Hey, thanks for dropping in!
I know that this page is all about the Cassidy Chronicles, but I have written other things. The best of them are up on Amazon; there are a few others which may yet see light of day, but there are lots and lots of pieces which just never went anywhere.
The following is one of them.
I wrote it probably eight or nine years ago. Got the whole first chapter of a book out, and then — poof! Inspiration vanished.
So here you go, a look at a story that went nowhere. I’d love to hear your thoughts; maybe it’ll spark something and Alice can finally find out where she’s going.
“Oh, what an unusual dream!”
Alice gave the curious incident no further thought, being preoccupied with the responsibilities inherent in being the second daughter of the Vice-Chancellor of Oxford University. The curious story and bizarre creatures that the good Reverend created for her and her sisters was a pleasant distraction, yes, on a boring summer outing. Still, there was no time for such frivolities in her daily life.
Her nights, and her dreams, were much different. The Dormouse and the Cheshire Cat, the Mad Hatter and the Queen of Hearts, all visited her in the darkness and gave the tale a persistence that eluded most fantasies.
There were summers at the family home of Penmorfa, on the west shore of Llandudno in Wales; there was an extended European tour as a young woman with her two closest sisters; there was even time for a brief and scandalous fling with Prince Leopold, a fortnight that both parties denied. Yet there were always the stories, floating in the back of her mind.
It was scarcely a week after the tragic death of her sister Edith that she found herself at the bank of the Isis in Oxford again. The brief English summer was in full bloom that day, and her feet led her along the river. She stopped and stared out over the water, thinking deep thoughts of her life, so frivolous, and the sudden loss of Edith, when she was knocked to her knees by someone running into her.
“I beg your pardon!” she said fiercely, turning to confront the uncouth clod, who apparently was caught under her, then stopped.
“Oh, dear, it’s you again, dear me, dear me! Oh! Oh! I shall be late again, we can’t have that, oh, no, we can’t!”
It was the White Rabbit, unchanged after all the years. He still had the waistcoat, and the old pocket-watch, but his hurried progress to the rabbit-hole had been interrupted by the adult-sized Alice.