How to use this Page

My latest book in the Conor and Anne trilogy has been released. It is available at Amazon or on Kindle.

Chapter 8

The cackling voices of fast flying puffins disturbed the morning scene as they approached the high cliffs on Bagger Island and began to descend onto the soft tufts of grass.  The comical birds returned from a fishing trip and were getting ready for their last few weeks of habitation on the island before going back out to sea until their return the following year.  Black and white coats made them look like waiters out for a day trip on the island, and their large orange and red beaks gave the impression that they were living too far north as parrots having missed their country.

The young puffins were ready for the ocean trip that lay before them and had learned to fend for themselves by diving deep into the water to find their prey.  Onshore they stood outside their burrows and watched the boating activity taking place below them on the slow rolling swells.

Two boats lay anchored below the cliff loaded with scuba divers and gear.  The divers stood around a chart laid out on the deck and were planning their next activity.

“That was a good haul last night,” said Soren to Ronan English, one of the divers, “Twenty gold bars and a bag of coins. We need to make another shipment to France by the end of the week.”

“The cave is getting full at this point,” Ronan replied.

Soren Van den Berg was working with the other divers to remove gold artifacts from a galleon wreck located just off the south of the island. The long red hair flowed around his face like Medusa’s nest of snakes.  His skin-tight diving suit gave him the appearance of a black seal basking in the morning sun.

The secret treasure hunt had been in operation for three years.  Soren and his partners, Ronan English, Redmond Doyle and Karl Kramer had been contracted by Don Rua, the owner of Bagger Island, to remove the treasure and smuggle it out of the country.

Don, the self-proclaimed Irish chief of the family Donal, operated the salvage company which had found the galleon using side-scan sonar, a remote underwater vehicle and a team of divers. They had set up a marine research business to hide their true purpose and so far it seemed to be working.

Bagger Island lay on the edge of international waters off the southeast of Ireland. Caves were visible on the south side and nesting gannets, puffins and other sea birds lived on the eastern side where the island’s back provided shelter from the prevailing wind.  Tourists visited the island frequently to observe the bird activity and recreational divers took part in organized trips to the underwater world below.

Nature had carved large blow holes and caves into the craggy terrain and when the tide was right the powerful waves would enter the hollow chambers and blow the water up into the air with a terrifying roar.

A large stone house above the layer of rocks had been built by the family centuries before. It sat behind a grass landing strip which had been shaped out of the thick sod along the back of the island. The strip was used by Don and previously, by his deceased father who had also lived on the island.  Don and his pilot, Joel, flew a Cessna 172 and housed it in a metal hanger at the end of the runway.

Tunnels populated the rock like an ant farm and drew spelunkers who often visited the island to explore the mysterious spaces.  Don allowed all this activity to take place, but also had other motives in mind. A busy tourist area was a perfect cover for the clandestine activity occurring beneath the waves. He knew he had to protect his cache or it would be over-run with treasure hunters.

In 1556 the Spanish galleon, Bella Maria, hadwrecked on a reef just off the south side of the island. She was filled with gold bars and coins from the New World which were destined for Spain but she never made it due to a huge storm in the Celtic Sea and sank off the island where she had remained, lying on the seabed for centuries like an unopened treasure chest. The wreck was covered with sand and kelp and difficult to salvage because it rested on the edge of a shallow shelf before the terrain plunged over eight hundred meters to the bottom.

The diving team lived in one wing of Don’s stone house and operated their dive business from there.  A perfect location on the high side of the island, it gave the inhabitants a 360 degree view around the island in case their activities were interrupted by some nosey government or meddlesome treasure hunters.

“That was a good night’s work!” said Soren as he eased the throttles forward on the service boat and headed for the small dock at the bottom of the rocky cliff.

“We’re goin’ to need more supplies from Cara Quay,” said Redmond. “Fuel’s getting low also.”

“We’ll get over there later today,” Soren replied. “Hey Red, don’t forget to buy more beer.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ve a couple of things on the boat to fix first, then we’ll be ready to get underway.”

My second book in the Conor and Anne, murder-mystery series is complete and will be released in April.

Details later in the month.

Stay tuned.

Denis.

Skipper Bill Blake eased back the throttles and slowed Girl Anne to a workable speed.  The crew hustled to their stations as the giant winch slowly began to coil the grinding cables over the rusty stern, pulling the giant orange meshes on board. The dripping net slid over the aft deck, loaded with herring sparkling like treasure in the evening sun.

“Stand by for the end of the trawl,” said Eamon, as the voluminous orange meshes coiled around the well-worn spool. He directed the crew to manhandle the pregnant purse onto the rolling deck.

“Wait! Stop the winch!”  He shouted. “There’s something’s stuck in the net!”

“What the hell is that?” shouted Gerry, the chief deckhand, as he moved closer to the pile of quivering scales. First mate, Padraig, helped Gerry push some of the fish out of the way, “Jaysus, looks like a feckin’ body in there!”

The crew tore into the orange meshes, cutting, hacking, scattering net and herring everywhere, freeing the body which slid slowly from beneath the massed pile of shivering fins and glazed eyes.  The torso was badly bruised and its arms wound weirdly around the remaining semblance of the person to whom they had at one time belonged.

Still recognizable as a portal of the body, the person, with one eye horribly bruised, and the other gaping wide open, stared up at its saviors.  A dark smeared mass of hair lay across the chapped and battered face. Gerry and Padraig rolled the body over and noticed a Celtic knot tattoo emblazoned along the man’s upper back.

“Hold everything!” Skipper Blake demanded as he rushed down the aft companionway, past the berthing area.  He grabbed the digital camera and hustled back outside onto the rolling deck as his crew worked feverishly to stow the haul of fish and separate the body from the catch.

“Drag him over here,” he shouted amid the chaos, “I’ll take some pictures.” Gerry and Padraig moved the body away from the pile of fish still streaming around it and rolled the body onto its back in order to see the face again. Its head in weird rotation, ended up with the good eye staring vacantly at the two men.

“My God, what happened to him?” asked Blake, moving the man’s arms from behind his back. The flash of the camera interrupted the crew as Blake recorded the ghastly scene. “OK. That’s enough,” he said. “We’ll need these for the Garda.”

He pulled out his mobile and dialed the emergency Garda number; no service. Then ran back up the stairs and onto the bridge. I’ll try VHF. That should work. Blake lifted the mike and called in his location, the name of his craft and a brief description of the grisly discovery.  “Girl Anne, did I hear you say you’d pulled a body out of the water?” asked the radio operator.

“Roger,” responded Blake.

“What’s your closest port of call?”

“About two hours from Cara Quay.”

“Make way for CQ. I’ll get the Garda and the coroner to meet you there,” the operator replied.

“Roger,” Blake placed the mike back in its cradle.

“Stow the rest of the catch,” he hollered over the intercom, “We still have to make a living.” The speakers crackled once more. “Get ready to make port at Cara Quay in a couple of hours.  Ice the body and wrap it in one of the tarps until we get home.”

He pushed Girl Anne’s throttles forward; black smoke belched out of her two stacks. Her bronze propellers bit into the rising sea and drove her westward towards the approaching land.

The crew worked quickly, piling the catch into the nearly full hold. They washed down the decks and stowed the gear.  Padraig and Gerry carefully slid the body onto a green tarp and wrapped it in ice. When they finished, the crew surrounded the shrouded figure and lowered their heads in the mariners’ tradition of respectful silence.

Enjoy.

Denis.

As a writer you spend months writing the first draft of your manuscript.You type the last word and part one of the process has been completed. That is a huge accomplishment in itself, but it’s not over yet.

Now you have something to work with: something to edit and polish. Will it change? Will the story hold up to scrutiny and to the feedback of editors, readers and critiques? Time will tell.

This is the best part of writing. The polishing and detailing of the work. The excitement grows. The anticipation of an agent. The rejections of some agents who like to live in their own comfort zone and play the odds to put money in their pockets OR the acceptance of your manuscript by an agent who sees a new writer emerging from the throngs of formatted prose and  safe subject matter.

Writing is not for the faint-hearted. It is all about persistence. It is all about great characters and a fast-moving story. But primarily it is all about the prose.

We as writers need feedback. We hunger for it. We need it to grow. If we didn’t write anything then there would be nothing for the critics to extol their criticisms as non-writers. They are the ones who buy books. Let’s not forget that.

And keep writing.

Denis.

Spent some time in Ireland with my best travelling companion. We stopped to edit the final re-write of Bagger Island and spent a morning of total detachment overlooking the quiet water. What a magical place!

More later when we visit southern Spain.

Denis

I am also in the process of designing the cover for Bagger Island. This is the fun part of the production of a book.

Color selection?

Type selection?

Should it be all graphic or a blend of visual and color wash?

Should the cover tell the story and put the reader in the location?

I will use a graphic artist to assist with the process.

The story is set on an island so water, rocks, caves, gold bullion and weather are players.

Just throwing this out there to see what attracts a reader  looking for a book online. It will be sold on Amazon.

Denis

The re-write of a manuscript is not for the faint-hearted.

I have one complete version at this point and decided to write another ending using edits from the first.

Why am I doing this? Because its more exciting and is more dramatic.

So why not just go with the first one?

I can do that but after nearly two years of work, Bagger Island has to be the best.

What to do with Conor and Anne?

What happens to Don Rua?

Who gets the gold?

And even more to the point. Who is the guy who was fished out of the sea in a trawler’s net?

I am getting closer.

This will get done and be out there for all of you to read.

In words.

Denis.

The story is really heating up. It has now moved to France. The end is in sight, then comes the fun part: The re-write.

Denis

https://www.facebook.com/BaggerIsland

I am now into the home stretch with Bagger Island. The ending is outlined and the characters are playing their parts.

My writers group (Village Writers Group) has been a huge help with this task. I have multiple monthly critiques from other writers and will use all of their input when I do the re write. This work will be well-polished when it gets published.

If you are an upcoming writer. Go find a writers group. You will get constant feedback and encouragement and also return same to them.

Excerpt:

Conor stood in the doorway of the Harbor Bar waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.  He scanned the bar with his “detective look” and his eyes met Anne’s.  They pulled him toward her as he walked over to her seated on a barstool.  Then kissed her softly on her neck before settling down next to her.

“I’m ready for this day to be over,” said Anne running her warm hand over his.

“Yeah, it’s been a tough few days. I’m looking forward to getting back on the boat and being together on the water,” Conor replied.

“There’s nothing like the wind in your face and the tightening sheets to get your mind off work and the daily grind.  I’ve planned my trip toBaggerIslandnext week with Soren, so that’ll get me back on the water or under it,” Anne replied.

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” Conor replied with a little edge in his voice.

“I’ve got to go where my story leads and next week I’ll be on the island one way or the other. I can also follow your investigation at the same time.”

More to come.

Denis

Page 202 is on the screen right now. Moving right along. Hope to have it completed by end of September.

Stay tuned.

Denis