Meanwhile, in the novella I'm currently working on, there's soon to be a musical duel between my double-bassist turned keyboard player hero and the guy that has replaced him in the band. I need ito come up with some more deas for what they're going to play. One of the Concertos for Left Hand, obviously, and some Hendrix, because my guy's a massive fan. The whole thing is a little rigged: no one's seen my guy's secret weapon of the Mega Synth of Doom, or has any idea just how big his library of samples actually is. But then his opponent won't be playing fair either.
I'm looking forward to writing the scene, but any extra suggestions would be much appreciated, if only as stuff I can Google.
And as a taster, here's a passage I nearly posted to picowrimo yesterday. Michael is getting ready to move into his new accommodation:
Jimmy came over the next day, driving a van he'd borrowed from his brother. They loaded up Michael's few possessions from Roger and Patricia's house, then retrieved the rest from the storage unit Roger had rented in Diss. Not Norwich, which was surprising, but Michael supposed Roger had always expected him to move back to his old haunt eventually.
All three basses were there; his favourite, its case heavily battered, had only a few scratches and one minor dent from the accident. He'd keep that, and sell the other two; sentimental, he knew when he wouldn't be able to play it again, but he wasn't ready to cut yet another tie to his old life just yet.
His books, CDs, and sheet music had been packed carefully into three labelled boxes: Patricia's work he suspected, along with the two boxes of clothes. Everything else seemed to have been thrown hurriedly into carrier bags or holdalls too scuffed to be used by the band's other members for anything else. At least his laptop and its peripherals had been organised into the correct bag. Nigel probably: he wasn't so dumb as drummers went.
"We'll take it all, shall we?" Jimmy said. "You can sort out what's for keeping and what's for chucking later. I'm not lacking for storage at my place."
Michael nodded. Somewhere amongst the rubbish would be his music and academic exam certificates, recent Christmas and birthday cards from his Mum and sisters, maybe even the postcards from his Dad he'd hung onto his entire life. He hoped whoever had packed his photos had thought to wrap them; he wanted to hang onto the one of Dad in its original frame, even if he just put it to the back of a drawer again.
"Best get started then." Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder. "I need to get the van back by two, and I thought we'd do a little detour for a pub lunch on the way."
In other news, I seem to have ended up with a lot of Seasonally Festive Greetings Cards. I may have to start deciding whom to send them to.