Hello, Wordsmiths,

It's never pleasant to deliver bad news.

There's always a tendency to talk around it, speak of other things, and dither.

In 2017, Divergent Wordsmiths began as a non-commercial publishing venture for Doctor Who fan-fiction authors interested in writing their stories for a dedicated platform. Over seven years, we have provided content from our familiar who's-who of Doctors. Our televised marvels. As well as countenances and visages, both strange and otherworldly. Even for our beloved traveller in Time and Space.

There have been over a dozen e-books from Divergent Wordsmiths. Anthologies and novels, all. Plus essays, articles and uncollected stories scattered across the website (have you found them all?). We've provided a chance to join the TARDIS and escape from real-world pandemic, fire, flood and war. Wordsmiths, you've been with us for it all. Both as readers and contributors. Some of you from the very beginning. Not in a Shoreditch junkyard, but terribly close.

Unfortunately... We can no longer keep this up.

After seven years, Divergent Wordsmiths will cease publication. Rest assured, our stories will be available to access on our website and, as promised, always for free. Quasar of Sarfenia is the final story under our non-commercial imprint. A joint venture with Bradley's Basement. It is not the ending that we were hoping for, but it is the ending that we have been given.

In our time, we've been extremely fortunate. Divergent Wordsmiths has operated internationally for over half-a-decade. In Europe, Australia, America and Asia. It is astonishing, the amount of success stories we have achieved in that time. The world has always been a volatile place. We have always struggled against chance, hazard and chaos (as well as bad luck). Usually, we've prevailed.

But the world is turning for the worst. Things are disintegrating faster than we can adapt to them. An international collaboration is far harder now than when we started in 2017.

To use a metaphorical metric, as of 2024, we are 90 seconds from midnight on the Doomsday Clock. The closest we have ever been to annihilation. The issues of bigotry, cruelty and a variety of evils are at their most agitated. Sorry to say, it is now impossible for Divergent Wordsmiths to continue active publication.

I want to thank you, all. For your time, for your readership and for sticking with us. If you should see some of our names again, it will be under a different banner with a different focus. We will keep you updated, if or when that becomes relevant.

But, for this, for Divergent Wordsmiths, we must close the book.

So long,
Alan Camlann
Publisher for Divergent Wordsmiths

Due to an increasing array of technical issues, Divergent Wordsmiths has decided to close down the Twitter/X account. It will remain active until 15th September 2024.

We would like to thank our followers for their time and the support. You've helped to bring more readers, more writers and more artists to Divergent Wordsmiths.

For alternatives: Divergent Wordsmiths still retains our Facebook page and has recently started up a brand new Tumblr account. Better befitting the kind of content we'd like to provide for you in our social media.

Salutations, Wordsmiths!

As part of a collaboration with author Tim Bradley of the Bradley's Basement blog-site, the Sixth Doctor, Peri and Frobisher will continue their adventures in a brand new tale. Doctor Who - Quasar of Sarfenia. The final entry in Doctor Who - The Sunfire Chronicles, which will begin debuting in August 2024 and conclude in November 2024.

I cannot understate the legacy that William Russell leaves behind. He and Jacqueline Hill were the first human companions of Doctor Who. Through them, through their time on the programme, we have seen an over-half-century legacy of characters and actors following in their footsteps. An enormous debt is owed to them. One that only grows with each passing year.

I think this is the closest I can really come to saying thank you to William Russell. Because, of course, he never left the character. He returned. Time and time again. Beyond television for video introductions and for audio plays. With all those decades revisiting the character, nothing quite feels enough. Let me think...

Well, Ian Chesterton was distinctive. Even in his own era of the '60s. For he wasn't an avenging government agent, a globetrotting Saint or a dangerous man from M9. Ian was a schoolteacher from Coal Hill in Shoreditch. A remarkably ordinary man who never shrank from danger and never used Time and Space as an excuse to be any less accountable and honourable. He was the ordinary doing the extraordinary.

If I could use any adjectives to describe him, it would be kind, noble, gentle and compassionate. What riled Ian Chesterton wasn't a punctured ego or the need to put others in their place, but to know that the people he loved -- his found family in Time and Space -- were endangered. His desire was always to see those who travelled with him safe, happy and well.

Ian Chesterton taught the Doctor and, I think, he taught us as well...

Got it. He taught us how to be kind. And there is no more fundamental a lesson in human life than that.

Rest in peace, William Russell. And thank you. Beyond words.

Best,
Alan Camlann
Publisher for Divergent Wordsmiths

In this third installment: Hunted, the Sixth Doctor, Peri, and Frobisher race against time to outwit the Daleks. What do they have planned for the people of Mandusus?

Cover illustration by Caroline Tankersley and James Johnston. Special thanks to Brian Corrigan and Jacob Licklider for assisting in developing the new soundbite available on The Alchemists of Fear’s bonus page!

Hi, all,

It's that time again. That first quarter of the year. Time enough for another update on Divergent Wordsmiths. Our current productions and what to expect from us coming up.

First of all, I want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has been reading Doctor Who - The Alchemists of Fear.
It is appears, by all accounts, to be the first of its kind. The first time that Frobisher, our fun-loving penguin shape-shifter, has encountered the death-dealing Daleks. See, the Sixth Doctor, Peri Brown and Frobisher uncover the mystery of the despatch box. A briefcase with the power to command or destroy the population of an entire world.

From the crowning gold of the Corporate Cluster to the twisted heart of Dalek Command Central, read this standalone tale inspired by the twists and turns of Doctor Who's most imaginative eras. Face the Psyche Dalek! A terrifying Skarosian mutation with power over your mind. Read the Sixth Doctor, at his witty and resourceful best. Read Peri, at her most courageous. And read Frobisher with all the charm you've come to expect over our previous expeditions with the character in the Novels range.

Tune in for our third episode, 16 May 2024, and 8 June 2024 for the final instalment on Colin Baker's birthday! This is an adventure in Time and Space you don't want to miss!

The Alchemists of Fear was developed in between the massive saga of Doctor Who - A Sparkle of Doctors. After a six-year tenure to nearly rival Tom Baker's time in the role of the Doctor on television(!), it was our fond farewell to the Anthologies range. We had everything. From the wily white-haired old trickster, with youth and wisdom. To the blonde gadgeteer facing a quiet reckoning, alone but undefeated. To the Valeyard himself, in his cruel shadow of Time. With over twenty stories, in no less than three volumes, there's something for everyone with A Sparkle of Doctors.

On that subject, we do have something else in the pipeline for late 2024. The Sixth Doctor, Peri Brown and Frobisher will also feature in Doctor Who - The Sunfire Chronicles. An upcoming short story collection from Bradley's Basement (writer Tim Bradley of many a Divergent Wordsmiths tale), set to debut sometime in 2024.

Doctor Who may be in the calm before the storm on streaming, but things are far from dull here at Divergent Wordsmiths. Read on,  Wordsmiths, discover the machinations of The Alchemists of Fear, and thank you for your time.

Best wishes,
Alan Camlann
Publisher for Divergent Wordsmiths

> RECORDING START

INTERVIEWER: "This is Doctor Ivan Asimoff of the Zyglot Trust—"

FROBISHER: "How 'bout now?"

INTERVIEWER: "Speaking with Frobisher on the aforementioned subject of auditorial interest."

FROBISHER: "Hence the dictaphone."

INTERVIEWER: "No, auditorial, as in—Never mind. For the record, let's start with your good character—"

FROBISHER: "If you want an optimistic picture, you'll have to find another painter, ace."

INTERVIEWER: "Oh, uh, your meaning?"

FROBISHER: "Are we getting into this? Alright, well—"

INTERVIEWER: "Frobisher—"

FROBISHER: "From the top. A lot of my childhood was spent in the Xenon slums, jack. Options were limited. I couldn't work in the IntraVenus traxis mines. I was too... erm... What's the word...? It'll come to me... A coward. That's it. Too much a coward."

INTERVIEWER: "It's... dangerous work, so I'm told."

FROBISHER: "No less than living hand-to-mouth as a street urchin. You find bolt-holes, sure. Little patches of dirt and permacrete to call your own, but nothing that'll keep your mind warm."

INTERVIEWER: "You didn't have any friends, Frobisher? Any family?"

FROBISHER: "Ain't we getting sidetracked?"

INTERVIEWER: "Please."

FROBISHER: "I had no one. Not a one. The city was big and it was easy to lose people. In every sense, there. The Doc and Peri are probably the closest thing to both, these days."

INTERVIEWER: "Let's—er, erm—move on. Yes. You—You left Xenon, I take it?"

FROBISHER: "Escaped, let's say. Got myself out into the Universe, sure enough. I've had a few jobs. Private investigator is probably my calling, though belts were worn tighter in the winter."

INTERVIEWER: "Your file mentions you were married."

FROBISHER: "Long time ago."

INTERVIEWER: "Yes. Yes, erm, let's talk about your connection to IntraVenus."

FROBISHER: "I knew I should've gone for milkshakes—This is about the Doc, isn't it?"

INTERVIEWER: "The trust's auditors have queries about your donation. They seem to think it was awfully convenient for us to come into so much money when our former President, Professor Astro Labus, disappears."

FROBISHER: "What? They think we offed him, so you could become President of the trust?"

INTERVIEWER: "Erm..."

FROBISHER: "Oh, nuts. That is what they think, isn't it?"

INTERVIEWER: "They... ah... have unusually vivid imaginations for accountants."

FROBISHER: "That money went into the trust. Not out of it. What? Do they think we're laundering money through you guys, too?"

INTERVIEWER: "I know it came from IntraVenus Inc, but—"

FROBISHER: "We didn't steal it. The Doc and I scored it from their Venus headquarters. Fair and square. Yeah... We made quite the team."

INTERVIEWER: "How?"

FROBISHER: "From his bounty. Josiah W. Dogbolter's massive bounty on the Doc's head. Just a little switcheroo, between the Doc and me, and voila! We got the mazumas and the old frog got egg all over his face. It was personal for the Doc. Humbling Dogbolter went a long way in his books."

INTERVIEWER: "And this Peri, you mentioned?"

FROBISHER: "A good friend of the Doc's from before my time. He picked her back up after a sabbatical on Earth. Longer than she expected, but it helped sort out some of the feelings around her Mom. She'd passed away recently."

INTERVIEWER: "I'm sorry. And since then, Frobisher? Aboard the TARDIS?"

FROBISHER: "Your auditors... You know what we've been up to? The Skeletoid Crisis was all over the GBC, we put paid to it. The Six Champions, they've been calling us. Stopped a generation ship's crew, aboard the Mayflower, from being sold into slavery, too. On Zazz, we relocated all those Servatron robots to the planet's moon on an old-fashioned rocket. And... And! We even dealt with the Cybermen on Sylvaniar and—"

INTERVIEWER: "Good gracious, though! You've been busy!"

FROBISHER: "Busy? Yeah. Yeah, I suppose we have."

INTERVIEWER: "I'm not sure if I'll be able to find records for all of that."

FROBISHER: "Does it matter?"

INTERVIEWER: "Somehow, I don't think so. 'And'...?"

FROBISHER: "'And' what?"

INTERVIEWER: "You said 'on Sylvaniar and', what else have you been up to?"

THE DOCTOR: "You may as well say, Frobisher. He has that writer's gleam."

INTERVIEWER: "Doctor! Doctor, your face..."

THE DOCTOR: "Hello again, Doctor Asimoff. Thought I'd indulge in a meeting of the clans. This is my young friend, Peri. She's been travelling with me a while now."

INTERVIEWER: "Charmed. B-But your face..."

PERI: "I know... Frobisher was just about to mention that."

FROBISHER: "Ah, you say that, perp, but I'm not sure. I... Well... It ain't my place to..."

THE DOCTOR: "Never you mind, my penguin chum. Never you mind. I'll tell you what, Ivan. Stop the dictaphone and I'll talk about Mandusus Chi myself. All the sordid details."

INTERVIEWER: "Oh, yes? Oh! Yes. Fine. Let me just fiddle with that... H'rrm..."

THE DOCTOR: "A few weeks ago, Ivan, in another time, another place—"

> RECORDING STOP

Early details on Doctor Who - The Alchemists of Fear here and an excerpt here.

The chemical constitution of the TARDIS galley’s ceiling was an excitonic marvel. Composed entirely of a material alien to most periodic tables, it held itself as stainless, dustless and virtually impervious to harm.
Somehow, in the course of a standard hour, the Doctor had managed to perform the extraordinary. Its constituent components consisted of a culinary creole. Pancakes, strips of marinated tofu, a custard Danish pastry and tomatoes from the Ship’s Falloean Gardens. All carefully prepared in a non-stick pan. Exquisite.
And all presently stuck to the ceiling. In a cobweb of char to rival the London smokestacks of Conan Doyle’s time.
“Very well, old girl. Very well.” He placed the pan back on the stove. “I concede you may have a point. Just this once, mark you.”
An opprobrious scuffle outside the main double doors brought his attention to his two travelling companions. One donned in a cork hat. The other carrying a ceramic milk jug.
Both went flying.
The first was a young American botanist called Perpugilliam Brown. Peri to her friends and enemies. She had joined the Doctor what seemed like a lifetime ago. At the present, she was falling on the second. A whifferdill gumshoe. Monomorphic, on occasion, but nevertheless pleasant. Before the TARDIS, he was known as Avan Tarklu. On their travels, he was called Frobisher.
In a vain effort at chivalry, Frobisher had asked Peri into the galley first. Not to be outdone, she’d returned the gesture and beckoned the whifferdill to enter instead. In the ensuing disagreement, both had tumbled through the doorway. Abashed and feeling more than a little conspicuous.
The Doctor’s mouth flicked a cat-like smirk.
“Certainly one way to work up an appetite.” The rover picked up the cork hat, dropping the milk jug into its inner lining, and placed it next to the stove. “Good morning.”
“Hi…” greeted Peri, painfully, climbing up to her feet. “The study was getting cramped.”
“With ripe expectations, yeah.” Frobisher righted himself. “Still no go, Doc?”
The Doctor placed a hand in his pocket and flourished the other arm at the disaster site around him.
“At my best, I could give you the finest delights of Billions Major and Billions Minor. A beautific bonhomie breakfast to salivate the senses. From their native creamberry cakes to imported Gethen beer.” He slapped the counter. “Alas…”
“How—?” Peri stopped, cleared her throat and started again. “How long has that been up there?”
The Doctor followed her gaze to the ceiling. Small embers of flame, like molten rock, ebbed on the edges of the vulcanised ceiling crêpe.
“Oh, quite some time now,” he smiled, sounding quite accomplished.
“Ooh…” Peri winced. “Now would be a really good time to move, Doctor.”
“Mmn?” asked the time-traveller.
Peri and Frobisher pulled him beneath the relative safety of the doorway. From a stand just outside the door, Frobisher handed the Doctor a sky-blue umbrella which the latter deployed with casual disinterest. In the span of half-a-minute, the veritable feast for the travelling trio rained down to the galley floor. String-like eggs, tomatoes with a kinship to gravel and cured custard peelings all embraced the sweet release of gravity.
“You’ve got egg on your face,” observed Peri.
“That’s an understatement…” the Doctor admitted.
“No, no… Frobisher, you’ve actual egg. On your beak.”
“What?” The whifferdill looked down at the end of his face. “Where?”
Although, it smelt how it looked, he couldn’t quite find it. Peri knelt down onto her haunches and sponged the offending material away with her thumb.
Typical of the Doctor’s cavalier piloting, the TARDIS materialised with a floor-shuddering hiccup. Arms clutched at nearby fittings. Shouts were uttered.
A chime resounded from the console room to signal the danger had passed.
“Ah, splendid.” The Doctor released the umbrella with happy aplomb. “We’ve arrived. Come along.”
Hooking it over a forearm, he departed the scene with a breezy rendition of what sounded to Peri like Patsy Ann Noble’s Accidents Will Happen.
Peri and Frobisher studied the tableau in silence. Still clutching the umbrella stand, Frobisher dusted himself down and followed. Peri opened her mouth to say something, shook her head and let her legs carry her after the boys.

Early details about Doctor Who - The Alchemists of Fear here