White is a short story divided into fourteen little chunks and available now for your reading pleasure at Poor Mojo's Almanac(k). It's very much in keeping with the style of Induction, my last published piece in that it's stripped back and kind of cold. Not surprising considering all the snow. It's also the first story I've deliberately set outside Brisbane. A reaction to Australia's disregard for its own literature? It wasn't really intended that way, but I'm glad my first published piece since the parallel import fiasco is a story set in London and published in the United States. It's nice to extend the middle digit to your antagonists once in a while.
So anyway, this is how it starts:
I don't remember the snowfall. I don't remember falling asleep either, assuming that's what I did. When I looked up from the manuscript the windows were darkened. The pages on my lap were smudged and sodden from where I'd dribbled onto them. I wiped my chin and placed the paper on the seat beside me. A fluorescent light clinked and buzzed white above my head. It's the kind of sound that should dissolve into the pall of background noise in such a public environment.
Yeah, my thoughts too. Anyway you can read the rest here for the next week or so. Enjoy.
UPDATE: It's been archived here.