Thank you Garth Brooks for the fantastic song/blog title.
Some of you know that I’ve been struggling for quite sometime with this new book. It’s opening 10k has been re-written four times now because I couldn’t find my voice and didn’t feel comfortable with the POV.
Turns out, it’s hard leaving my comfort zone and working on a new project. And then I discovered I needed a title – even just for me – so I don’t have to refer to it as “the one with Crockett” or “the Kiwi one” or “the fucked up one”.

Now this story is fascinating as well as being frustrating. I’ve been wandering through some interesting places looking for a title. This story was almost landed with the title: HUMINT. But that doesn’t quite fit, I mean it fits but not snuggly. So I wandered through all the usual suspects when it comes to intelligence … it’s almost tempting to go with something from this list: HUMINT, IMINT, GEOINT, MASINT, OSINT, SIGINT, TECHINT, CYBINT, FININT. Can you see how much fun that would be? IF I wanted to write another series I’d be in like Flynn. BUT, I don’t know that I do, yet.
I might though, but I’d also like to wait and see how me and these new folk get along.
So far so good, but we’re only 10K in and as much as I quite like a couple of them I don’t know if this is somewhere I want to park up with for any length of time.
Anyway, for now, this new book is called “FRIENDS” because it works a little better than HUMINT but we might get there yet … never say never.
FRIENDS is about a missing cryptographer, and the two intelligence officers trying to find the cryptographer. (But, also, this is one of my stories so you can bet there’s a shit-ton more going on here.)

Meanwhile the struggle continues … I know that if I stop over-thinking my brain will settle into writing mode and everything will fall into place. I know that. Doesn’t stop me freaking out a bit because I feel like my voice is awkward at the moment.

First glimpse at this disaster?
Opening para …
“Dave Crocker, Crockett to almost everybody, eased himself off his Harley in the Mitre 10 carpark. He removed his sunglasses, then his helmet and hung the helmet from his right mirror. Crockett pushed his sunnies back on, protecting his eyes from the glare of the mid-summer sun. It was only nine but already too warm to walk around in a heavy leather jacket. He shrugged it off, and flipped it over his shoulder.”