoria, our revered paragon of moral virtue. Noble lords and shopkeepers alike are caught up in the frenzy, and so I feel compelled to set down certain facts to ensure that when they are entered into the historical record, as they undoubtedly will be, given the likelihood of my future eminence, I am portrayed in the most positive possible light. Of course, the good Lord Alfred Fitzwilliam also suggests that an intimation of intimacy directed toward a serving girl one has only just met when she placed before him a savory plate of mutton is inappropriate, and so I’m not entirely convinced of the veracity or wisdom of his counsel.
Two sentences into my inaugural entry, one written in secret but, like all others of its ilk, ultimately for the purpose of public consumption, and I’ve already suggested that I’m a lascivious cad. It’s not far from the truth, I suppose, at least insofar as my actions are considered, but it’s as representative of who I am at heart as I suspect the totality of this “private” document will be.
But, I didn’t purchase this beautiful calfskin-bound volume (from my own shop, naturally, albeit at a handsome discount extended to me by the handsome owner) to set down my innermost thoughts with respect to the scandalous (and, I confess, often unfulfilling) manner in which I behave toward the fair sex, as I find deep self-examination as comfortable and appealing as the prospect of having my leg amputated in an army field hospital. Rather, unlike the self-absorbed navel gazers or gluttonous gourmands intent on tracking their daily food intake who tend to purchase these volumes from my shop, I hope to use it with purpose. This, of course, presumes I have something worthwhile to record.
Which, at the moment, I do not. And so, surcease.
18 June
It would seem that interesting events in one’s life occur in inverse proportion to one’s desire to record them in one’s diary. One week in, the most notable thing that has happened is that I managed to snag a pair of trousers on a rather pernicious nail jutting from the door of the shop, resulting in the ruination of said trousers and a rather vigorous pounding of the offending piece of metal with the business end of a hammer.
I emerged scarred from the encounter, certainly, but victorious, and unbroken. Let us see what the next week shall bring…
25 June
I begin to question whether my diary is responsible for the recent lack of notable anecdotes in my life, or whether my life has ever been devoid of noteworthy events, and it only seemed to be filled with them because I wasn’t actually counting the days between the rare occurrences of interest. Regardless, last week’s incident with the nail begins to grow more and more epic in the retelling, having nothing to displace its pride of narrative place in my life since it transpired.
The nail will soon be a harpoon, if not a lance, by the end of the summer.
29 June
Today marks two years since Father’s passing. I feel as though I should commemorate the occasion, but I could think of no suitable way to do so other than to open the shop as normal and down an extra Scotch at the public house. Father would have appreciated that tribute, I don’t doubt, and would have been uncomfortable with anything more elaborate.
I wonder what Mother would want me to do to mark the occasion of her passing? Not that I can do so on the day it happened, of course—Father was always vague about the precise date she left us as well as the circumstances. Was it the day I was born? The following day? Weeks later? Perhaps I should simply mark her death the day on my birthday. I suppose the celebration would be the same—imbibing an ungentlemanly amount of liquor—though perhaps I’d refrain from spending the evening in the company of a member of the fair sex. I suspect Mother would disapprove.
Though, how would I know, having never met the woman? Or, at least, having not known her at an age at which I was capable of forming memories…
“But, strange-looking man who keeps popping up in my update feed to shamelessly promote himself…will there be giveaways?”
Well, duh—what better way to shamelessly self-promote myself (hmmm…I think that’s redundant, but, hey—more me, so yay for that) than by flinging my wares out willy-nilly for all to grab? So, stay tuned for that, too!
In the meantime, here’s a brief preview of the story. Happy reading!
THE STRANGE TASK BEFORE ME
Being an Excerpt from the Journal of William J. Upton
18XX
11 June
My friend Alfie tells me that keeping a diary is all the rage in these early years of the reign of Queen Victoria, our revered paragon of moral virtue. Noble lords and shopkeepers alike are caught up in the frenzy, and so I feel compelled to set down certain facts to ensure that when they are entered into the historical record, as they undoubtedly will be, given the likelihood of my future eminence, I am portrayed in the most positive possible light. Of course, the good Lord Alfred Fitzwilliam also suggests that an intimation of intimacy directed toward a serving girl one has only just met when she placed before him a savory plate of mutton is inappropriate, and so I’m not entirely convinced of the veracity or wisdom of his counsel.
Two sentences into my inaugural entry, one written in secret but, like all others of its ilk, ultimately for the purpose of public consumption, and I’ve already suggested that I’m a lascivious cad. It’s not far from the truth, I suppose, at least insofar as my actions are considered, but it’s as representative of who I am at heart as I suspect the totality of this “private” document will be.
But, I didn’t purchase this beautiful calfskin-bound volume (from my own shop, naturally, albeit at a handsome discount extended to me by the handsome owner) to set down my innermost thoughts with respect to the scandalous (and, I confess, often unfulfilling) manner in which I behave toward the fair sex, as I find deep self-examination as comfortable and appealing as the prospect of having my leg amputated in an army field hospital. Rather, unlike the self-absorbed navel gazers or gluttonous gourmands intent on tracking their daily food intake who tend to purchase these volumes from my shop, I hope to use it with purpose. This, of course, presumes I have something worthwhile to record.
Which, at the moment, I do not. And so, surcease.
18 June
It would seem that interesting events in one’s life occur in inverse proportion to one’s desire to record them in one’s diary. One week in, the most notable thing that has happened is that I managed to snag a pair of trousers on a rather pernicious nail jutting from the door of the shop, resulting in the ruination of said trousers and a rather vigorous pounding of the offending piece of metal with the business end of a hammer.
I emerged scarred from the encounter, certainly, but victorious, and unbroken. Let us see what the next week shall bring…
25 June
I begin to question whether my diary is responsible for the recent lack of notable anecdotes in my life, or whether my life has ever been devoid of noteworthy events, and it only seemed to be filled with them because I wasn’t actually counting the days between the rare occurrences of interest. Regardless, last week’s incident with the nail begins to grow more and more epic in the retelling, having nothing to displace its pride of narrative place in my life since it transpired.
The nail will soon be a harpoon, if not a lance, by the end of the summer.
29 June
Today marks two years since Father’s passing. I feel as though I should commemorate the occasion, but I could think of no suitable way to do so other than to open the shop as normal and down an extra Scotch at the public house. Father would have appreciated that tribute, I don’t doubt, and would have been uncomfortable with anything more elaborate.
I wonder what Mother would want me to do to mark the occasion of her passing? Not that I can do so on the day it happened, of course—Father was always vague about the precise date she left us as well as the circumstances. Was it the day I was born? The following day? Weeks later? Perhaps I should simply mark her death the day on my birthday. I suppose the celebration would be the same—imbibing an ungentlemanly amount of liquor—though perhaps I’d refrain from spending the evening in the company of a member of the fair sex. I suspect Mother would disapprove.
Though, how would I know, having never met the woman? Or, at least, having not known her at an age at which I was capable of forming memories…
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