Jack Conley sat in his favourite armchair, or to be more accurate, the only armchair of the four in his lounge he would consider, repeating a mantra to himself – listen to the still inner voice. He was not, by definition, a recluse, but he preferred to be left alone to explore his rich interior life. This was something that had become more frequent since his triumph with the media after the affair of Elfrid’s Hole.
listen to the still inner voiceFor an entire year after that, he spent his time not in contemplation but busily writing his bestselling novel based on the life of King Aldfrith of Northumbria. Its commercial success had been guaranteed before he’d typed the first word into his computer, thanks to his exploits in the North Yorkshire village of Ebberston, where he’d located that
