I'm checking in from the (slightly less glamorous) Membury Motorway Services this Sunday.
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Nursing a slight hangover so wanted to run with something a tad different.
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It's been incredible getting feedback on The Monkey State so far.
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I had no idea if anyone would finish it, let alone enjoy it.
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Imposter syndrome is real.

Obviously feedback can be positive or negative.
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I've yet to have anything to really test me on the negative front...
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But several readers have mentioned words along the lines of 'It's a bit of a slow burn'.

I'm on the fence about whether that's really even a 'negative' or not. And thankfully a few of those readers who have stuck with it said the pace picked up...

To a nice cliffhanger conclusion 🧗🏻‍♂️
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However, you can't help thinking about those who got bogged down (in the worldbuilding/multiple characters/slower build) on the early chapters and haven't finished.

The dreaded DNF for a writer.
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The editing team & I certainly did weigh up whether the start was too slow.
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I wrote multiple Chapter One's with various iterations.
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I even got hooked on a YouTube channel that grilled opening chapters live.

Although I never had the heart to put mine up for debate.
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Two of these versions popped back into my head yesterday as I was in the car heading towards Haywards Heath.
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One involved a flashback to Claude, Tia and Cama getting news about what happened to Sura in Shadowbor (then named the Borderlands).
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The other was an attempt to write more of a 'hook' style action opening. It involves a character from later in the novel—Marvin Vandersnatch. And shows a less favourable side of Claude, maybe.
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I've managed to dig it out from the reams of old Word documents sitting on MacBook desktop folders.
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Nicely titled C1C.
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So as a special scoop (or bit of extra bedtime reading) I thought I'd send it unfiltered and see what you make of it...

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Chapter One (Versison C) – Beyond The Mist

Every monkey takes the limit of his own field of vision for the limits of the world.

- Adapted from Arthur Schopenhauer -

Claude Talador had always dreamed of adventure. Always dreamed of escape. Yet, it was hard to feel any hope for such things in the grim rainforest of Tierra Libre. Was there even a world beyond the mist? A thick blanket of the stuff obscured any view of the other side. The brown water of the Agumon River frothed and fizzed its way past below him, a true force of nature. Locking all monkeys in its borders. He kept a safe distance, not doubting its poisonous properties. It would be one mighty leap…

Fear is a fiction of the mind; his mother’s voice filled his head. Even though she—

“Pssh!” Came a hiss.

Claude turned to see a rat-like monkey, lurking in the shadows of a palm tree. “About time, Vandersnatch.” He said.
“Can’t be too careful these moons, Talador.” The monkey replied. “You know that more than most.”

“Well, let’s not hang about then.” Said Claude. Never one for small talk. Or idle chit chat. Wherever it could be avoided. “Price as agreed?”

“As agreed,” said Marvin Vandersnatch, grinning, a slippery soul if ever you knew one. “Freshest batch of the watts plant you’ll find in these trees. From a reliable source too.”

Claude would never put reliable and Marvin together. He shook his tail regardless. The prize was worth it.

“Sharing this with the Mrs then?” asked Marvin.

“Don’t have one,” said Claude, he turned the punk over between his thumb and forefinger, sniffing the produce. It was good enough. “Rather smoke alone.”

“Pah!” said Marvin. “Good looking Pichu like you should be rolling in it ...”

“The only thing I’ll be rolling is this.” He held the punk aloft.

Marvin snorted. “Good one. You’ll have to be quick though, No Monkey Business, not long till curfew now.”

Claude was well aware of that, of course. The rainforest night was closing in. The last creeping tentacles of sun stretched their way through the canopy roof, soon to depart.

“See you again soon.” said Marvin.

“Aye,” said Claude, turning back south, towards home. “I expect you will.”

Marvin was already out of sight when the menacing cries of the Howlers echoed through the trees. A ghastly sound. Even when you heard it each morning. Each night. Claude's fur bristled, right around the nape of his neck. A chill passed through him. Strange given the humidity.

He shook himself and scanned the forest floor, scrabbling around on hands and knees. Looking for something. A sharp enough branch or stem. He found one, a gnarly yucca. He drew a little blood from his right index finger and speckled a few drips around his shoulders.

Another howl pierced the muggy air. Closer than he’d realised. Much closer.

“So it begins,” he whispered.

Claude clambered up the nearest palm, getting a fair way up from the ground. He quickly scanned for a route, then shot through the jungle, using the branches of the trees like a monkey of old. The raging sounds of the river replaced by the raging snarls of the Howlers and whizzing of the native Vampire Bats. No doubt attracted by the scent of blood, adding to the thrill.

Claude swung in a rapid rhythm, mixing his leap lengths, crashing through the overstory, using his tail as a crucial fifth limb. He sensed a hunter not that far from that tail. Flashing a glance back, its hulking frame came into view. The thrashing jaws, the uncontained spew of bile, the blazing red eyes. Why would they breed such a thing?

He dropped down to the canopy floor, allowing the beast to catch a good whiff of his scent. It was on the ground too, pounding through the undergrowth. Its rasping breaths grew louder, closing in. A few seconds away now. A moment. Claude crouched, facing his foe. The Howler opened its mouth wide. The stench of its breath. Disgusting. Ready to …

Whoosh! Claude sprung up. Flying right over its head. The Howler tried to lever its mouth to catch a bite of his tail. It missed.

The next roar was positively unholy. Claude did not look back, scaling another large trunk. Again, he looked for a route. He switched his climb speed to fast. As blooming well fast as he could manage.

The chase was on, senses sharpened. The risk was real, muscles straining. A missed branch, a failed jump, would leave him as supper for these vicious animals, and no one would even realise that’s how he’d gone. Would they even care?

But Mr Talador was an athletic monkey by Pichu standards. A crafty one too. He put distance between him and the Howler. Swooping this way, and that. Ignoring the sounds of his pursuer. Focus only for the moment. He was almost back to the main camp. He had almost won, when Claude stopped, breathing properly for the first time. He considered doubling back for one last date with destiny. Bait them one last time?

“Let me go!” Came a shout.

“Be still,” said another voice. “Or we’ll tell her you made things worse.”

“You can’t bind me like this,” the voice was that of Marvin. “I’m a free monkey.”

“Were,” said another. “You’ve been caught with an illegal substance, after curfew. There’s only one place you’re heading. The only question is for how long…”

Claude peered through the vines, peeling one back silently. Two Hormiga monkeys had Marvin in a vice. He writhed against the ropes that trapped his limbs and tail.

“No!” He cried. “I’ve got a family to take care of. They’ll—”

One of the Hormigas shoved the rat-like monkey to the ground. “Should’ve thought about that before you committed Monkey Business then.”

Marvin twisted over on his belly. His gaze fell straight on Claude, and his eyes widened. Claude made to move forward. Marvin shook his head instantly. He mouthed ‘get outta here.’

Claude did not move though. He perched transfixed. Surely there was a way to save him. Two more Hormigas moved into the clearing. These servants of the State were armed. One held a poison dart device. The other a sharp wooden sword. They appeared as if they were about to check the perimeter.

Claude retreated back, hiding behind the thick trunk of a cedar, taking a breath. Damn! The poor sod. He’ll get at least 10 years for this…

“Was he alone?” One of the Hormigas asked, the voice muffled.

Before he could hear the answer, Claude Talador was gone.​
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​By the time he got back it was well past curfew. A firm darkness had descended to grip the trees. His neighbours were already cooped up inside Dormor 43, not a single soul about the place, only the crackle of insects. The rains had come again, a steady patter from the branches above. The Hormigas were useful here, for one thing at least. They enabled Claude to slink back in undetected. Although, not completely without trace it seemed, because as he climbed up to his pod, he swore the eyes of his neighbour Dubbert Grouse flashed out from behind the curtain vines of his ground-floor abode. They say that sham of a pichu peeps on all the comings and goings of our tree.

When Claude looked back again there was nothing, the curtain was closed. He dismissed it as the lingering effects of his smoking. He did not even look back at the now dazzling moon which cast him in a spotlight as he shut his door.

It took a long while for sleep to arrive. His thoughts seemed to accelerate at just the wrong time. The walls of his pod closed in like a vice. It was a treat when the battle ended; he was flying somehow, dreaming of a new world from an old story. A world not restricted by boundaries. Not restricted by laws. Without agenda, without stifling obligation. No Howlers. No Hormigas. In fact, no State at all. Its name a mere symbol:

माया

As always, thank you for reading.
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​See you next Sunday. ​
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– J. R. Roberts
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​P.S. Book 2 will start more in medias res as they say. But if you have any thoughts on what you need/like from a first chapter do shout. I'm all ears 👂