It’s no secret that I’m a massive fan of M.C. Frank (if you need proof, just look at the cover of the last book in her No Ordinary Star trilogy – my obsession is printed for all to see), so I’ve been following her Robin Hood WIP diaries for quite some time. The brilliant young author is working on a retelling of Robin Hood, and if it’s anything like her other retellings, it’s going to be amazing.

When she revealed the aesthetic she has in mind for the book, my jaw hit the floor. I can’t be more excited for this book to come out, so of course, I had to share it with you! With permission from the author, I’d love for you to see the aesthetic of her Robin Hood work in progress, along with a short extract from what she’s working on.

So now, without any further ado: M.C. Frank presents THE ROBIN HOOD WIP AESTHETIC.

Robin looked at the glittering torches far ahead. The castle loomed before him, banners flying, lute music wafting in the evening air.

He crouched in the shadows, fingering the sharp edge of his arrow. For a second he allowed himself to think of what was happening inside the walls; after all, Tuck must be in by now, along with the “women”. Were they being served platters of pungent fruit and roasted meat? Were they watching the tricks of a garrishly-dressed jouster and listening to the music for the dancers? He knew everything that would be going on in the Sheriff’s Great Hall on this important day of celebration and revels.

He’d once been a nobleman, too, he’d once been served by kitchen maids and clothed in silks and colors.

A cold drop landed on his cheek; it had started to rain. He glanced behind him and motioned to Alis and John to follow him as they padded from tree to tree, until they were close enough to the walls of the castle.

“Robin,” John’s voice boomed in the gathering darkness. He always tried to whisper, but alas, never succeeded. For such a large man, even making his voice small seemed impossible. That, or he was like a five year-old, who is unable of grasping the concept of “be quiet.”

“Hush,” Robin mumbled. “What is it now?”

“Well, nothing,” John said, his blonde braids catching a ray of the torch fire. They were so close, the light of the flames was illuminating the darkness; they were right outside the castle walls. “Except thisQ when are you going to do it, already?” Robin realized with a pang of surprise that John was angry. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re practically in the castle, all right? At this pace you’ll have us at Sir Roderick’s table as if we were his damned invited guests.”

Robin didn’t reply, he just hung his head. It was true, they had moved closer than he needed. He could have done what he came to do from a hundred yards away, even farther.

“Now, stop moving and do what you have to do so we can leave!” John said, and then his voice dropped -so he could whisper, after all. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, Rob, so stop it. Stop it, you hear me?”

“You deserve to be in there, John,” Robin whispered back, unable to stop himself. He could hear his own voice hoarse and hated himself for sounding so broken. For being so broken. “Alis and Will and little Ru… Even you and Tuck, you all deserve to be in there and celebrate like princes, instead of hiding and trying to keep our heads attached to our necks. You deserve to be in there.”

“Well, we’re not,” John said roundly. “We’re outlaws, which to be honest, is far healthier in this political climate. I’d rather be wet, empty-bellied and sleepless than deign to eat the stolen food that graces the Sheriff’s table, while children die and starve under his watch. I’d rather be a beggar than a prince, if the Prince is plotting to take the rightful King’s throne. Do you understand?”

Robin nodded.

“I don’t think you do. I bet you keep thinking that it’s your fault that we’re not up there, celebrating. You always were a fool, you know,” John added tenderly.

And that was it. Robin snapped out of his trance. He turned around and punched John in the arm, and then drew back his bowstring, looking straight and true towards his aim.

Christmas is not for you, he told himself, just as a reminder. Celebrations and feasts, food and riches aren’t for you. For you is not to make merry and keep your belly filled. For you is to fight; for you is to live.

He took his eyes off his aim for a split second and glanced back towards John, who looked on at his readied arrow unimpressed, pretending to rub the spot where Robin had punched him, as if it hurt terribly. Robin turned back his attention to his target.

For you is to be loved by outlaws.

For you is to be an outlaw.

For now.

Robin let go. For you is to hope.

-from the Robin Hood WIP,  ©2017 M.C. Frank

Read more on the author’s blog, here.

It’s just… breathtaking.  Gosh I hope this book comes out SOON! I have a need!