Synchronicity.

So, here's a paragraph from my new book, 'Synchronicity.', I love film noir, but I'm not sure if I can keep going with the hard-boiled style. It's nice to play around with though, plus I like the dark edge it gives everything, making the softer touches all the more impactive when they appear:



A Baltic wind blows against the sash windows, rattling the single-glazed panes like bones on a medicine man’s staff… The angle-poise lamp illuminates his hands, one frozen above his laptop keyboard, the other hovering above an ashtray, cigarette ash growing long from the untapped fag between his fingers. The tobacco burns luminous orange. His hair is splayed out like a hit and run victim, awkwardly mangled, like his square glasses slammed into his face, throwing it across his head. Slowly, he lifts his cigarette, taps it and brings it to his lips, inhaling and leaning back, forcing his other hand through his ragged hair. He stubs the cigarette, hits enter on the keyboard, picks up a lukewarm mug and downs the contents. Pushing his hard palms into the desk, he rolls out from underneath it on the cheap Ikea office chair and claps the laptop lid shut. It’s done...