You read that right, it is indeed the yearly round down, or, up perhaps. A look back on a year that has been quite kind to me. It was only two years ago that I ditched resolutions. I decided instead, that I would just do stuff, rather than saying it. I started small, then got a little braver. Then, at the end of last year, I said that I would release my first book.
So this is how my year went ...
In May, I climbed three mountains, in three different Countries. All in under twenty four hours. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Then I went on my first holiday for over a decade. Amsterdam, the beautiful. Despite its reputation, it is a gorgeous city and I long to go back there.
I joined the Kinder Users Forum and started getting to know other authors.
I started this blog and attempted to entertain people by telling them about my life. Luckily that soon changed with the drabbles and poetry and stuff.
In July, I released my first novel that was three years in the making. Maybe, Misery is my baby and the day it was released was a day I will forever be proud off.
Then I co-authored a few short stories with the excellent authors that are, Nav Logan, A.K. Michaels and Bryan Thomas.
Later, myself, Nav, A.K and Rick Haynes released a short story for charity titled Happy Halloween.
I've also got myself into the best psychical shape of my life, though I can still get better.
I also wrote several other stories, that lie on the maybe shelf.
And this year comes to a close, I have sent of my compilation of drabbles, poems and short stories to be Beta read and the first draft of The Talon Strand: Maybe, Misery II has been printed out.
Well that's most of it in a nut shell. And though it may not seem like much to some, it has been a great deal for me.
My album of the year: Son Lux - We Are Rising
My film of the year: Guardians of the Galaxy
My T.V show of the year: Game of Thrones or The Following (though Frasier is still the best).
My book of the year: Duallists by David Wailing or Little Words by Nav Logan
I know, I may have not been very specific about the events of the year, but you should all know by know how I hate to faff around. I may have still continued to make mistakes, but it has been countered with progression this year.
I also know that next year could see the release of my last book. My future remains covered in mist after the Talon Strand comes out, but I look forward to finding out.
I could have gladly gone on for ages about this year but I won't. (For a change).
So to finish us of, here is a list of people who have been a positive influence on my year, in no particular order:
Nav, Wendy, Bryan, Rick, Ava, David. W, Nicky, Eilis, the members of KUF, the members of the authors forum. Every single person who made the time and effort to contribute a drabble to my story times. Every single person who has been supportive. My Nan. Every person who left reviews for Maybe, Misery and Happy Halloween. Every single person who has read this blog.
I hope you all have a lovely festive period and I will see you in the new year, ready and waiting to dominate it.
Much Love
C.S
Monday 22 December 2014
Wednesday 17 December 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.17)
Hello all, now that editing is under way for Life Inside a Psychopathic Balloon is under way. Every drabble or poem you see from myself will new and not in the book. That way, if you get my book, there will be new stuff in there and you'll get new stuff every week here as well. Also, this will be the last attempt at poetry of the year! So at least I'll have plenty of time to write some more. Any way, I wrote this late last night. I hope you all enjoy it and have a lovely day.
The Perfect II
Earth shattering beauty confined in a notion,
Beguiling in her wisdom;
Casting a spell with her otherworldly potion,
Until I am a slave to her kingdom!
Flowers bloom around her feet,
Illuminating the sun with her stature;
Her fragrance is nothing short of sweet.
A love like this will only ever fracture.
The uncertainty of her existence frustrates,
My mind constantly collapses.
The Fragile moral compass tergiversates.
Yet the positive emotion relapses!
Though all is not as it seems,
A reality we can never summon;
The creation of an artist’s dreams,
The ever imaginary perfect woman!
The Perfect II
Earth shattering beauty confined in a notion,
Beguiling in her wisdom;
Casting a spell with her otherworldly potion,
Until I am a slave to her kingdom!
Flowers bloom around her feet,
Illuminating the sun with her stature;
Her fragrance is nothing short of sweet.
A love like this will only ever fracture.
The uncertainty of her existence frustrates,
My mind constantly collapses.
The Fragile moral compass tergiversates.
Yet the positive emotion relapses!
Though all is not as it seems,
A reality we can never summon;
The creation of an artist’s dreams,
The ever imaginary perfect woman!
Tuesday 16 December 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.23)
After a week full of the flu, we're back. I have made the announcement in a few places that I will be attempting to put together Story-time 40 with 40 drabbles from 40 different writers. I guess I love a challenge! Anyway, lets not faff around. All the love goes to my bananas as usual, the awesome D.S. Scott who once again joins us, J.P Royan and Nicky D White.
Singular Pandemic by C.S.Bailey
I am close to the end. I can feel death stalking me with my every wheezing breathe. Lying in my resting place, all wrapped up, I feel only cold. The medication didn’t help me at all; neither did the constant rain at work.
My life is nearly over, I am ready to go to my final resting place and forever be in peace from this infernal virus.
Soon, my wife comes into the room to say farewell.
“Goodbye my love.” I whisper sweetly.
She replies coldly, “Get out of bed you lazy bell end, you've only got bloody man flu.”
Singular Pandemic by C.S.Bailey
I am close to the end. I can feel death stalking me with my every wheezing breathe. Lying in my resting place, all wrapped up, I feel only cold. The medication didn’t help me at all; neither did the constant rain at work.
My life is nearly over, I am ready to go to my final resting place and forever be in peace from this infernal virus.
Soon, my wife comes into the room to say farewell.
“Goodbye my love.” I whisper sweetly.
She replies coldly, “Get out of bed you lazy bell end, you've only got bloody man flu.”
The Horror Hidden Deep Within by Nav Logan
It’s a terrible thing, to see that look in your loved one’s eyes. Emotions well up inside: Anger, embarrassment, sadness, horror.
You were just fooling around, trying to surprise her and make her laugh, so you thought you’d sneak up, or perhaps she was just distracted and didn’t hear your approach.
Suddenly, she turns around and you see the abject terror in her eyes. It lasts only a moment or perhaps for a few heartbeats, but it shocks you to the core.
Something … someone has implanted that terror in her and you are impotent to protect her from it.
Elvis Has Left the Building by Bryan Thomas
"Elvis is dead," said 8-year-old Emily.
"Elvis died years ago, sweetie," her father replied.
"Not your Elvis, 'my' Elvis."
"Oh, your chinchilla."
"You never liked him, did you, Daddy?"
"I'm not keen on pets that can shit their own body weight on an hourly basis."
Emily ran out of the room.
That afternoon family and friends were gathered around a rodent sized hole in the garden.
Pallbearers Lucy, nine, and Cressida, seven, lowered Elvis into the hole.
"Would you like to say something 'nice' about Elvis, honey?"
Dave ignored his wife's shark eyes. "Elvis... he came, he saw, he shat."
A NEW BEGINNING by Rick Haynes
The fairy smiled like a sun-kissed buttercup covered in dew drops. Her hair flowed around her body as she danced in the lowest branches of the weeping willow.
The mists of time needed to move on, to leave the snow and cold behind.
Singing softly into the gentle breeze her message of love would carry over the meadows and woods. The land would need to change and only she had the power.
She raised her arms.
“The dark days are no more. I command you all to embrace the coming of new life and new growth, for spring has come.”
Panic by D.S. Scott
I open my eyes and I can feel something’s wrong. It’s too dark. Panic sets in when I lift my head and hear it hit something hard. Then I hear the voices and crying. I yell out for help and the voices and crying stop. I hear footsteps.
“Don’t!” someone yells.
Someone cries, “He’s alive!”
A second set of footsteps approach and I’m blinded by light. Now I’m screaming in agony.
“No …” the man above me whispers.
“But …”
“But nothing …”
I stare in horror as he raises a stake and mallet.
“He’s dead … and he’s going to stay that way.”
Where the important things go by J.P.Royan
Quietly it entered through the cat flap. In the dark it sloped to the kitchen chuckling to itself. Head swivelling side to side it opened the drawer and poked around inside. Its face split with a smile, it found its quarry. Hand snapped back into a pouch hanging from its belt. "Time to leave" it hissed. Through the cat flap to the garden. "Back again tomorrow" it said to the garden gnome.
Gregory was up first. Leaning against the counter, kettle boiling. He then opened the cutlery drawer and scratched around inside. "Where the fuck are these tea spoons going"?
Stalling by Nicky D White
Hunkered down
Hiding away
Hoping no one sees you
Hoping no one hears you
You desperately try not to make a sound
Stifling any noise that your body tries to make
You shift uncomfortably
You’re filled with tension
Desperately wanting to relax
The door opens yet again
Someone else is walking in
But someone just left
You felt relief for just a moment
Let out a heavy sigh even
Only to hold your breath once again
But little do you know
Just how much we know
The stench catches our nose
As you hide down there in the poop stall.
Saturday 13 December 2014
Silent yet deadly.
Hey guys. First off, let me apologise for missing all the scheduled programming this week. Despite, gym sessions, an improved diet and the fact that I eat fruit every day, I still managed to catch the flu. And since it's been a while, it hit me bad.
The first two days were the worst, I didn't even sleep at all. I haven't even been in work since Tuesday which is not like me at all. I'm pretty sure I am over the worst of it now and things should be back to normal next week.
Anyway, I'll keep this short. From Tuesday things should be back with some exciting things to show you. I'll see you all soon.
C.S
The first two days were the worst, I didn't even sleep at all. I haven't even been in work since Tuesday which is not like me at all. I'm pretty sure I am over the worst of it now and things should be back to normal next week.
Anyway, I'll keep this short. From Tuesday things should be back with some exciting things to show you. I'll see you all soon.
C.S
Tuesday 9 December 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.22)
Well after the weekends rest from all things blog, it's time we return. As well as my bananas, we are joined by D.S. Scot and first-time drabblist Wendy Gordon. My thanks go to all. Enjoy everybody ...
Writers Block by C.S. Bailey
Two years in: “I’ve written a book! It’s awesome!”
Editing: “I’ve written a book! It’s shockingly bad and I hate every word!”
Release: “I’ve written a book! And I’ve actually finished it! The world will love it!”
After release: “I’ve written a book! I bet everybody hates it!”
Promotion: “I’ve written a book! Buy it and experience the best story you’ve ever read!”
After promotion: “I’ve written a book! I bet everyone will hate it!”
First review: “I’ve written a book! Somebody likes it!”
After being crushed by a mixture of emotions: “I’ve written a book! Let’s write a sequel!”
The curvaceous young woman arrived at the surgery carrying a baby.
Writers Block by C.S. Bailey
Two years in: “I’ve written a book! It’s awesome!”
Editing: “I’ve written a book! It’s shockingly bad and I hate every word!”
Release: “I’ve written a book! And I’ve actually finished it! The world will love it!”
After release: “I’ve written a book! I bet everybody hates it!”
Promotion: “I’ve written a book! Buy it and experience the best story you’ve ever read!”
After promotion: “I’ve written a book! I bet everyone will hate it!”
First review: “I’ve written a book! Somebody likes it!”
After being crushed by a mixture of emotions: “I’ve written a book! Let’s write a sequel!”
The Incredible Shrinking Farm by Nav Logan
Standing on the clifftop, I survey the storm damage. My fence is now dangling over the edge of the cliff. A large tract of land has eroded during the winter, and a new fence will be needed before the cattle can graze.
I remember helping my grandfather to repair the fencing. Of course, the field was much bigger then. It didn’t just appear bigger like many a thing from childhood. It really was bigger. The property maps confirm it.
Soon the whole farm will disappear beneath the waves. There will be nothing left for my own grandchildren to farm.
School Homework by Bryan Thomas
"I ain't done nothing for my homework, Miss Fairhurst," said Michael.
"Really? Well done, that's a first."
"Say what? Miss."
"You've just told me that you did your homework."
"No I didn't, I said I ain't done nothing."
"Michael, If you 'ain't done nothing' then you must have done something."
"Say what? Are you yanking my chain, Miss?"
"No, Michael, I'm not, so let me see your homework, right away."
"Seriously, Miss, have you been smoking some really freaky shit?"
"I ain't been smoking nothing," said Miss Fairhurst, as she winked at Michael.
"Ahh," said Michael, "I get it now."
BABY PROBLEM by Rick Haynes
The curvaceous young woman arrived at the surgery carrying a baby.
‘Baby is not feeding very well,’ she exclaimed.
After an extensive examination the doctor could find nothing wrong.
‘Is he bottle or breast fed?’ He asked.
‘Breast fed.’ she replied.
‘I had better examine you as well, so please strip to the waist.’
Although a little embarrassed she complied with his request.
The doctor felt each of her breasts and then gave each nipple a gentle tug.
‘That’s the problem. You are not producing any milk.’
‘I know. I’m the baby’s aunt but it was nice to meet you.’
Beauty by D.S. Scot
“What do you want?” the woman cried.
“To be beautiful … like you,” Sam smiled.
“Why me?” the woman asked.
“My, my, I just love your hair,” Sam said, ignoring her.
Sam stood over the girl, admiring her beauty.
“Don’t pull at the ropes, dear. It’ll make your wrists raw,” Sam said, smiling.
“Why are you doing this?” she whimpered.
“I already told you … chemo makes all your hair fall out,” Sam said.
“Please mister, don’t do this,” the girl whispered.
“I’m a miss!” Sam yelled, staring at his reflection in the scalpel.
“Now hold still. I just love your hair …”
Park Lust by Wendy Gordon
Park time again, will she be there? Yes, I see her! A vision of loveliness, her perfect long legs entice me, her eyes dazzle me, she seems to shine like a star.
As I pass, I know in her world I don't exist. Her scent overwhelms me, with my heart pounding; my park lust takes over and before I now it, I've mounted her.
This feels so right yet I know this is wrong. I hear a loud scream! "Leave her alone you animal!"
It's on with my lead, my walk is over and I'm in the dog house again.
Friday 5 December 2014
The Weekly Round-Down. (No.18)
Back again already, Fridays come around too fast. This week has been a relatively good week to be fair. I started seeing a personal trainer, found some gems in a book shop and made my own book cover from scratch for the first time ever.
Well it's kind of true. A guy at work is a personal trainer, so we've been going the gym together. It's safe to say that I'm progressing nicely and for the most part, my diet has somewhat improved as well.
Though I am not the sort of person to be found in a charity shop, I found myself in one looking for jigsaws ... I found a 1000 piece Taj Mahal, (didn't even google that spelling). Across the road I stumbled across a quaint little book shop. It was lovely inside and full to the brim of books, a braver version of myself would have asked them to stock Maybe, Misery. I found some poetry books from Tennyson, Wordsworth and Browning. The Tennyson was even inscribed from the year 1903! How crazy is that? And all for the cheap price of 80 pence!
Which brings me to my cover. Soon, I will be releasing my collection of drabbles, poetry and short stories. A lot of which I have put on here, but there'll be some new ones too. So I'm brushing up on my poetry. I know what you're thinking. But after reading Nav's poems and the fact that I reckon I have written at least two good ones, it'll be worth the effort. Plus, I reckon my attempts have been along the right lines and just need a substantial polish. Any way, after a few people having a go at the cover, I had a go myself from scratch and came up with this. It'll pretty much look like this any way ...
Well it's kind of true. A guy at work is a personal trainer, so we've been going the gym together. It's safe to say that I'm progressing nicely and for the most part, my diet has somewhat improved as well.
Though I am not the sort of person to be found in a charity shop, I found myself in one looking for jigsaws ... I found a 1000 piece Taj Mahal, (didn't even google that spelling). Across the road I stumbled across a quaint little book shop. It was lovely inside and full to the brim of books, a braver version of myself would have asked them to stock Maybe, Misery. I found some poetry books from Tennyson, Wordsworth and Browning. The Tennyson was even inscribed from the year 1903! How crazy is that? And all for the cheap price of 80 pence!
Which brings me to my cover. Soon, I will be releasing my collection of drabbles, poetry and short stories. A lot of which I have put on here, but there'll be some new ones too. So I'm brushing up on my poetry. I know what you're thinking. But after reading Nav's poems and the fact that I reckon I have written at least two good ones, it'll be worth the effort. Plus, I reckon my attempts have been along the right lines and just need a substantial polish. Any way, after a few people having a go at the cover, I had a go myself from scratch and came up with this. It'll pretty much look like this any way ...
My Nan spent £40 ($62.69) on Christmas cards! Think of the tree's Nan! Such a ridiculous amount of money to spend. After days of nagging at her, she's agreed not to do it next year. I mean, my Nan's retired and living off her pension. £40 could be a months shop and on cards that people chuck away the day after! Last year, I gave my mother a card and she didn't want it because it didn't say mother on the front! Does she need to be reminded? If it said mother on the front, would that mean I didn't have to write anything on the inside? Because I am her only child after all! Pure stupidity ... it's safe to say, she isn't getting one this year. Maybe she'll send me a game request from the latest Christmas game.
The Daily Mail ... A UK newspaper, has published an article about a young lad committing suicide. The article was a complete shambles, almost implying it was due to his new found love for 'hardcore' music. It was completely biased and disgraceful. Even his parents noticed a change in his behaviour, yet failed to act. I originally went into more detail, but such a sad event does not need publicising. The fact that a paper would print such a shocking article, going as far as to blame a band, does.
In other news - Beating Hearts has been scrapped. First of all, I was told I was going in the wrong direction. I was under the impression we were writing a tense thriller, well at least that's what I signed on for. But apparently it was suddenly supposed to be a fast and racy action flick - wait, wasn't that Maybe, Misery? Surely I wouldn't sign on to write the same thing twice? Then I was told by the co-author that THEY would have to decide what THEY wanted to do with the story. More than a week later, I am informed that they wanted to scrap it as they haven't the time ... this is of course after three months of writing with no pressure. Well thank you for wasting my time, which coincidently is up there with ignorance and a lack of etiquette on the list of things that annoy me. Though I'm hardly annoyed as I can concentrate on The Talon Strand, Life in a Psychopathic Balloon and Between Dimensions. Maybe even Nova and Indigo Watch. Saying this, I have learnt that outside of my bananas, I will be more cautious about working with other authors.
Despite these few niggles, it really has been a good week. I again had KFC in bed and I've got to tell you that isn't getting old any time soon. I finished watching True Detectives and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I'd highly recommend giving it a watch.
To top it all off, Nav Logan and a good woman I know have agreed to Beta read my compilation of drabbles and such which is great news. I have around 105, I'm planning to have 120 and eliminate the weakest 20.
Also something strange, Happy Halloween has continued to sell on Amazon. Strange because Halloween has passed but equally delightful as it means its readability extends past its subject matter.
Anyway here's your top 15 ... have a great week everybody.
(Lwp)
1. (3) One Month Off – Bloc Party
2. (2) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (1) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
4. (6) Inside the Fire - Disturbed
5. (n/a) Kill Everyone – Hollywood Undead
6. (4) Maybe, Misery – Quiet Drive
7. (10) Ex-Creations – Fall Of Troy
8. (n/a) Survival – Eminem
9. (8) Blood – In This Moment
10. (n/a) Shiver – Coldplay
11. (5) Hushabye - KoRn
12. (7) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
13. (12) End of an Empire – Celldweller
14. (n/a) Walking on the moon – Sting & The Police
15. (13) Beauty School – Deftones
Thursday 4 December 2014
Actual Poetry Thursdays! (No.5)
This week we are joined once again by author Nicky White. You can check her out on her website here: www.nickydwhite.com
Demons
Walking through a dense fog
Created by my own demons
I shudder as they stare
Can they see what is inside?
I try to keep it hidden
Protected from the world
Not allowing anyone in
Yet now it is completely controlling me.
A pretty smile on face
A twinkle in my eye
This façade for the world to see
Do they know I’m dying inside?
Is the pain starting to bleed through
Seeping out from within
Poisoning the words that escapes my lips
Dulling the luster in my hazel eyes.
It slowly consumes me
The high that comes from the pain
The pain that comes from the venom
That races through my veins
Living to kill me.
Don’t get to close
It’s safer that way
Better for you to not be tainted
By the poison that is encompassing my soul.
You can’t save me
No one can
Not any more
Not from this…
Demons
Walking through a dense fog
Created by my own demons
I shudder as they stare
Can they see what is inside?
I try to keep it hidden
Protected from the world
Not allowing anyone in
Yet now it is completely controlling me.
A pretty smile on face
A twinkle in my eye
This façade for the world to see
Do they know I’m dying inside?
Is the pain starting to bleed through
Seeping out from within
Poisoning the words that escapes my lips
Dulling the luster in my hazel eyes.
It slowly consumes me
The high that comes from the pain
The pain that comes from the venom
That races through my veins
Living to kill me.
Don’t get to close
It’s safer that way
Better for you to not be tainted
By the poison that is encompassing my soul.
You can’t save me
No one can
Not any more
Not from this…
Wednesday 3 December 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.16)
It would appear I kind of enjoy writing poetry, though I'm awful at it. A fondness has started to develop. This weeks poem is dedicated to author Nicky White and her wonderful Americanisms.
Americana
Driving in deep.
Grabbing the melons.
Squeezing them hard,
Picking the best to keep.
Picking the strawberries,
Biting them through.
Checking their texture,
Before shipping them off in Ferries.
Peeling the bananas,
Choking them down.
Biting the tip,
Sending them to the Bahamas.
Nibbling the cherry’s,
As they pop in my mouth.
Juices are flowing,
As I enjoy the berry’s.
My job at Tropicana,
The best I've ever had.
I'm living the dream.
This ... my Americana.
Americana
Driving in deep.
Grabbing the melons.
Squeezing them hard,
Picking the best to keep.
Picking the strawberries,
Biting them through.
Checking their texture,
Before shipping them off in Ferries.
Peeling the bananas,
Choking them down.
Biting the tip,
Sending them to the Bahamas.
Nibbling the cherry’s,
As they pop in my mouth.
Juices are flowing,
As I enjoy the berry’s.
My job at Tropicana,
The best I've ever had.
I'm living the dream.
This ... my Americana.
Tuesday 2 December 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.21)
So, how awesome was last week? It was pretty damn good if you ask me :p Anyway, lets get back to normal with your weekly drabbles. I still have quite a few left over from other authors so there should be guests for the next few weeks. This weeks lovely guest is Kristina Canady, so make sure you show her some love. As always my thanks go to my bananas. Grab that hot beverage you've become used to and enjoy ...
Shopping Smarts by C.S.Bailey
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the milk is please?”
“It’s in the fridge.”
“Where would the fridge be?”
“You’re stood next to it.”
“So I am. It’s been one of those days.”
“I can tell. You look like a wreck.”
“Do you enjoy pointing out the obvious?”
“Have a guess.”
I’ve never liked the customers at my local supermarket; they’re ignorant and brain dead. Walking home with my shopping I feel this force collide with my body. As I use all my strength to lift up my head, the woman from the store shouts. “You’ve been run over!”
The Diary of a Disgruntled Dwarf by Nav Logan
Me and the lads were doing all right for ourselves, making a tidy profit from our mining business until she came along and messed it all up.
Sure, it was nice to have a woman around, but honestly, we’d have been better off without the hassle.
One day, we arrived home and there she was, like an extra at a zombie convention.
Of course, we couldn’t call in the Blue Meanies. They’d soon cop on to our smuggling enterprise.
Then, this smarmy mammy’s boy waltzes along and wakes her up with a kiss. Prince Charming, my ass! What a chancer!
His Punishment by Bryan Thomas
Eight boys stood behind, and to both sides of Andrew. He knew that trying to run away would be futile.
Josh, the cock of the school, rolled his sleeves up and fixed Andrew with a menacing glare.
Andrew knew three things were certain: It would be quick. It would be harsh. The pain would be excruciating.
Behind Josh, around one hundred and fifty primary school pupils stood in silent anticipation.
Andrew was ten-years-old but he would have to take his punishment like a man, and anyway, as far as he was aware nobody had ever died from a Chinese burn.
Shopping Smarts by C.S.Bailey
“Excuse me. Can you tell me where the milk is please?”
“It’s in the fridge.”
“Where would the fridge be?”
“You’re stood next to it.”
“So I am. It’s been one of those days.”
“I can tell. You look like a wreck.”
“Do you enjoy pointing out the obvious?”
“Have a guess.”
I’ve never liked the customers at my local supermarket; they’re ignorant and brain dead. Walking home with my shopping I feel this force collide with my body. As I use all my strength to lift up my head, the woman from the store shouts. “You’ve been run over!”
The Diary of a Disgruntled Dwarf by Nav Logan
Me and the lads were doing all right for ourselves, making a tidy profit from our mining business until she came along and messed it all up.
Sure, it was nice to have a woman around, but honestly, we’d have been better off without the hassle.
One day, we arrived home and there she was, like an extra at a zombie convention.
Of course, we couldn’t call in the Blue Meanies. They’d soon cop on to our smuggling enterprise.
Then, this smarmy mammy’s boy waltzes along and wakes her up with a kiss. Prince Charming, my ass! What a chancer!
His Punishment by Bryan Thomas
Eight boys stood behind, and to both sides of Andrew. He knew that trying to run away would be futile.
Josh, the cock of the school, rolled his sleeves up and fixed Andrew with a menacing glare.
Andrew knew three things were certain: It would be quick. It would be harsh. The pain would be excruciating.
Behind Josh, around one hundred and fifty primary school pupils stood in silent anticipation.
Andrew was ten-years-old but he would have to take his punishment like a man, and anyway, as far as he was aware nobody had ever died from a Chinese burn.
The termites made a great presentation.
The caterpillars produced a magnificent one. Capturing the moment from cocoon to butterfly was video magic.
The spider commercial had been greatly condemned, as one of their presenters had bitten a camera-cricket.
The Beetles, with backing vocals from the bees, provided the entertainment.
What a buzz!
All was now set. The committee were to announce the next hosts of the Insect Olympic Games.
‘The winner of the next games is, the Ants.’
They were ecstatic.
‘That’s four in a row. Why them?’
‘Simple survival.’ said the sun beetle.
‘If we win, they eat us.’
Portrait of a broken heart by Kristina Canady
Slinking past the foreboding door, I venture to the pool house to meet my secret lover.
Pain and longing surface once more for a distant husband's affections that care little for holding a wife's attention.
Slipping in, breath catching, eyes skip over the expectant length waiting in anticipation.
Palming up the familiar with urgent hands, I lustfully dip the tip, gliding it over the overworked surface, heat building within.
Time slips into the starless night sky.
A nameless force rides me hard as liquid drips from my mad fingertips.
Stepping back, the portrait of a crestfallen woman gazes back.
Slinking past the foreboding door, I venture to the pool house to meet my secret lover.
Pain and longing surface once more for a distant husband's affections that care little for holding a wife's attention.
Slipping in, breath catching, eyes skip over the expectant length waiting in anticipation.
Palming up the familiar with urgent hands, I lustfully dip the tip, gliding it over the overworked surface, heat building within.
Time slips into the starless night sky.
A nameless force rides me hard as liquid drips from my mad fingertips.
Stepping back, the portrait of a crestfallen woman gazes back.
Sunday 30 November 2014
Book Review - Little Words ... Full of Big Worlds by Nav Logan
You all know how Nav logan is by now don't you? I mention him enough. Well today, I finished his book Little words ... Full of Big Worlds. It's safe to say, I wasn't disappointed. You should know by now that I'll only ever promote a book that I think is worth you reading ... And you should be reading this one right now. So be smart you lovely people and check it out! :)
"Having been somewhat familiar with the authors works already, this book was a must read. The authors drabbles (100 word flash fiction) had already amused me for many hours. I was looking forward to more of his trademark wit and clever inspiring tales. When I finally sat down to read the book, the drabbles ended up playing second string. Mr. Logan's poetry is the shining star here, a well kept secret and the definite highlight for me. Each and every poem carefully crafted with the adventure of a full blown novel. Rather than make references to other poets, there is no need. Nav Logan stands on his own with his brand of excellent poetry. Some of the highlights, of which there are many, include... 'The stumped toe affair', 'Houdini the mouse' and 'Being a man.'
Whether your a drabble fan or looking for your new favourite poet, don't look any further than this book of little words and big worlds."
Little words ...
Nav Logan
"Having been somewhat familiar with the authors works already, this book was a must read. The authors drabbles (100 word flash fiction) had already amused me for many hours. I was looking forward to more of his trademark wit and clever inspiring tales. When I finally sat down to read the book, the drabbles ended up playing second string. Mr. Logan's poetry is the shining star here, a well kept secret and the definite highlight for me. Each and every poem carefully crafted with the adventure of a full blown novel. Rather than make references to other poets, there is no need. Nav Logan stands on his own with his brand of excellent poetry. Some of the highlights, of which there are many, include... 'The stumped toe affair', 'Houdini the mouse' and 'Being a man.'
Whether your a drabble fan or looking for your new favourite poet, don't look any further than this book of little words and big worlds."
Little words ...
Nav Logan
Friday 28 November 2014
The Weekly Round-Down. (No.17)
This week was slightly busy to say the least. I was happy about a four star review, completed a chaotic author takeover and still found time to conquer Michael Bay.
I know what you're thinking. After months of me complaining about reviews that didn't contain that perfect rating, how could I be happy with a four? Well, let me assure you, I have not lowered the impossibly daft standards I told against my book. Obviously the four star review was good, but within it contained some of the best advice I had yet to receive. The criticism was that I focused too much on developing the character and not enough on the story. I stared at these words like a child staring at a balloon and suddenly, clarity hit. The reviewer was absolutely right. It had never even crossed my mind. Maybe, Misery was more of a character piece than a story. And this has lead me to believe that I can improve the Talon Strand a lot more by focusing on the story. So that is my newest objective, to focus on.
After a peaceful Saturday spent writing Between Dimensions, I saw my Nan, since on Sunday I had two author take overs. Both for the lovely A.K. Michaels. Long story short they went well, but they were hectic and thanks to my still dodgy lap top, I did most of it on my bloody phone.
Yes, that's right. Your President Bailey, conquered that poor excuse for a film-maker Michael Bay and boy did he have it coming. It's what you get when you cast Kelsey Grammer in a shit movie! No one puts Frasier in a corner.
Story-time 20 went perfectly, so one last thank you goes out to everyone involved. And it is my most popular blog post ever! Though perhaps I could manage to out do it with story-time 40! Forty authors and forty drabbles? It's doable, I reckon. I'd have to start right bloody now.
More people in America read my blog than in England. Which is slightly strange, though I'm still convinced a few of them work for blogger ... well I hope they're entertained. But in all seriousness, thank you Americans. Beating up Obama in the last painful parody was for you.
I was thinking today that it's merely nine months since I entered the indie writing scene and started this blog. Which is crazy! All the amazing people I have met, everything I have achieved, for myself at least. It's all so weird to me. When I started meeting people who had written books, they were celebrities to me ... but not the disposable kind. I mean they were writers with fans! And I was this little guy with a book and hopes of releasing it one day. Now, nine months later, I have become close with them. I have worked along side them. My good friend Nav was one of the first to welcome me to the seen and he's helped me ever since. I've read a lot of Nav's work and posted it around because it deserves to be seen. He's the reason I wrote my first drabble as I've mentioned before. Today (Wednesday), he actually wrote a drabble inspired by one of mine! I was like holy shit, how has that happened! Obviously I was flattered because to me, I'm still a junior author finding my way and the fact that anyone would find my work inspiring, is indeed flattering.
My Nan has started to beat me a cards, she's still along way behind. She owes me £17 ($26.85) but she's catching up. I do not like this. I am very much a sore loser. it drives me crazy, I play to win and anything different to that, I get mad ha ha.
*As of today (Thursday), I gave her good beating at cards and I'm back to winning ways. I also enjoyed KFC in bed again, which continues to be awesome ... after the gym of course. Then, I did a jig saw! Which was awesome, often forgotten in today's digitally obsessed world, it was nice to relax and do a puzzle.
Today is black Friday. Millions of people fighting over reduced-prices and the material possessions they gain. It looks like idiocy to me. Those people fighting over a television, so that you can witness their brain rot in stunning HD. They should stop still for just one second and think about what their life has become ... And then drop dead for consuming more oxygen than they are worth.
Today's spotlight is for the ever lovely Ashley Erin, so be sure to check her out.
You can find her here:
Facebook
Good Reads
A little bit about Ashley:
"I’m 28 years old and finally this year set about fulfilling a long time dream… Writing a novel. So I began All About Us. All About Us is book 1 in the All or Nothing series. It has been a terrifying, thrilling and freeing journey. I am also participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I began my NA, The No Ass-hole Rule. Book 1 in the Rule series. Pushing myself hard for NaNo has shown just how much I can accomplish when I set my mind to it! (All the books in my series are standalone).
I adore horses, my girls Belle and Serenity both have appearances in my book, riding, reading and I love my dog Madison more than I love almost everything else."
And to finish you off, here's the top 15. Have a great weekend everybody.
C.S
(Lwp)
1. (1) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (2) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (4) One Month Off – Bloc Party
4. (5) Maybe, Misery – Quiet Drive
5. (n/a) Hushabye - KoRn
6. (n/a) Inside the Fire - Disturbed
7. (3) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
8. (n/a) Blood – In This Moment
9. (6) Red – CombiChrist
10. (7) Ex-Creations – Fall Of Troy
11. (n/a) Megalomaniac – Incubus
12. (13) End of an Empire – Celldweller
13. (n/a) Beauty School – Deftones
14. (14) For You – Endo
15. (12) Comanche – In This Moment
I know what you're thinking. After months of me complaining about reviews that didn't contain that perfect rating, how could I be happy with a four? Well, let me assure you, I have not lowered the impossibly daft standards I told against my book. Obviously the four star review was good, but within it contained some of the best advice I had yet to receive. The criticism was that I focused too much on developing the character and not enough on the story. I stared at these words like a child staring at a balloon and suddenly, clarity hit. The reviewer was absolutely right. It had never even crossed my mind. Maybe, Misery was more of a character piece than a story. And this has lead me to believe that I can improve the Talon Strand a lot more by focusing on the story. So that is my newest objective, to focus on.
After a peaceful Saturday spent writing Between Dimensions, I saw my Nan, since on Sunday I had two author take overs. Both for the lovely A.K. Michaels. Long story short they went well, but they were hectic and thanks to my still dodgy lap top, I did most of it on my bloody phone.
Yes, that's right. Your President Bailey, conquered that poor excuse for a film-maker Michael Bay and boy did he have it coming. It's what you get when you cast Kelsey Grammer in a shit movie! No one puts Frasier in a corner.
Story-time 20 went perfectly, so one last thank you goes out to everyone involved. And it is my most popular blog post ever! Though perhaps I could manage to out do it with story-time 40! Forty authors and forty drabbles? It's doable, I reckon. I'd have to start right bloody now.
More people in America read my blog than in England. Which is slightly strange, though I'm still convinced a few of them work for blogger ... well I hope they're entertained. But in all seriousness, thank you Americans. Beating up Obama in the last painful parody was for you.
I was thinking today that it's merely nine months since I entered the indie writing scene and started this blog. Which is crazy! All the amazing people I have met, everything I have achieved, for myself at least. It's all so weird to me. When I started meeting people who had written books, they were celebrities to me ... but not the disposable kind. I mean they were writers with fans! And I was this little guy with a book and hopes of releasing it one day. Now, nine months later, I have become close with them. I have worked along side them. My good friend Nav was one of the first to welcome me to the seen and he's helped me ever since. I've read a lot of Nav's work and posted it around because it deserves to be seen. He's the reason I wrote my first drabble as I've mentioned before. Today (Wednesday), he actually wrote a drabble inspired by one of mine! I was like holy shit, how has that happened! Obviously I was flattered because to me, I'm still a junior author finding my way and the fact that anyone would find my work inspiring, is indeed flattering.
My Nan has started to beat me a cards, she's still along way behind. She owes me £17 ($26.85) but she's catching up. I do not like this. I am very much a sore loser. it drives me crazy, I play to win and anything different to that, I get mad ha ha.
*As of today (Thursday), I gave her good beating at cards and I'm back to winning ways. I also enjoyed KFC in bed again, which continues to be awesome ... after the gym of course. Then, I did a jig saw! Which was awesome, often forgotten in today's digitally obsessed world, it was nice to relax and do a puzzle.
Today is black Friday. Millions of people fighting over reduced-prices and the material possessions they gain. It looks like idiocy to me. Those people fighting over a television, so that you can witness their brain rot in stunning HD. They should stop still for just one second and think about what their life has become ... And then drop dead for consuming more oxygen than they are worth.
Today's spotlight is for the ever lovely Ashley Erin, so be sure to check her out.
You can find her here:
Good Reads
A little bit about Ashley:
"I’m 28 years old and finally this year set about fulfilling a long time dream… Writing a novel. So I began All About Us. All About Us is book 1 in the All or Nothing series. It has been a terrifying, thrilling and freeing journey. I am also participating in NaNoWriMo this year. I began my NA, The No Ass-hole Rule. Book 1 in the Rule series. Pushing myself hard for NaNo has shown just how much I can accomplish when I set my mind to it! (All the books in my series are standalone).
I adore horses, my girls Belle and Serenity both have appearances in my book, riding, reading and I love my dog Madison more than I love almost everything else."
And to finish you off, here's the top 15. Have a great weekend everybody.
C.S
(Lwp)
1. (1) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (2) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (4) One Month Off – Bloc Party
4. (5) Maybe, Misery – Quiet Drive
5. (n/a) Hushabye - KoRn
6. (n/a) Inside the Fire - Disturbed
7. (3) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
8. (n/a) Blood – In This Moment
9. (6) Red – CombiChrist
10. (7) Ex-Creations – Fall Of Troy
11. (n/a) Megalomaniac – Incubus
12. (13) End of an Empire – Celldweller
13. (n/a) Beauty School – Deftones
14. (14) For You – Endo
15. (12) Comanche – In This Moment
Thursday 27 November 2014
Actual Poetry Thursdays! (No.4)
We are once again joined by Nav Logan this week. I know I said this wouldn't be a weekly thing, but with people writing such brilliant poems, surely it's a crime not to share them? Any way, enjoy and head to www.navlogan.com for more.
"The poem from which the Storm-Bringer Saga grew…" *Which you can get here.*
Storm-Bringer
The storm rises, filling the air with thunder,
Clouds darken and begin to swirl, angry.
Lightning cracks and seers the earth,
Its beauty filling me with awe.
And across the land, the sound of thunder rolls on …
Somewhere far away, a woman sits, looking at the coming storm
Hair, raven black and as wild as the incoming tempest.
Sitting silently, engrossed in the power above,
Pale-skinned against the storms flashing glare.
And across the land, the thunder rumbles on ...
A raven circles high above, buffeted by the strong winds,
Beady eyes searching the ground, seeking out a meal.
Wings ruffling as it turns to dive. It shivers,
And races the down-pouring rain, to the soft earth below.
And the thunder rumbles on …
Lightning strikes a tree, black shadows take to wing,
And a woman watches the dance of life,
She shivers at the sudden chill in the air,
The hairs on her arms standing up,
In salute of the power above,
As the storm gathers above the house.
Lightning arcs down from the heavens,
Sparks fly from the weathervane.
And the lights within the house flicker and go out,
Leaving the rooms in darkness.
And the thunder rumbles on ...
With a start and a shudder, the woman blinks,
Feeling the blood racing through her body,
Pounding in her ears,
As thunder and lightning strike together.
As the thunder rumbles overhead …
The raven settles on the smoking oak outside.
The woman smiles and settles back to watch.
Rain sweeps across the land, washing it clean,
And the stormy wind shakes the trees.
The thunder rolls away into the distance.
And the sun begins to shine.
Making the woman’s eyes close,
Shying away from the glare,
As the tension leaves the air.
The world falls silent,
As the calm arrives at the door
And in the distance …
The thunder rolls on.
"The poem from which the Storm-Bringer Saga grew…" *Which you can get here.*
Storm-Bringer
The storm rises, filling the air with thunder,
Clouds darken and begin to swirl, angry.
Lightning cracks and seers the earth,
Its beauty filling me with awe.
And across the land, the sound of thunder rolls on …
Somewhere far away, a woman sits, looking at the coming storm
Hair, raven black and as wild as the incoming tempest.
Sitting silently, engrossed in the power above,
Pale-skinned against the storms flashing glare.
And across the land, the thunder rumbles on ...
A raven circles high above, buffeted by the strong winds,
Beady eyes searching the ground, seeking out a meal.
Wings ruffling as it turns to dive. It shivers,
And races the down-pouring rain, to the soft earth below.
And the thunder rumbles on …
Lightning strikes a tree, black shadows take to wing,
And a woman watches the dance of life,
She shivers at the sudden chill in the air,
The hairs on her arms standing up,
In salute of the power above,
As the storm gathers above the house.
Lightning arcs down from the heavens,
Sparks fly from the weathervane.
And the lights within the house flicker and go out,
Leaving the rooms in darkness.
And the thunder rumbles on ...
With a start and a shudder, the woman blinks,
Feeling the blood racing through her body,
Pounding in her ears,
As thunder and lightning strike together.
As the thunder rumbles overhead …
The raven settles on the smoking oak outside.
The woman smiles and settles back to watch.
Rain sweeps across the land, washing it clean,
And the stormy wind shakes the trees.
The thunder rolls away into the distance.
And the sun begins to shine.
Making the woman’s eyes close,
Shying away from the glare,
As the tension leaves the air.
The world falls silent,
As the calm arrives at the door
And in the distance …
The thunder rolls on.
Wednesday 26 November 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.15)
Death Dealer
Lost and alone, yet completely surrounded,
Cast out by design.
With unaltered perceptions of time,
Looking for love, but constantly dumbfounded.
Life like an illusion,
Struggling with the mundane.
Without an adventure.
Twisted within confusion.
Intertwined with many, caring for only a few.
Desperate for the end,
Or merely looking for a beginning.
Confined by the lies that remain true.
Lacking in a trustful nature,
Forever vigilant.
Enemies making perfect strangers,
Finding nothing worth the nurture.
Desperately craving a healer.
Glancing through the bitter storm,
Biting down to the bone.
Searching for the death dealer.
Lost and alone, yet completely surrounded,
Cast out by design.
With unaltered perceptions of time,
Looking for love, but constantly dumbfounded.
Life like an illusion,
Struggling with the mundane.
Without an adventure.
Twisted within confusion.
Intertwined with many, caring for only a few.
Desperate for the end,
Or merely looking for a beginning.
Confined by the lies that remain true.
Lacking in a trustful nature,
Forever vigilant.
Enemies making perfect strangers,
Finding nothing worth the nurture.
Desperately craving a healer.
Glancing through the bitter storm,
Biting down to the bone.
Searching for the death dealer.
Tuesday 25 November 2014
Story-time 20! Mega-Mega Bumper Edition!
Story-time 20 is here! *And the crowd goes wild* We couldn't have arrived at this point without the help of everyone who has contributed thus far, so thank you all; especially my bananas because without them, it wouldn't have been possible. We have 20 drabbles for you today, two of which are two hundred words. We have some from veteran drabblists and some from first-timers, not that you'd know it from there excellent work. I'd like to thank each of them for their time and effort, so make sure you check out their sites (embedded within their name) and show them some support. They're all bananas in my book. And yes, that is a compliment.
Now it's grab that hot beverage (best make it a large) that you have become accustomed to and enjoy these fantastic short stories in no particular order. Much love, C.S
Sunset Dreams by C.S. Bailey
The sun glistens off the seas teal surface as it starts to set, the air is as fresh and clean as it’s ever been and as the sand caresses the soles of my feet, I crack a smile.
For the very first time, it feels like I’m home.
Suddenly I am approached by a stranger, dressed in a long black cloak with the hood covering his face. His hands gripping a scythe, yet I feel no fear.
He walks straight past me slowly and mutters the words “welcome home” in his gravelly voice.
So this is what heaven looks like.
Great Plans of Crows and Men by Nav Logan
The ravens peck hungrily at the crumbs, relishing the freshly-baked bread. They are starting to get full, but no matter how much they eat there is always more crumbs ahead.
They meander further into the garden, following the ornamental hedges and gobbling up the bread.
They sense a trap, but the food is just too tempting to ignore.
Farther and farther they travel, winding their way through the hedgerows, always following the feast. Up ahead, they can hear people arguing “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Absolutely! We only need to follow the breadcrumbs to escape the maze…”
Promotion at any cost by Rick Haynes
Algernon had been seeking promotion in the War Office.
Finally, he had received his invitation to the diplomatic dinner, and he was determined to make the most of it.
On spying a beautiful girl, he immediately took the seat next to her and poured them both generous drinks.
They were soon giggling away so he slipped his hand under the table and caressed her knee.
As there was no reaction, his hand moved higher to the edge of her panties.
He smiled as she passed over a note.
Don’t give the game away when you reach my balls. Berkley - MI5.
Tabloid by David Wailing
Like every morning, John Drake reads the papers during breakfast. He’s giving this new personalised digital newspaper a try. Apparently they’ve turned their job into a precise art.
At his touch, the data-plastic broadsheet lights up.
The Daily You
Monday 25 November 2024
YOUR DOCTOR SAYS “60% CHANCE MR DRAKE WILL DIE OF HEART DISEASE WITHIN FIVE YEARS”
ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS HAVE MOVED IN AT NUMBER 88
CAUGHT ON CCTV: YOUR DAUGHTER KAREN’S CRACK HOUSE SHAME
John chokes on his cornflakes, pulse racing, vision blurring. Too late, he realises what the tabloids’ job really is: delivering fear.
OBITUARY: JONATHAN DRAKE, 57.
Face in the Mirror by Michael Brookes
I stare at my face in the mirror and I can’t be sure that it’s really me. My eyes are hunted and bruised from nights of disturbed sleep. A dread has stalked my dreams, twisting them into nightmares that linger even in dawn’s embrace.
In the mirror I glimpse a malformed shadow lurking behind me, its touch is cold upon my skin and fills me with terror. My will fails and I fall into the mirror, my final scream frozen in glass.
I gaze at my reflection and admire my new face, I think I’ll wear it for a while.
When Authors Kill by Ken Magee
She said she hated him. She said she would break his arms. Then she said she would break his legs. After that, she said she would scream abuse at him and then she would kill him. Then she said she would have a glass of wine and toast his demise.
The claw hammer swished almost silently through the air and caught her with a sickening, bone-crushing blow on the nose. Her whole face exploded in a star burst of blood spatter; pasting the wall with a gory, dripping pattern of steaming brains.
“Show, don’t tell,” he whispered into the corpse’s ear.
Tree of little life by Lisa Williamson
Life makes a way not matter the conditions. The water lapping gently against the rock teases the roots of my being. I reach to the sky with arms so small yet so strong. Within me there is strength and vibrancy that you can see and feel if you take a moment of time.
Green is my blood and brown is my bone, I am life and wonder and all that surrounds your world. Come drift upon the waters and brush against my being, today we are brothers in the soul of imagination. Can you find in yourself a new dream?
Now it's grab that hot beverage (best make it a large) that you have become accustomed to and enjoy these fantastic short stories in no particular order. Much love, C.S
Sunset Dreams by C.S. Bailey
The sun glistens off the seas teal surface as it starts to set, the air is as fresh and clean as it’s ever been and as the sand caresses the soles of my feet, I crack a smile.
For the very first time, it feels like I’m home.
Suddenly I am approached by a stranger, dressed in a long black cloak with the hood covering his face. His hands gripping a scythe, yet I feel no fear.
He walks straight past me slowly and mutters the words “welcome home” in his gravelly voice.
So this is what heaven looks like.
The ravens peck hungrily at the crumbs, relishing the freshly-baked bread. They are starting to get full, but no matter how much they eat there is always more crumbs ahead.
They meander further into the garden, following the ornamental hedges and gobbling up the bread.
They sense a trap, but the food is just too tempting to ignore.
Farther and farther they travel, winding their way through the hedgerows, always following the feast. Up ahead, they can hear people arguing “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Absolutely! We only need to follow the breadcrumbs to escape the maze…”
Hold-up at the Hold-up by Bryan Thomas
"Everybody hit the deck!" The armed robber shouted.
Everyone lay on the floor apart from one elderly man.
"Open the safe, old-timer, and fill this bag with cash," the robber said.
"We don't have any money, would you like me to put some sausage rolls in your bag?"
"Sausage rolls! Quit stalling and fill the bag or I'll blow your freakin' head off."
The robber approached the old man and pointed the gun at his head.
"I've told you already, we don't have any money."
"This is a bank, isn't it?"
"Yes, this is a bank - a food bank."
Algernon had been seeking promotion in the War Office.
Finally, he had received his invitation to the diplomatic dinner, and he was determined to make the most of it.
On spying a beautiful girl, he immediately took the seat next to her and poured them both generous drinks.
They were soon giggling away so he slipped his hand under the table and caressed her knee.
As there was no reaction, his hand moved higher to the edge of her panties.
He smiled as she passed over a note.
Don’t give the game away when you reach my balls. Berkley - MI5.
Tabloid by David Wailing
Like every morning, John Drake reads the papers during breakfast. He’s giving this new personalised digital newspaper a try. Apparently they’ve turned their job into a precise art.
At his touch, the data-plastic broadsheet lights up.
The Daily You
Monday 25 November 2024
YOUR DOCTOR SAYS “60% CHANCE MR DRAKE WILL DIE OF HEART DISEASE WITHIN FIVE YEARS”
ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS HAVE MOVED IN AT NUMBER 88
CAUGHT ON CCTV: YOUR DAUGHTER KAREN’S CRACK HOUSE SHAME
John chokes on his cornflakes, pulse racing, vision blurring. Too late, he realises what the tabloids’ job really is: delivering fear.
OBITUARY: JONATHAN DRAKE, 57.
I stare at my face in the mirror and I can’t be sure that it’s really me. My eyes are hunted and bruised from nights of disturbed sleep. A dread has stalked my dreams, twisting them into nightmares that linger even in dawn’s embrace.
In the mirror I glimpse a malformed shadow lurking behind me, its touch is cold upon my skin and fills me with terror. My will fails and I fall into the mirror, my final scream frozen in glass.
I gaze at my reflection and admire my new face, I think I’ll wear it for a while.
When Authors Kill by Ken Magee
She said she hated him. She said she would break his arms. Then she said she would break his legs. After that, she said she would scream abuse at him and then she would kill him. Then she said she would have a glass of wine and toast his demise.
The claw hammer swished almost silently through the air and caught her with a sickening, bone-crushing blow on the nose. Her whole face exploded in a star burst of blood spatter; pasting the wall with a gory, dripping pattern of steaming brains.
“Show, don’t tell,” he whispered into the corpse’s ear.
Tree of little life by Lisa Williamson
Life makes a way not matter the conditions. The water lapping gently against the rock teases the roots of my being. I reach to the sky with arms so small yet so strong. Within me there is strength and vibrancy that you can see and feel if you take a moment of time.
Green is my blood and brown is my bone, I am life and wonder and all that surrounds your world. Come drift upon the waters and brush against my being, today we are brothers in the soul of imagination. Can you find in yourself a new dream?
No Escape! by A.K. Michaels
Lightning flashed and the girl gasped, eyes wide as she frantically tried to find an escape. Heart beating wildly in her chest as she senses them closing in. ‘I’m not going to escape!’
“No!” she screamed, terror in her voice as the first of her pursuers appeared.
Stalking towards her, hate in his eyes, dressed in black leather. She knew she was done for when more joined him. A dozen, all dressed alike, all holding the same death in their hands.
“You’re not getting away this time!” their leader shouted, the moon glinting off the silver stake in his hand.
Killed in Hiding by Marie Norman
"Keep away from the bloody windows," she pulled the boy away, the blinds twanged as he released them.
"Fuck off," he twisted away from her.
"There's snipers out there. You know what they are, don't you?"
He glared at her.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" She felt sorry for the little toe rag. It wasn't his fault they were in this mess.
Then there was a crack of glass as the window shattered, and a sharp pain in the side of her head. She and the boy stared at one another. He was a rabbit caught in headlights; like a mirage in her sudden swimming vision.
Then he was alone.
FAMILY GAMES by Paul Beckman
My brother and I played “Blink” growing up. We’d start the game by standing back to back and stepping off five paces. Then we’d turn around and stare into each other’s eyes until one of us blinked. Next, if neither blinked, we’d move forward a step and do it again until finally we were only inches apart staring while complaining of the other’s bad breathe.
Our parents often played “Silence”. They could be sitting next to each other at dinner or family function and not speak a word. Ask them why they weren’t talking to each other and you got the ‘fish eye’. Why the ‘fish eye’? It was easier to make the ‘fish eye’ than to remember why they weren’t talking--that’s why.
Betrayal by J.P. Royan
The moonlight bathed the courtyard. Garth silently crept up on his mark, stiletto slipping down his sleeve into his open palm. The lord sat facing the gates expectantly. She's not coming Garth knew.
He closed in on his prey, his pay day. Shifting to attack he noticed beneath the lord a dark pool. He sniffed, the unmistakable scent of blood on the air. The smell of betrayal! Like lightening he moved to the side as two bolts thudded into the lord's corpse. Rolling to a crouch behind a wall, throwing knives in hand, Garth snarled. "Slowly, these two I'll kill slowly!"
Lightning flashed and the girl gasped, eyes wide as she frantically tried to find an escape. Heart beating wildly in her chest as she senses them closing in. ‘I’m not going to escape!’
“No!” she screamed, terror in her voice as the first of her pursuers appeared.
Stalking towards her, hate in his eyes, dressed in black leather. She knew she was done for when more joined him. A dozen, all dressed alike, all holding the same death in their hands.
“You’re not getting away this time!” their leader shouted, the moon glinting off the silver stake in his hand.
Killed in Hiding by Marie Norman
"Keep away from the bloody windows," she pulled the boy away, the blinds twanged as he released them.
"Fuck off," he twisted away from her.
"There's snipers out there. You know what they are, don't you?"
He glared at her.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" She felt sorry for the little toe rag. It wasn't his fault they were in this mess.
Then there was a crack of glass as the window shattered, and a sharp pain in the side of her head. She and the boy stared at one another. He was a rabbit caught in headlights; like a mirage in her sudden swimming vision.
Then he was alone.
FAMILY GAMES by Paul Beckman
My brother and I played “Blink” growing up. We’d start the game by standing back to back and stepping off five paces. Then we’d turn around and stare into each other’s eyes until one of us blinked. Next, if neither blinked, we’d move forward a step and do it again until finally we were only inches apart staring while complaining of the other’s bad breathe.
Our parents often played “Silence”. They could be sitting next to each other at dinner or family function and not speak a word. Ask them why they weren’t talking to each other and you got the ‘fish eye’. Why the ‘fish eye’? It was easier to make the ‘fish eye’ than to remember why they weren’t talking--that’s why.
Betrayal by J.P. Royan
The moonlight bathed the courtyard. Garth silently crept up on his mark, stiletto slipping down his sleeve into his open palm. The lord sat facing the gates expectantly. She's not coming Garth knew.
He closed in on his prey, his pay day. Shifting to attack he noticed beneath the lord a dark pool. He sniffed, the unmistakable scent of blood on the air. The smell of betrayal! Like lightening he moved to the side as two bolts thudded into the lord's corpse. Rolling to a crouch behind a wall, throwing knives in hand, Garth snarled. "Slowly, these two I'll kill slowly!"
Left Sock Murderer by D.S. Scot
Did I ever tell you why they called me the “Left Sock Murderer?" It’s a weird name, I know, but there’s a reason. Before I kill someone I take their left sock and gag them with it. Well, when I got to my last victim I got careless and didn’t pay enough attention. I kidnapped the guy but he stayed quiet. I guess he was in shock. Anyway, I would have gotten away with it but he finally screamed. I tried to shut him up but it was too late. That stupid son of a bitch was wearing flip flops!
Did I ever tell you why they called me the “Left Sock Murderer?" It’s a weird name, I know, but there’s a reason. Before I kill someone I take their left sock and gag them with it. Well, when I got to my last victim I got careless and didn’t pay enough attention. I kidnapped the guy but he stayed quiet. I guess he was in shock. Anyway, I would have gotten away with it but he finally screamed. I tried to shut him up but it was too late. That stupid son of a bitch was wearing flip flops!
This crumbling ruin was once the stronghold of King Halgor the Stubborn. When the torrents of rain came beating upon the earth, and the ground split open like the hungry maw of a giant from the legends of old, King Halgor stood fast and refused to leave his keep. When the dust settled, and the villagers returned, they discovered that most of the solid stronghold had folded into the sea and sunk without trace, leaving behind one tower, lonely and haunted.
Steeped in memories and soaked in superstition, it still stands, a humble sentinel, with ghosts its only occupants. Some say the King was swept out to sea with the rest of his keep, still sitting astride his golden throne. Others say his restless spirit climbs the steps of the tower, walks the surrounding lands, leading the unwary to their deaths over the jagged cliffs.
I never believed in ghosts. I never thought of them as real. Not the sheets and clanking chains type of ghosts, and certainly not the transparent spectres which now haunt my memory every bit as much as they ever haunted that ruined and rotting old keep. Now I know.
Let me tell you my story...
The black dog by Francine Samuel
Once upon a time, in a far away forest, lived a young couple. Every day, he left early for work, coming back late. His wife would hang a lantern at the window to guide him but he was so worried leaving her alone, he bought a black dog to guard her.
The black dog loved her at first sight. Jealous, he knocked over the lantern, extinguishing its light.
She ran out, calling for her husband, now lost. It is said their ghosts still wander the night, searching for each other.
The black dog? no one knows what became of him.
Dessert by Nicky White
“Dinner was delicious, thank you.” Nicolette gives a warm smile, her hazel eyes twinkling from the flicker of the candle light.
Stuart nods his head but says nothing.
The door swings open as the butler enters the dining room.
He gives Stuart a knowing smile as he approaches the table with a silver tray.
Nicolette takes notice of the fruit, ice cream, chocolate, and whipped cream.
“This looks delicious.” her mouth waters.
“This is not for you.” Stuart says with a wicked grin.
Nicolette pouts, “But why not? Dessert is the best part.”
“Oh but Sweetheart, you are the dessert.”
The Stabbings by Jonathan Hill
He was ruthlessly efficient. In it went, out it came. Job done.
In most cases, the victims never even saw him coming. Stab, stab, stab. Cutting through skin as if it were butter left out of the fridge, forgotten.
He didn’t often see blood, but the speed with which he moved on to his next victim meant that his eyes didn’t linger for long on the point of penetration. When he did catch a glimpse of red, though, he looked at it without bother, unblinking.
And every victim heard the same final words called. “Next one for the flu jab!”
Coyote Ugly by Kristina Canady
Tossed with sleep and dreams too hot to bear, I exasperatedly throw back the covers.
Dark eyes and devilish good looks plague me. One day, endeavours to ride the man-whore of a bartender from the local bar until the birds sing will be had.
Splashing cold water on my face, I head back to bed only to realize that my dreams may not be so hypothetical.
Peering over the bunched sheets in anticipation, the glare of a balding head stares back.
Damn the drink that has landed the bar-fly accountant in my duvet whilst making me think it was another.
Disbe-leaf by Matthew Drzymala
Father Whitworth O'Grady growled incandescently. How dare the local newspaper accuse him of stealing leaves. What kind of man in his forties painted leaves and splodged them onto paper to make colourful leafy collages?
He was a priest. A respected pillar of the community. Such wild accusations could belittle all the good work that he had done in the small village.
He looked up. The evening was cold but the headlines of the day had stoked his boiling temper.
"Scurrilous allegations," he mumbled as he stuffed a handful of leaves into a bin bag before setting off for home.
At the Cemetery by Jolie Shanoian
At the Cemetery there is a large wrought iron fence that stretches the length of the whole hill. A long driveway takes us to the gate.
The mortician is standing at the gate to greet my mother and I upon our arrival.
There are many grave stones of all shapes and sizes.
At the far end of the cemetery there is a mausoleum that is where my mother and I are going.
The mortician leads the way and takes us through heavy double doors that lead through many rooms and a maze of corridors. It is deathly quiet.
We exit the mausoleum; we are now at the top of the hill.
From the cemetery you can see all around the valley below.
My mother is carrying white roses with her today. We put them on a very special grave. It is my father’s, he died last year.
The mortician looks on as my mother places the roses on the grave.
It will be night soon. My mother and I thank the mortician. He says he will pick her up at 8:00.
We wave as we drive back through the cemetery gates.
Many hands wave back.
The End
Steeped in memories and soaked in superstition, it still stands, a humble sentinel, with ghosts its only occupants. Some say the King was swept out to sea with the rest of his keep, still sitting astride his golden throne. Others say his restless spirit climbs the steps of the tower, walks the surrounding lands, leading the unwary to their deaths over the jagged cliffs.
I never believed in ghosts. I never thought of them as real. Not the sheets and clanking chains type of ghosts, and certainly not the transparent spectres which now haunt my memory every bit as much as they ever haunted that ruined and rotting old keep. Now I know.
Let me tell you my story...
The black dog by Francine Samuel
Once upon a time, in a far away forest, lived a young couple. Every day, he left early for work, coming back late. His wife would hang a lantern at the window to guide him but he was so worried leaving her alone, he bought a black dog to guard her.
The black dog loved her at first sight. Jealous, he knocked over the lantern, extinguishing its light.
She ran out, calling for her husband, now lost. It is said their ghosts still wander the night, searching for each other.
The black dog? no one knows what became of him.
Dessert by Nicky White
“Dinner was delicious, thank you.” Nicolette gives a warm smile, her hazel eyes twinkling from the flicker of the candle light.
Stuart nods his head but says nothing.
The door swings open as the butler enters the dining room.
He gives Stuart a knowing smile as he approaches the table with a silver tray.
Nicolette takes notice of the fruit, ice cream, chocolate, and whipped cream.
“This looks delicious.” her mouth waters.
“This is not for you.” Stuart says with a wicked grin.
Nicolette pouts, “But why not? Dessert is the best part.”
“Oh but Sweetheart, you are the dessert.”
The Stabbings by Jonathan Hill
He was ruthlessly efficient. In it went, out it came. Job done.
In most cases, the victims never even saw him coming. Stab, stab, stab. Cutting through skin as if it were butter left out of the fridge, forgotten.
He didn’t often see blood, but the speed with which he moved on to his next victim meant that his eyes didn’t linger for long on the point of penetration. When he did catch a glimpse of red, though, he looked at it without bother, unblinking.
And every victim heard the same final words called. “Next one for the flu jab!”
Tossed with sleep and dreams too hot to bear, I exasperatedly throw back the covers.
Dark eyes and devilish good looks plague me. One day, endeavours to ride the man-whore of a bartender from the local bar until the birds sing will be had.
Splashing cold water on my face, I head back to bed only to realize that my dreams may not be so hypothetical.
Peering over the bunched sheets in anticipation, the glare of a balding head stares back.
Damn the drink that has landed the bar-fly accountant in my duvet whilst making me think it was another.
Disbe-leaf by Matthew Drzymala
Father Whitworth O'Grady growled incandescently. How dare the local newspaper accuse him of stealing leaves. What kind of man in his forties painted leaves and splodged them onto paper to make colourful leafy collages?
He was a priest. A respected pillar of the community. Such wild accusations could belittle all the good work that he had done in the small village.
He looked up. The evening was cold but the headlines of the day had stoked his boiling temper.
"Scurrilous allegations," he mumbled as he stuffed a handful of leaves into a bin bag before setting off for home.
At the Cemetery by Jolie Shanoian
At the Cemetery there is a large wrought iron fence that stretches the length of the whole hill. A long driveway takes us to the gate.
The mortician is standing at the gate to greet my mother and I upon our arrival.
There are many grave stones of all shapes and sizes.
At the far end of the cemetery there is a mausoleum that is where my mother and I are going.
The mortician leads the way and takes us through heavy double doors that lead through many rooms and a maze of corridors. It is deathly quiet.
We exit the mausoleum; we are now at the top of the hill.
From the cemetery you can see all around the valley below.
My mother is carrying white roses with her today. We put them on a very special grave. It is my father’s, he died last year.
The mortician looks on as my mother places the roses on the grave.
It will be night soon. My mother and I thank the mortician. He says he will pick her up at 8:00.
We wave as we drive back through the cemetery gates.
Many hands wave back.
The End
Saturday 22 November 2014
Painful Parodies VII! Chris Bailey Conquers Michael Bay!
There I was, living out my life in peace. Away from humanities grasp and far from trouble. Then like a flash bang grenade Scarlett hit me with the line. "We need to talk." Long story short, we broke up. I gave her a good bye present and we went our separate ways. Though after a bite from the black widow spider I gave her, I doubt she made it off the island. How's that for irony.
All alone on the Island, I had seemingly lost my way and my slender waist...
Lost and alone, I was in a perpetual state of self loathing. That is, until I switched on the television and witnessed a travesty! A Michael Bay film titled Transformers! After having fond memories of all things Cybertron, this diabolical version of my childhood favourite filled me with a rage long since forgotten. Well since I eliminated E.L. James.
I spent four months solid, in the gym working myself back to a reasonable shape. It's safe to say I was pleased with the results...
I messaged Eva Mendes and told her I was coming home. She was over the moon, I'm guessing it was because she had broken things off with that moody bastard, Ryan Gosling. She also informed me that Jeremy Clarkson was no longer president.
Here's a picture of me with the current president ...
Unfortunately, I found that Obama (in charge for the second time) and Michael Bay were working together. This didn't go well and I soon took charge of America once more, via a hulk smash. I'm sorry for that Barrack, get well soon.
Rather than jumping straight into another fight, I decided to do some research. So off I went to the studio, so I could witness the newest piece of shit in the making.
Here's what I saw...
I don't know what that is but I wasn't impressed. I sneakily went and stood next to Michael and some funny looking gimp...
I don't know who he is but I heard Michael say this: "We may be wankers Shia, but we're going to be rich wankers."
Enough is enough! I pace over and slap Michael Bay on the back of the head, like the naughty child he is and he pounces up in anger. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing on the set of my shit movie?"
"I'm Chris Bailey. President Bailey to you small child!"
"Listen, I had a deal with Obama, I can ruin anything I want! I can do anything! I am the unstoppable Michael Bay! I must create BAYHEM!"
Right then and there, I wanted to crush him into tiny pieces. Then I thought, maybe not this time. Maybe I have grown as a person.
"I'll tell you what, if you stick your head inside the mouth of that conveniently placed crocodile and survive, I'll leave you alone to make your trash. Deal?"
"Fine! I'm Michael Bay and I'm unstoppable! I must create BAYHEM!"
"That's not an actual word Michael and saying over and over again, doesn't make it so."
Here's the last picture of Michael Bay with his head still attached to his body...
It's safe to say, he will not be returning for Transformers 12 and like Kim Kardashians ass, the whole thing was over rated and underwhelming. Though his girl-like squeal did amuse. Michael Bay felt pain and I gained the favour of all those millions who hated his movies.
Suddenly, my phone rings to the tone of 'Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do.' And it's Megan Fox. I consider answering until I realise that Eva Mendes is already waiting.
All alone on the Island, I had seemingly lost my way and my slender waist...
Lost and alone, I was in a perpetual state of self loathing. That is, until I switched on the television and witnessed a travesty! A Michael Bay film titled Transformers! After having fond memories of all things Cybertron, this diabolical version of my childhood favourite filled me with a rage long since forgotten. Well since I eliminated E.L. James.
I spent four months solid, in the gym working myself back to a reasonable shape. It's safe to say I was pleased with the results...
I messaged Eva Mendes and told her I was coming home. She was over the moon, I'm guessing it was because she had broken things off with that moody bastard, Ryan Gosling. She also informed me that Jeremy Clarkson was no longer president.
Here's a picture of me with the current president ...
Unfortunately, I found that Obama (in charge for the second time) and Michael Bay were working together. This didn't go well and I soon took charge of America once more, via a hulk smash. I'm sorry for that Barrack, get well soon.
Rather than jumping straight into another fight, I decided to do some research. So off I went to the studio, so I could witness the newest piece of shit in the making.
Here's what I saw...
I don't know what that is but I wasn't impressed. I sneakily went and stood next to Michael and some funny looking gimp...
I don't know who he is but I heard Michael say this: "We may be wankers Shia, but we're going to be rich wankers."
Enough is enough! I pace over and slap Michael Bay on the back of the head, like the naughty child he is and he pounces up in anger. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing on the set of my shit movie?"
"I'm Chris Bailey. President Bailey to you small child!"
"Listen, I had a deal with Obama, I can ruin anything I want! I can do anything! I am the unstoppable Michael Bay! I must create BAYHEM!"
Right then and there, I wanted to crush him into tiny pieces. Then I thought, maybe not this time. Maybe I have grown as a person.
"I'll tell you what, if you stick your head inside the mouth of that conveniently placed crocodile and survive, I'll leave you alone to make your trash. Deal?"
"Fine! I'm Michael Bay and I'm unstoppable! I must create BAYHEM!"
"That's not an actual word Michael and saying over and over again, doesn't make it so."
Here's the last picture of Michael Bay with his head still attached to his body...
It's safe to say, he will not be returning for Transformers 12 and like Kim Kardashians ass, the whole thing was over rated and underwhelming. Though his girl-like squeal did amuse. Michael Bay felt pain and I gained the favour of all those millions who hated his movies.
Suddenly, my phone rings to the tone of 'Bad boys, bad boys, what ya gonna do.' And it's Megan Fox. I consider answering until I realise that Eva Mendes is already waiting.
Friday 21 November 2014
The Weekly Round-Down. (No.16)
Happy Friday people! This week I grew antlers, got beat at pool and travelled back in time. And this was all before Monday.
I haven't done any writing at all this week, which is concerning ... I have written a few drabbles and poems so I guess that counts. I never seem to have the time to just sit and write, well this past week at least. (Thursday) ... That was a unintentional lie, I wrote some of Beating Hearts as well.
I have also decided that after Saturday Maybe, Misery will no longer be free. Now, this is purely because I have nothing to give away at takeovers and events. I have been giving away signed paperbacks ... and I don't mind this, though it's still weird signing books. But it's an expensive business doing that all the time. In my defence, it has been free for a long time and at least now, I have something (else) to give away.
As of today, I earned one of my most recent nicknames, The Flash. I awoke late for work, which hasn't happened in ages. The time was 05:33 and the bus to my work arrived at 05:49 and that's with a 9 minute walk to the bus stop. After a sprint to get ready and a short fast paced run, I just made it.
Anyway, it should be a good but busy week ahead. I hope you all have a lovely weekend, here is the top 15...
(Lwp)
1. (1) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (2) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (3) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
4. (5) One Month Off – Bloc Party
5. (n/a) Maybe, Misery – Quiet Drive
6. (4) Red – CombiChrist
7. (n/a) Ex-Creations – Fall Of Troy
8. (6) Metric – Black Sheep
9. (n/a) Crystalline – Bjork
10. (7) Machination – Nothing Face
11. (n/a) Machine – Regina Spektor
12. (8) Comanche – In This Moment
13. (9) End of an Empire – Celldweller
14. (10) For You – Endo
15. (14) Haze – KoRn
It's true, during a lovely trip to Kirkham for a hot beverage with Eilis, she gleefully captured a picture of me, which appeared to show antlers popping out of my luscious hair. I soon began to fidget and yes I checked ... these were NOT devil horns. Speaking of that day, I discovered a new fruit juice. Now try to contain your excitement, this wasn't any ordinary fruit juice. This was the best fruit juice ever! And it has the best name ... It's called Naked juice.
On my way to Nan's after work on Sunday, I saw the little devil, walking up the street looking for trouble. We ended up going to the pub for a quick half before tea. Inside this grim looking establishment was a pool table. Now as you're all aware, much to Nan's chagrin, I dominate her at cards constantly. So she's been telling me that she'll beat me at pool for ages. So we had three games in total. The first game, I was a little rusty and potted four of Nan's balls for her, causing her to win. The second game I dominated once more, six-balling her. The third and final game ... I couldn't have won if I had all day. The woman literally just hit the balls as hard as she could, without aim! And yet, they all seemed to spiral in. Fluke doesn't begin to describe it. It isn't over. And I later dominated at cards.
In between all these events, I somehow found the time to establish a worm hole with enough stability, that it could transfer matter successfully. So I travelled back to the 70's. It was great fun, yet I behaved myself and the only thing I 'tripped' over was gravity. I also managed to release my books to huge success. Here's a picture of The Talon Strands cover ...
Speaking of the Talon Strand, I'd like to talk about it a little bit. First off, it follows five characters - Sam Shaw, Sarah Darlington, Jane Nixon, Mason Butler and Jacob Talon. The first four made appearances in the first book. Now, I'm still sticking with my word, that it is NOT a sequel. It is merely set in the same universe and is a story about those whose lives were affected by the events of the first book. I feel that it is more grounded and more of a story than Maybe, Misery. Whereas Maybe, Misery was a rampage of sex and violence, The Talon Strand is more of an adventure.
Also a few points keep cropping up in my reviews. 1. Too much sex and 2. The fact that it isn't in chronological order. Now, I'd like to address these points. Talon was a man very much in his prime and as far as I'm concerned the amount of sex didn't take away from the story. However there is only one sex scene in the entire second book. This was NOT intentional. I cannot stress that enough. I had no intentions of dialling it down, it is just a different story and it isn't needed. Secondly, a few people have shown issues with the order. The thing is, it was written in that order. If I'd have published it in chronological order, it would have been worse. If you consider that Talon is writing this book and looking back on his life, I liked the fact that in the midst of disaster, he looked back at a happier time ... for example, the happy chapter Serenity being placed right before the end. Despite that though, I guess I can see how some people got confused and this has lead me to shuffle the Talon Strand into chronological order. Purely because, if people were getting confused at one character jumping back and forth through time, imagine five characters.
Anyway ... good news! As of today (Tuesday). I have received the last drabble for the 20th edition of story time! *Everyone claps* I told you I was determined. There are some great stories in there for you all too enjoy from some great writers.
I've started watching True Detectives ... I know, I'm late to the party. It took me like two episodes to get in to it, but it's really quite good. You should check it out. Also this week saw the release of Guardians of the Galaxy! I've already watched it two more times. If you haven't seen it, finish reading this post and then go and watch it straight away! You can thank me later.
I haven't done any writing at all this week, which is concerning ... I have written a few drabbles and poems so I guess that counts. I never seem to have the time to just sit and write, well this past week at least. (Thursday) ... That was a unintentional lie, I wrote some of Beating Hearts as well.
I have also decided that after Saturday Maybe, Misery will no longer be free. Now, this is purely because I have nothing to give away at takeovers and events. I have been giving away signed paperbacks ... and I don't mind this, though it's still weird signing books. But it's an expensive business doing that all the time. In my defence, it has been free for a long time and at least now, I have something (else) to give away.
As of today, I earned one of my most recent nicknames, The Flash. I awoke late for work, which hasn't happened in ages. The time was 05:33 and the bus to my work arrived at 05:49 and that's with a 9 minute walk to the bus stop. After a sprint to get ready and a short fast paced run, I just made it.
Anyway, it should be a good but busy week ahead. I hope you all have a lovely weekend, here is the top 15...
(Lwp)
1. (1) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (2) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (3) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
4. (5) One Month Off – Bloc Party
5. (n/a) Maybe, Misery – Quiet Drive
6. (4) Red – CombiChrist
7. (n/a) Ex-Creations – Fall Of Troy
8. (6) Metric – Black Sheep
9. (n/a) Crystalline – Bjork
10. (7) Machination – Nothing Face
11. (n/a) Machine – Regina Spektor
12. (8) Comanche – In This Moment
13. (9) End of an Empire – Celldweller
14. (10) For You – Endo
15. (14) Haze – KoRn
Thursday 20 November 2014
Actual Poetry Thursdays! A Triple Dose. (No.3)
So this week, I had actually planned to post the painful parody that I have just written. However with the delightful Nav Logan sending me some poetry so I felt I should air that instead. After all, if you have ever been even slightly entertained by a drabble I have written, it's all thanks to Nav. He was the first to introduce me to them. Then, Nicky White once more delivered some more excellent poetry my way so I thought, why not share them both with you ... because I'm nice like that. So enjoy and don't forget to check out there respective pages.
Nav's poems are taken directly from his latest book, a collection of drabbles and poems which you can get here: Little Words and I really fucking recommend that you do as it really is fantastic.
White Feathers Fall: Part One by Nav Logan
White feathers fall, and the dove drops dead
Bloody and smoking, shot through the head.
All hope seems lost as we silently watch,
The soul departs from the shattered remains.
We weep and we mourn, and blame the gods,
Look for a culprit, someone to blame.
Question ourselves. Were we really at fault?
As the dead chill slowly, we look for a plot.
He who is innocent shall be the killer.
For he is beyond all blame,
But once the blood of vengeance fills his palms,
He is tainted and stained like the rest.
White Feathers Fall: Part Two by Nav Logan
So the war machine rumbles,
The band finds its beat.
The speakers chant the words
And speak of defeat.
Of the ones they will lay low
And make scream and beg,
No quarter given,
As it’s off with their head.
And any who stood near,
No matter the reason,
Will all be dragged under
And slaughtered for treason?
When the dust finally settles,
And sanity reigns,
The crying of angels
And mothers’ remain.
Children will weep,
Fathers are dead,
Sons will grow up,
With hate in their heads.
Grow up to new slaughter;
Teach hate to their sons,
Creating a circle of hatred and guns.
So the dove it died here,
With a tear in its eye,
Watching in silence
As young boys march by.
And all of the time,
The voices rage higher,
Demanding the end of the funeral pyre.
By feeding more death,
To put out the flame,
Is this our great wisdom?
Or are we insane?
As the memory of the victims is lost in the hate,
Reason appears,
Before it’s too late.
Bringing the peacemaker
To stop all the killing,
If only he finds the hearts of the willing,
To learn from our past,
To look far ahead.
And make something good,
With the loss and the dead.
Break up the hatred,
Make people see sense,
Bring them together,
In a common defence,
Of base human values,
The family and love,
As was the wish of the now demised dove.
No us and them,
Just people like you,
With mothers and children,
And their own point of view.
Yes, we are different,
But that makes us great,
Together united
We have hope in our fate.
We can do so much when we finally say,
No matter the god’s name,
No matter the way,
If we learn to respect,
And look for the good.
Do unto others,
As we hope that they would,
We then stand a chance of doing it right,
Teach children peace
And not how to fight.
When that day comes,
The dove will arise,
And all will forget its present demise.
It will fly overhead in tribute of peace,
To a chorus of angel
… And the mourning will cease.
Scarlet Angel by Nicky D White
Her words so angelic to his ears
The melodic silkiness wraps around his slithering façade
Everything about her is virtuous
His adoration for her swells
Invading his already poisoned thoughts
Filling his soul with her light
Making him breathe in her every word
Extinguishing his pain from deep within
Breaking down the walls from which you are hidden
She tears you open exposing you for you who really are
Igniting your senses with her every touch
Your emotions raw and filled with lust
Her eyes void of sin as you welter
Drowning in your thirst for her
Enslaved by your needs
In love with a Scarlet Angel
Nav's poems are taken directly from his latest book, a collection of drabbles and poems which you can get here: Little Words and I really fucking recommend that you do as it really is fantastic.
White Feathers Fall: Part One by Nav Logan
White feathers fall, and the dove drops dead
Bloody and smoking, shot through the head.
All hope seems lost as we silently watch,
The soul departs from the shattered remains.
We weep and we mourn, and blame the gods,
Look for a culprit, someone to blame.
Question ourselves. Were we really at fault?
As the dead chill slowly, we look for a plot.
He who is innocent shall be the killer.
For he is beyond all blame,
But once the blood of vengeance fills his palms,
He is tainted and stained like the rest.
White Feathers Fall: Part Two by Nav Logan
So the war machine rumbles,
The band finds its beat.
The speakers chant the words
And speak of defeat.
Of the ones they will lay low
And make scream and beg,
No quarter given,
As it’s off with their head.
And any who stood near,
No matter the reason,
Will all be dragged under
And slaughtered for treason?
When the dust finally settles,
And sanity reigns,
The crying of angels
And mothers’ remain.
Children will weep,
Fathers are dead,
Sons will grow up,
With hate in their heads.
Grow up to new slaughter;
Teach hate to their sons,
Creating a circle of hatred and guns.
So the dove it died here,
With a tear in its eye,
Watching in silence
As young boys march by.
And all of the time,
The voices rage higher,
Demanding the end of the funeral pyre.
By feeding more death,
To put out the flame,
Is this our great wisdom?
Or are we insane?
As the memory of the victims is lost in the hate,
Reason appears,
Before it’s too late.
Bringing the peacemaker
To stop all the killing,
If only he finds the hearts of the willing,
To learn from our past,
To look far ahead.
And make something good,
With the loss and the dead.
Break up the hatred,
Make people see sense,
Bring them together,
In a common defence,
Of base human values,
The family and love,
As was the wish of the now demised dove.
No us and them,
Just people like you,
With mothers and children,
And their own point of view.
Yes, we are different,
But that makes us great,
Together united
We have hope in our fate.
We can do so much when we finally say,
No matter the god’s name,
No matter the way,
If we learn to respect,
And look for the good.
Do unto others,
As we hope that they would,
We then stand a chance of doing it right,
Teach children peace
And not how to fight.
When that day comes,
The dove will arise,
And all will forget its present demise.
It will fly overhead in tribute of peace,
To a chorus of angel
… And the mourning will cease.
Scarlet Angel by Nicky D White
Her words so angelic to his ears
The melodic silkiness wraps around his slithering façade
Everything about her is virtuous
His adoration for her swells
Invading his already poisoned thoughts
Filling his soul with her light
Making him breathe in her every word
Extinguishing his pain from deep within
Breaking down the walls from which you are hidden
She tears you open exposing you for you who really are
Igniting your senses with her every touch
Your emotions raw and filled with lust
Her eyes void of sin as you welter
Drowning in your thirst for her
Enslaved by your needs
In love with a Scarlet Angel
Wednesday 19 November 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.14)
Silver Tongued Devil
His words cut through heart strings like razor blades,
Slithering like silk, his words infect.
Saying all the right things,
Until your admiration cascades.
Haunting your thoughts with a brighter future,
Sipping from your personality.
making you hang on his every word,
Promising to mask your pain like a suture.
Calling you out from your protective notions,
Laying you bare for his every demand.
Crushing your cravings with every touch,
Fiddling like a surgeon with your emotions.
Your wide eyed as you revel,
Swamped by his lust for you.
Bound by his needs,
In love with a silver tongued devil.
His words cut through heart strings like razor blades,
Slithering like silk, his words infect.
Saying all the right things,
Until your admiration cascades.
Haunting your thoughts with a brighter future,
Sipping from your personality.
making you hang on his every word,
Promising to mask your pain like a suture.
Calling you out from your protective notions,
Laying you bare for his every demand.
Crushing your cravings with every touch,
Fiddling like a surgeon with your emotions.
Your wide eyed as you revel,
Swamped by his lust for you.
Bound by his needs,
In love with a silver tongued devil.
Tuesday 18 November 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas! (No.19)
Happy Tuesday all, you indeed read that right. It's number nineteen! Meaning next Tuesday will be the 20th edition featuring twenty different writes with twenty different stories! It's going to be a good one. For now though, contain your excitement by preparing your beverage and enjoy these drabbles by myself, my bananas and the awesome D.S. Scot. Until next time ...
Blind Ambition by C.S. Bailey
That Dave! He does my tree in. We’re supposed to function as a team, work hard together and achieve our goals as a whole.
Every memo has countless typos; every meeting is set at the wrong time. I cannot cope with his ineptitude for the job any longer. I want him gone! He’s going to make us lose our bonus!
I write a petition, to get him fired and pass it around all the cubicles.
I get snide looks and I’m shunned by my colleagues; boy I was as red as an apple when Dave walked in with that cane.
Blind Ambition by C.S. Bailey
That Dave! He does my tree in. We’re supposed to function as a team, work hard together and achieve our goals as a whole.
Every memo has countless typos; every meeting is set at the wrong time. I cannot cope with his ineptitude for the job any longer. I want him gone! He’s going to make us lose our bonus!
I write a petition, to get him fired and pass it around all the cubicles.
I get snide looks and I’m shunned by my colleagues; boy I was as red as an apple when Dave walked in with that cane.
Jack’s Revenge by Nav Logan
It was all her fault … Sister’s, what a pain! I can’t fetch some water without her getting underfoot, and I tell ya, it’s a hard climb up to that well.
That’s how I ended up with concussion.
I think she tripped me up. Good job I dragged her down after me.
Still, it was poor auld me that got the bust noggin.
They say that I ran home, but that’s a crock. I could hardly walk.
Ma was straight out with the vinegar and brown paper … As if that was going to help!
Still, Jill got her comeuppance.
One Hundred Years Young by Bryan Thomas
"Jeff Randall here, broadcasting live for Buttercup Radio and I'm with Ethel who is one hundred years young today. Is that your telegram from the Queen, Ethel?"
"Yes."
"You must be so proud."
"I am."
"I believe you worked at the American airbase for over thirty years, which must have been interesting."
"Yes, it was."
"Ethel seems to be a lady of few words. I think she is a little overwhelmed, so I'll ask her one final question. Ethel, 100 years, any regrets?"
"Plenty, those American pilots were randy buggers, I wish I'd screwed a few more of them."
"CUT!"
TAKE AND TAKE by Rick Haynes
Tears had flooded her face so many times that the well had truly dried up.
Justin had gone forever, his life taken by a drunk driver.
Driving a wreck of a car simply added insult to the pain constantly tearing her heart to shreds.
She believed in a punishment to fit the crime but the court had decided on clemency and he had served just two years in jail. She could never forget his smirking face as he taunted her in the shopping centre after his release.
But now, his face would perpetually stare at the bags of frozen meat.
Unforgiven by D.S. Scot
The two figures stared at each other.
“I will never forgive you!”
“Nor I, you.”
“I don’t want your forgiveness. But I will get back at you for this!”
“It’s not too late, you know. I still love you.”
“You’re so called love is suffocating. If you cared you wouldn’t be doing this.”
“You know that I care.”
“No, you don’t. I’m leaving now. Just remember what I said. You will regret this.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“You mean you can’t ...”
As the figure left he called over his shoulder.
“If you’re really God … you’d be able to stop me …”
Unforgiven by D.S. Scot
The two figures stared at each other.
“I will never forgive you!”
“Nor I, you.”
“I don’t want your forgiveness. But I will get back at you for this!”
“It’s not too late, you know. I still love you.”
“You’re so called love is suffocating. If you cared you wouldn’t be doing this.”
“You know that I care.”
“No, you don’t. I’m leaving now. Just remember what I said. You will regret this.”
“I won’t stop you.”
“You mean you can’t ...”
As the figure left he called over his shoulder.
“If you’re really God … you’d be able to stop me …”
Friday 14 November 2014
The Weekly Round-Down. (No.15)
Ha ha! Chris Bailey strikes again! In my attempt to combat my shocking memory, I have decided to write down things as they happen. Never again will you here the phrase "I can't remember." Well hopefully. This week I did something naughty, got annoyed at the male species and was sent a picture of bacon.
Yes, ever the naughty male, I just can't help it. Now, it's a rare occasion I post on social networking sites. It's mainly my blog posts. Some would argue that I complain but this is just not true. I never complain unless it's in a humorous manner. I'm NOT one of those 'I'm fed up with life' 'I'm full of a cold and watching television' type of people. They're awful. If I post, I must at least find it funny. Now I seem to be constantly bombarded by my old enemy, game requests. Yes, even after I threatened to invite those people to the gym, they still send them. Most of the time it is my mother, she doesn't speak to me, but she'll gladly request a life off me for the latest game. Surely there's irony in sitting at your computer night after night, playing games ... only to request a life? So I directed a status at her, since she sends me a request at least twice a day. It wasn't that unpleasant and still managed to be humorous. Hopefully she gets the message, if she isn't too busy playing games.
There's this guy at work, feeble and weak looking ... I don't speak to him. He came in the area where I work, panicking because he had paint on his hands. Now, maybe if he was the unfortunate sufferer of some kind of condition, I obviously, would be more understanding. But he isn't, so I'm not. He is a male pounded by years of women ensuring us it's okay to be sensitive. Well it isn't and thanks to guys like this, women will take over the world and we'll all be forced to wear salmon colour t shirts and cry at romantic comedies. This sky-net like force must be stopped!
It's true, I was sent a picture of succulent, sizzling bacon by a cruel woman, who had no intention of bringing me any. There's teasing and then there's human cruelty.
At the time of writing (Thursday for this bit), I only have one final drabble to receive for the twentieth story time! Which I'm quite pleased about.
I'm literally just waiting to print off the first draft of the Talon Strand. I also have seventy drabbles, poems and short stories for my collection and Between Dimensions is coming along nicely. Though it's fate is still unknown.
I spent Thursday researching quantum mechanics, quantum physics, alternate dimensions, levels, realms, worm holes, string theory and dark matter. It's safe to say my head was like creamy mash afterwards.
I received the nickname of Mr. Charisma this week and was much preferred to Rick Haynes' insistence of it being Candy man.
I researched into what 'minions' are. I wasn't impressed. Little yellow suppositories from a kids film.
Not much has happened this week, either that or I forgot to write it down.
(Friday) The internet lit up by teenage boys desperate to witness Kim Kardashian naked. I could understand if it was Scarlett Johannson or Eva Mendes ... but no it was some talentless tramp whose crowning achievement is appearing in a sex tape. With modern celebrity becoming such a powerful entity, it's a sad day when future generations have this to look up to. She's not even that attractive. I can only assume that the world is going mad, one day at at time.
Have a great weekend everybody, here's your top 15 ...
(Lwp)
1. (n/a) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (4) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (n/a) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
4. (5) Red – CombiChrist
5. (n/a) One Month Off – Bloc Party
6. (n/a) Metric – Black Sheep
7. (1) Machination – Nothing Face
8. (3) Comanche – In This Moment
9. (6) End of an Empire – Celldweller
10. (n/a) For You – Endo
11. (2) Lost in Time (Remix) – Celldweller
12. (7) Stellar – Incubus
13. (8) Sex & Lies – Nothing More
14. (n/a) Haze – KoRn
15. (10) 100 Ways to Hate – Five Finger Death Punch
Yes, ever the naughty male, I just can't help it. Now, it's a rare occasion I post on social networking sites. It's mainly my blog posts. Some would argue that I complain but this is just not true. I never complain unless it's in a humorous manner. I'm NOT one of those 'I'm fed up with life' 'I'm full of a cold and watching television' type of people. They're awful. If I post, I must at least find it funny. Now I seem to be constantly bombarded by my old enemy, game requests. Yes, even after I threatened to invite those people to the gym, they still send them. Most of the time it is my mother, she doesn't speak to me, but she'll gladly request a life off me for the latest game. Surely there's irony in sitting at your computer night after night, playing games ... only to request a life? So I directed a status at her, since she sends me a request at least twice a day. It wasn't that unpleasant and still managed to be humorous. Hopefully she gets the message, if she isn't too busy playing games.
There's this guy at work, feeble and weak looking ... I don't speak to him. He came in the area where I work, panicking because he had paint on his hands. Now, maybe if he was the unfortunate sufferer of some kind of condition, I obviously, would be more understanding. But he isn't, so I'm not. He is a male pounded by years of women ensuring us it's okay to be sensitive. Well it isn't and thanks to guys like this, women will take over the world and we'll all be forced to wear salmon colour t shirts and cry at romantic comedies. This sky-net like force must be stopped!
It's true, I was sent a picture of succulent, sizzling bacon by a cruel woman, who had no intention of bringing me any. There's teasing and then there's human cruelty.
At the time of writing (Thursday for this bit), I only have one final drabble to receive for the twentieth story time! Which I'm quite pleased about.
I'm literally just waiting to print off the first draft of the Talon Strand. I also have seventy drabbles, poems and short stories for my collection and Between Dimensions is coming along nicely. Though it's fate is still unknown.
I spent Thursday researching quantum mechanics, quantum physics, alternate dimensions, levels, realms, worm holes, string theory and dark matter. It's safe to say my head was like creamy mash afterwards.
I received the nickname of Mr. Charisma this week and was much preferred to Rick Haynes' insistence of it being Candy man.
I researched into what 'minions' are. I wasn't impressed. Little yellow suppositories from a kids film.
Not much has happened this week, either that or I forgot to write it down.
(Friday) The internet lit up by teenage boys desperate to witness Kim Kardashian naked. I could understand if it was Scarlett Johannson or Eva Mendes ... but no it was some talentless tramp whose crowning achievement is appearing in a sex tape. With modern celebrity becoming such a powerful entity, it's a sad day when future generations have this to look up to. She's not even that attractive. I can only assume that the world is going mad, one day at at time.
Have a great weekend everybody, here's your top 15 ...
(Lwp)
1. (n/a) Shadows – Lindsey Stirling
2. (4) Rebuild – Son Lux
3. (n/a) Stars Align – Lindsey Stirling
4. (5) Red – CombiChrist
5. (n/a) One Month Off – Bloc Party
6. (n/a) Metric – Black Sheep
7. (1) Machination – Nothing Face
8. (3) Comanche – In This Moment
9. (6) End of an Empire – Celldweller
10. (n/a) For You – Endo
11. (2) Lost in Time (Remix) – Celldweller
12. (7) Stellar – Incubus
13. (8) Sex & Lies – Nothing More
14. (n/a) Haze – KoRn
15. (10) 100 Ways to Hate – Five Finger Death Punch
Thursday 13 November 2014
Actual Poetry Thursdays! (No.2)
So I know I said last week that this wouldn't be a weekly thing, but lately I have grown a sort of fondness for poetry ... I, as usual blame Nav. This week with have another brilliant poem from terrific author and poet Nicky White. Next week ... we will be featuring the mayhem that is Nav as his poetry needs to be seen.
In Each Other's Dreams
Eyes of blue
Surrounded by seas of gray
Hiding in a mist of solitude
Thick walls of steel
Letting no one in
His public facade masking his private despair
Pushing people away
Despising most
A restless soul wandering
Searching for happiness
Chasing a fantasy
Wanting it for reality
Accepting what is
Yet holding on to what could be
Then he sees her
She shines light in his dark world
Unleashes a fire that tears through him
Igniting his soul into a burning flame
He craves to hear the silkiness in her voice
He yearns to taste her lips
He whispers her name in his dreams
Separated by a sea of tormented reality
Her light shines from afar
He calls out to her
Yet she is just beyond his reach
She begins to heal him from a distance
His soul becoming restless no more
The warmth of her laughter
Warms him from within
Until he can hold her in his arms
Touch her with his lips
He will touch her with his words
Her heart will begin to sing
Every night they’ll come together
And dance in each other’s dreams.
Wednesday 12 November 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.13)
Starting Anew
From across a great distance
Your presence still has its touch
Illuminating the voids with hope
Though I try to stay hidden, you break down my resistance
Your words like white snowflakes
sprinkle all around me
Covering me in a feeling long since forgotten
Clearing away, the hurt, the sadness, the aches
Your voice soothes my qualms
Lowering the anxiousness
Derailing the fears
Quelling my alarms
Yours eyes shine like an exploding star
Glistening with injecting life
Causing my smile to remain
This love from a far
Smiling as you do, causing my heart to flutter
Pearly whites and welcoming lips
Yearning for their touch upon mine
Melting me down as if they were a plasma cutter
Descending into madness
Torn by vast oceans
Broken by the lands in between
Aching from the infinite sadness
Yet time and space may change
Our one day may come
Lightning bolt quick
And for all my power, you'll be in range
Feelings so true
We craved this, wanted this
Achieved it with recklessness and free will
We started anew
From across a great distance
Your presence still has its touch
Illuminating the voids with hope
Though I try to stay hidden, you break down my resistance
Your words like white snowflakes
sprinkle all around me
Covering me in a feeling long since forgotten
Clearing away, the hurt, the sadness, the aches
Your voice soothes my qualms
Lowering the anxiousness
Derailing the fears
Quelling my alarms
Yours eyes shine like an exploding star
Glistening with injecting life
Causing my smile to remain
This love from a far
Smiling as you do, causing my heart to flutter
Pearly whites and welcoming lips
Yearning for their touch upon mine
Melting me down as if they were a plasma cutter
Descending into madness
Torn by vast oceans
Broken by the lands in between
Aching from the infinite sadness
Yet time and space may change
Our one day may come
Lightning bolt quick
And for all my power, you'll be in range
Feelings so true
We craved this, wanted this
Achieved it with recklessness and free will
We started anew
Tuesday 11 November 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests (No.18)
Yes we are just two weeks away from the 20th edition, with all the drabbles flowing in nicely. I recently received one from author Nicky White, who is a first time drabblist, but you wouldn't know it from the quality of her drabble. Also, we are once again joined by D.S. Scot, so my thanks go to him and my ever loveable bananas.
Anyway, grab that beverage and enjoy these fine stories...
Miss December by Chris 'The Flash' Bailey
I hate Christmas, reminds me of my childhood. Waiting anxiously for Santa to arrive, only to receive a beating instead. Of all the occasions, this is the one I most struggle with.
Works party is a repulsive affair, we all drink and we all laugh. I find my pretty little victim, slouched by the tree, almost passed out from the alcohol.
I offer to walk her home; I’m sure she would have agreed if she could string a sentence together.
Grabbing my sharpest blade, I peel off her skin gently… It’s about time I had a real present to unwrap.
Anyway, grab that beverage and enjoy these fine stories...
Miss December by Chris 'The Flash' Bailey
I hate Christmas, reminds me of my childhood. Waiting anxiously for Santa to arrive, only to receive a beating instead. Of all the occasions, this is the one I most struggle with.
Works party is a repulsive affair, we all drink and we all laugh. I find my pretty little victim, slouched by the tree, almost passed out from the alcohol.
I offer to walk her home; I’m sure she would have agreed if she could string a sentence together.
Grabbing my sharpest blade, I peel off her skin gently… It’s about time I had a real present to unwrap.
RoisÃn has always been a strong-willed lass. Her tongue was as fiery as her hair and she knew no fear. So when her mother asked her to take a package to their sickly grandmother, she readily agreed.
Her mother nagged about staying on the path ... again, but RoisÃn ignored her. Putting on her favourite red cape, she scampered off into the dark woods.
It didn’t take long for the wolf to catch her heady scent. Hungrily, he watched her as she skipped along. The werewolf only had one thing on his mind, and it didn’t involve eating any grannies.
Baby Blues by Bryan 'Briony' Thomas
"We are experiencing teething problems with our new scanner, Mrs Smith. You won't see baby on the screen but I will print an image for you instead."
"Okay."
"There's your printout."
"What's that blob?"
"That's baby's head."
"And that blob?"
"That's another head."
"And that blob?"
"That's baby's third head."
"MY BABY HAS THREE FREAKIN' HEADS!"
"Yes. That would come under the NHS umbrella of diversity."
"I'm carrying a freakin' three-headed alien and you're talking about umbrellas!"
"One second, our tech guy wants a word. Apparently the printer is 'ghosting' so baby only has one head."
"Only? Freakin' NHS numpties."
EVIL EVERYWHERE by Rick 'Pappy' Haynes
The doors of the church burst inwards allowing the cloaked figure to step over the threshold.
A priest hesitantly moved towards the demon as several novices prayed behind him.
He held aloft a wooden cross. ‘Be gone, Spawn of Satan. You cannot pass!’
‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Times have changed you old fool. We never attack clergymen these days.’
‘We prefer fairer game, like pussies.’ He waved in the direction of the novices.
The priest grabbed the nearest girl and pushed her forward.
‘Take her!’
‘You really are evil priest. It is not her that I want. It’s the black cat sitting behind her.’
Confession by D.S. Scot
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I say.
“Tell me what plagues your heart, my child.”
Reflecting, I tell the priest of my sins and how I committed them. I speak of the lack of regret and the reasons why I did them. I always did it for the money but found it enjoyable too.
“I wonder about hell and I figured it couldn’t hurt to confess,” I say.
“Do you believe God will forgive you?” he asked, shaking.
“No,” I say.
“Then why are you here?”
“You’re on the list,” I say, attaching the suppressor to the pistol.
Saturday 8 November 2014
Bailey & Friends: Vicki Locey
Since first releasing my little book, you have all become well informed of my escapades into the world of indie author. A group I have mentioned a few times, Author Forum, has been particularly kind to me. So the chief, a certain Eden, suggested we pair up for interviews with another author.
Having been paired up with the lovely Vicki Locey, I was hesitant as we had only established minimal contact beforehand. You can probably tell from my bog standard questions, almost derelict of any cheek whatsoever. But it has been fun and a great pleasure getting to know her. So I'd like to say a huge thank you to Vicki and Eden, I hope you all enjoy the interview. Be sure to check out her pages!
Author Bio:
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl,and two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she can be found enjoying her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
Having been paired up with the lovely Vicki Locey, I was hesitant as we had only established minimal contact beforehand. You can probably tell from my bog standard questions, almost derelict of any cheek whatsoever. But it has been fun and a great pleasure getting to know her. So I'd like to say a huge thank you to Vicki and Eden, I hope you all enjoy the interview. Be sure to check out her pages!
Author Bio:
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl,and two steers: one named after a famous N.H.L. goalie while the other carries the moniker of a 60s pop legend.
When not writing spicy romances, she can be found enjoying her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.
1. So, is
writing a lifelong ambition, or did it just happen?
It sprang up out of the blue, or so it seemed, about 7
years ago. Now I know that I always had the mind of a writer.
2. You have one
day left on earth, what do you do?
Spend it with my husband and daughter. Then attend a
Rangers game that night.
3. How long do
you write each day?
4-6 hours if at all possible.
4. What is your
opinion on the self-publishing industry?
I love it. My first books were self-published.
5. Who/what/where
first inspired you to write?
It was Bryan Singer who inspired me to write my first fan
fiction. Let`s just say I disliked the way he handled the X-Men movie, so I sat
down to pen my own version. The rest, as they say, is history.
6. Aren't kittens
just the cutest thing? Or are you one of those dog people?
I am a HUGE cat person. Just check out my Pinterest page
if you doubt me.
7. You’re
throwing a dinner party and you have room for three guests. Which three
authors, past and present would you invite?
Mark Twain, J. R. Ward, Armistead Maupin
8. What’s the
one question you wish people would ask you when you tell them you’re a writer?
Where can I buy your book?
9. Where do you
get the names for your characters?
They come to me generally. I'll know right off if the
name isn`t right, and will fiddle and rename until the correct one appears.
10. What makes
you love/hate a book?
There are few books that I hate. I can only think of one
in the last 30 years that I could not finish. What makes me love a book is
great characters, lots of sex, a strong plot, plenty of character interaction,
a bit of action, and a touch of humor.
11. How hard is
the editing process?
It is hard as hell. Seriously, I now hate commas with the
burning intensity of ten thousand suns.
12. What genre
(s) do you write and how are they different from other writers of these
genre(s)?
I write erotic romance. My books tend to focus on people
who aren`t the cookie cutter leading man, leading lady, leading zombie. Wait.
Where did the zombie come from?
13. What are
you currently working on?
At the moment I'm doing NaNo and trying to get two erotic
hockey novellas, one M/F and one M/M done for possible anthology submissions.
14. What is the
most interesting thing you have learned from your research?
That traffic lights in Minnesota are called stop-and-go
lights.
15. Which of
your covers is your favourite and who designed it?
I love them all, but I'd have to say the To Love a
Wildcat covers by Dawne Dominique are my favorites to date.
16. How do you
combat writer's block?
Walk, listen to music, watch TV, read, people watch, bat
ideas around with other writers.
17. What would
be your number one writing tip?
Discipline. Learn it.
18. Do you have
any phobias and how do you deal with your inner fears?
I'm scared of bees. I deal with that phobia by running
around flailing my arms if a bee comes within fifty yards of me.
19. What are
your all-time favourite three books?
Outlander, Dark Lover, Charlotte`s Web
20. What was
the first book you remember reading?
Charlotte`s Web
21. How long
have you been writing?
7 years.
22. What’s the
most annoying thing people say when you tell them you’re a writer?
When are you going to get a real job?
23. When you're
not writing, what do you do for fun?
Read, hang with the family, play with the chickens, watch
Rangers hockey, have lunch with my friends.
Also... here is Vicki's interview of me, with more interesting questions.
1- When did you know you were a writer?
I’ll let you know when that happens. At the
moment, I’m just a guy who wrote a book wondering what the future holds. I had
hoped to make a film, but I can’t seem to stop writing.
2- Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire?
That’s a bloody tough one! Can I get away
with saying Kelly’s voice and Astaire’s elegance?
3- What is your writing routine?
It involves making it home from either work
or the gym and still having enough energy to be creative. If my eyes aren’t
hazy, I switch on some music and immerse myself in a created world.
4- You're headed into space and can only
take one book. Which one is it?
Ha! Can I say Maybe, Misery for some
extra-terrestrial promotion? If not, probably My Boring Ass Life by Kevin
Smith.
5- Name your favourite character from one
of your books.
That’s another tough one … Either Lance
Talon or Dr Max Carter (people haven’t met him yet).
6- Are you a grammar stickler or a grammar
slacker?
A bit of both, I find I slip between the
two almost seamlessly.
7- What are you currently working on?
The sequel to Maybe, Misery – The Talon
Strand, I’m co-writing a story called Beating Hearts with a talented author
from Seattle and I’m also writing a love story called between Dimensions; oh
and a collection of drabbles, poems and short stories.
8- Top three genres to read/write.
For reading: Sci-Fi, short stories and
dramas. Writing: Fiction, fiction and fiction with bits of Science chucked in.
9- Sports? Love them or hate them?
I wouldn’t go as far as to say I love them.
I watch the infrequent football (soccer) match on the T.V, but I do work out
often and play tennis, so I guess I love them more than I hate them.
10- Do you have any pets?
Much to my chagrin, no … but I really,
really need a kitten.
11- What is the best thing a reader has
said about one of your books?
I was going to look at my reviews then,
until I remembered my editor said it was one of the best debut novels he’d
worked on. I took that as a compliment.
12- What was the worst thing a reader has
said about one of your books?
You know, I’ve been lucky so far. There has
been little to no negative comments, probably because I always have a hammer
close by. I guess it was when a reviewer didn’t like my non-linear structure.
13- Top five reasons you must write or
cease to live.
Well it was one my bucket list to write a
book. It’s really hard, making every chapter an achievement. Those inner
thoughts have to find some way out. Doing it right can help other people with
their experience. If I didn’t write, I’d just complain on my blog.
14- The zombie apocalypse has begun. What
do you pack?
I already have it packed. A screw driver; a
Stanley knife, a bandage, my kindle, a spare jacket, one copy of Maybe, Misery
and some antibacterial hand lotion. I always carry these things in my back pack
just in case. I also carry custard creams, but they don’t last long.
15- Where do you get your inspiration?
25% from music, 25% from film, 15% from
women, 10% life experience and 25% from other books; unless something just pops
in my head.
16- What is your number one writing tip?
Switch off the world.
17- What is your favourite childhood book?
Bloody hell, I can barely remember
yesterday! I’m going to say BFG by Roald Dahl.
18- If you could switch minds with a famous
author who would you swap with?
I’d probably go with a certain Mr King,
just to help my descriptive writing. A day worth of elephantitis would go a
long way.
19- How do you combat writer's block?
With distance, whenever I have struggled to
write; I have simply taken a step back and read what I have written. Hopefully
then I enjoy reading it that much, that I want to write more. If not, then sex
and alcohol.
20- Dream vacation destination?
I’d love to go back to Switzerland. It’s
such a beautiful place. Then again, there are so many places left to explore.
Tokyo is definitely up there and America.
21- Do you have a playlist that you listen
to when you write?
Best question ever! I do indeed! I have created
soundtracks for most of my work so far. I often include songs in my book. There
is beauty still to be found in music … you just have to push through all the
mass produced nonsense first.
22- What scares the bejeebers out of you?
I used to be afraid of heights, until I
climbed three mountains, in three different countries in 24 hours. I’m still
not a fan of small spaces though, though I’m not really afraid; I’d just prefer
to avoid them ha!
23- If you could pick one of your works to
be turned into a movie, which one would you chose?
I got told that Maybe, Misery would make a
good movie! Though I think the Talon Strand would be good, it’s more of
adventure.
24- Regular or decaf?
I try to avoid coffee but I’ll go with
regular.
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