New crime thriller about an archaeologist called Alan Cadbury by Francis Pryor

[med]

If you are looking for entertaining fiction involving archaeologists, then try the Ruth Galloway series starting with the Crossing Places by Ellie Griffiths. Some good suspense and a fun read on those cold nights between soggy field days.

[Stuart Rathbone]

Don't know if it's any good, but this murder mystery thingy by Tana French is set around the M3 motorway construction/protests in Ireland, a project I worked on. I always wanted to read it and see if she had any versions of the real archaeologists in it.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_Woods

I wonder why a guy who already has relationships with several publishers chose to go to crowd sourcing for his work of fiction...

I could probably bang out a 50 shades of Greyscale style filth fest. You should see what nasty shit the lead character Daffid Donnely gets up to in the tool shed...

[Wax]

"Something Nasty in the Tool Shed" great title for an archaeology murder mystery (nicked from Cold Comfort Farm)
Rather than crowd funded how about crowd written? We have the outline: Daffid Donnely has been mis appropriating the contents of the tool shed for nefarious purposes.

[CARTOON REALITY]

CHAPTER 1 - The Sweat off a Hog.

It had been hours since Daffid was last on site. In that time he had managed to make three shovel handles so damp with sweat that anyone giving one a squeeze in the murk of the tool shed would have believed them to be long soft blackened bananas and not the upright pieces of hickory they had started that day as.
'Oh ducky . . .' whispered Daffid to the wheelbarrow he had collapsed into, although, with his trousers now wrapped around his molars, it made it sounded more like 'Ud ooky . . .'
The tool shed door suddenly lurched open and standing silhouetted in the antiseptic afternoon winter light was the incorruptible form of Bevan Fullridge.
'Oh Christ almightly!' vociferated Fullridge, 'You'll never sell those shovels now! Not even online!! And as for that new big sieve you bought, while you were, er . . . indisposed, Moon Unit has been using it to scrape the hair off a dead pig and he's scared all the tourists away!!'

Pray continue somebody . . .
Anybody?

[Unitof1]

I think that you are taking it a little bit away from Dr francises vision but I can see some way as a opera

Daffid Dill had this mate Alain Cawberry

Two voice,s both fat , one of them a lady, the other isnt. One goes first the other doesnt

Alan Cadbury is a professional archaeologisssssssst:
a digger of ancient sites and a man who likes to unraveeeellllllLLL

the mysteries and meaning of the past (vibrato} The meaning of the past, hoooo the meaning of the past

The people who did the work were down-to-earth. Some were students,
they clueless pratts who worked, for very low pay

daffid Dill, Daffid Dillly dilly daffy.........


sorry the opiates run out just then and at the same time somebody from Porlock bought a round........but I can see a body, footless, theres a mattock smash to the head, wait is that a bit of curvature to the spine that I see before me, Wheather it is nobler to have lost and never to have had a horse is an unfortuante pensionless state for any curator to find them selves in (yes this is still in vibratoo)

[Wax]

Moon Unit's mind was not on the job, raised voices (in two part harmony) were coming from the general direction of the tool shed. Trying to focus on the complex task of stripping that stubborn stubble from tonight's porcine delicacy Moon Unit tried to block out the increasingly discordant sounds. The sudden silence was punctuated by the unmistakable squelch and crunch of a mattock hitting bare flesh. Slowly rising from his crouched position behind the spoil heap he turned and looked towards the Tool Shed............

[CARTOON REALITY]

'That will teach you to mock the works of Gilbert and Sullivan,' roared the incensed voice of Daffid Dill.
Moon Unit panicked, he remembered the occasion when he had once called W.S. Gilbert a total twat (and no more able to write a decent libretto than a packet of dried figs,) directly to Daffid's face.
The shed door was opening - so in a bold attempt at disguise Moon Unit leapt inside the pig and began making grunting noises . . .

[Wax]

Daffid Dill stumbled from the Tool Shed incensed at Bevan Fullridge's ignorance of the finer points of the Pirates of Penzance he had let his inner termoil submerge ten thousand years of civalisation. What had he done ? He stared at the blood soak handle of his favourite tool. Lifting his head he quickly looked round the deserted site, the rest of the crew were in the site hut taking advantage of Bevans absence they were on a long tea break. Strange grunting noises came from a hunched bald pink form by the spoil heap. Cautiously Daffid stepped over the mangled remains of Bevan then crept towards the spoil heap mattock raised............

[Sith]

It's deja vu all over again. Who remember's John (Tempvs) Hedges' 1990s novel Death in a Small Town? I seem to recall it involved an archaeologist's mind-bending experiences while trying to deal with an excavation in Ramsgate.

[Sith]

Cautiously Daffid stepped over the mangled remains of Bevan then crept towards the spoil heap mattock raised............

I worked on that site. Bevan lived, but the form on the spoil heap? Well, that's another story entirely.