Moving House plus a second extract from Chapter 29 of Mine to Avenge

This past week has been an exciting one. After 15 months of solid job-hunting, I finally landed a full-time job, after ten months of half time employment. It means a significant move for me - back to country town living in the town where I spent my last two years of school.
While I am looking forward to the job and the move, it has further slowed down my post-edit read through of Mine to Avenge before sending it back to the publisher to prepare the proofs. I have two weeks to finish up my current job, pack and try to find new accommodation from five hours away … but I am going to try to fit in a few chapters a day and send it off before leaving, in about a fortnight.

I may not have time to think about blog posts for a few weeks so I will probably post a few more extracts from Mine to Avenge over the next few weeks to keep it simple. I have been receiving positive feedback about the teasers posed so far, so keep dropping by my blog for a taste …

A second extract from chapter 29 of Mine to Avenge -

Fuelled and primed by alcohol, Landor’s body was suddenly possessed by an unfamiliar seething rage and courage. He leapt to his feet, throwing the photos back at his father, and tipped the coffee table over towards Spyridon, knocking the beer bottle and a stale-smelling, butt-filled ashtray to the floor. The bottle and ashtray shattered into thick chunks of green and brown, the glass ricocheting in every direction over the cold, bare linoleum.

‘I won’t do this … you can’t make me. You’ll have to do it yourself.’

‘Settle down, Landor,’ Spyridon said softly. ‘You’ll wake the boy if you keep on like this.’

Spyridon remained calmly seated on the sofa, maintaining eye contact with his son. Landor eventually lowered his eyes in defeat. He finally found his voice again, but it was hoarse and dry. ‘Get out, Dad. I want you to leave.’

Spyridon stood up and strolled casually and unconcerned to the front door. He spoke the last words on his way out. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this boy. You will play your part.’

He stepped out into the cold night air and Landor closed the door behind him. He leaned against the door, hoping his weight against it would be enough to keep his father from ever coming into his life again. He closed his eyes, wishing he were dead. He stumbled back to the armchair, in a dazed stupor, picking up another bottle of beer from the sideboard as he passed. He set the coffee table upright, and noticed that Spyridon had left his empty glass on the floor by the couch. He picked up the glass and hurled it into the empty fireplace and, for the second time that evening, splintered glass burst like mini comets into the far reaches of Landor’s lounge room. He threw himself into the armchair and drank the bottle of beer before passing out.