Good morning/afternoon/evening all, depending on where you are. Today, I'm going to share some actually poetry with you by the always lovely and extremely talented Nicky White. I hope you enjoy it, I know I did. Don't forget to check her out at: Nicky White
Just Not Be
My soul bleeds as I wait for you
Constantly torn in a state of euphoric happiness and the torment of a broken heart
Wearing my heart on my sleeve when I know I should be protecting it
Hoping one day you’ll take it from me and shelter it from the storm that I am walking through
The storm that you have pulled me into
Captivating me, holding me hostage yet, I surrender to you
Bowing my head as my tears flow
They run down my cheeks and pool under my feet
I look at my broken reflection
What is happening to this person staring back at me
Who is she becoming
Her eyes reflect the pain and love that she has dwelling deep inside
Her lips have lost their smile as they yearn to feel yours connect with them
In the middle of this storm she is fighting for him
She is fighting for herself
She is fighting for a love that can never be promised
A love that she questions if it even exists
I close my eyes so that I cannot see the beautifully broken girl looking back at me
If only I could not feel
Not want
Not love
Just not be…
Thursday, 6 November 2014
Wednesday, 5 November 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.12)
The Spiral
It started with a twist
An ever flowing movement
A jolt of emotion
And a small turn of the wrist
The pain, undeserved
Coursing in perpetual motion
Spinning and dancing
No longer reserved
It came on so suddenly
Like the shooting of a star
The death of loved one
It was something else entirely
I couldn't control it
Twist and turning
Up and down
Around and around until it was fitting
Blood boiling
Veins throb
The blackness approaches
It was time for the killing
The blade thrust with glee
Stabbing in rhythm
Heart fluttering to a stop
I became the unknown killer in me
This would be final
The end of our lives
A new nothingness to explore
Our downward spiral
It started with a twist
An ever flowing movement
A jolt of emotion
And a small turn of the wrist
The pain, undeserved
Coursing in perpetual motion
Spinning and dancing
No longer reserved
It came on so suddenly
Like the shooting of a star
The death of loved one
It was something else entirely
I couldn't control it
Twist and turning
Up and down
Around and around until it was fitting
Blood boiling
Veins throb
The blackness approaches
It was time for the killing
The blade thrust with glee
Stabbing in rhythm
Heart fluttering to a stop
I became the unknown killer in me
This would be final
The end of our lives
A new nothingness to explore
Our downward spiral
Tuesday, 4 November 2014
Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.17)
As the twentieth edition draws closer, I am nearing the chances of securing 20 different authors. There's going to be some heavy weight drabblists and some talented new comers. It's certainly going to make for an entertaining read. My thanks as always go to my beloved bananas and we are joined this week by the awesome D.S. Scot. So get that beverage ready and enjoy...
Chasing Perfection by C.S. Bailey
“Her round hazel eyes remind me of autumn; the beauty of trees losing their leaves and the ever-lasting sun sets. Her smile, the way it crops up at the side when she smiles. The button nose, I just want to plant a gentle kiss upon it. Then there is her hair. The most stunning shade of brown, curly and it flows as if it has the angels carrying it. Her voice is so soft that with every word spoken, I melted a little more inside.
“If she’s so perfect, why don’t you just ask her out?”
“She died last week.”
Your Wee Bit Hill and Glen by Father Logan
“Please don’t leave me … You … You complete me!”
“Listen, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“We were meant to be together. Don’t go!”
“Look, I need my own space. I want to spread my wings and try it on my own…”
“If you leave, there’ll be no coming back. You can’t just leave and then in a few months come knocking on my door and expect me to take you back. You’d better think about that!”
“Well! There’s no need to take that tone. I thought we could still be friends.”
“How naïve of you, my Scottish flower.”
Chasing Perfection by C.S. Bailey
“Her round hazel eyes remind me of autumn; the beauty of trees losing their leaves and the ever-lasting sun sets. Her smile, the way it crops up at the side when she smiles. The button nose, I just want to plant a gentle kiss upon it. Then there is her hair. The most stunning shade of brown, curly and it flows as if it has the angels carrying it. Her voice is so soft that with every word spoken, I melted a little more inside.
“If she’s so perfect, why don’t you just ask her out?”
“She died last week.”
Your Wee Bit Hill and Glen by Father Logan
“Please don’t leave me … You … You complete me!”
“Listen, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“We were meant to be together. Don’t go!”
“Look, I need my own space. I want to spread my wings and try it on my own…”
“If you leave, there’ll be no coming back. You can’t just leave and then in a few months come knocking on my door and expect me to take you back. You’d better think about that!”
“Well! There’s no need to take that tone. I thought we could still be friends.”
“How naïve of you, my Scottish flower.”
Lightning Lil by Bryan Thomas
The atmosphere was electric at the dog track.
This would be Lightning Lil's 100th race and she had won 87 of her previous races.
The bunny tore past the waiting dogs, as much in fear for its life as any electro-mechanical bunny could be.
Sock Puppet took the lead, followed by Vajazzle, Headshrinker, Custody Battle, Shitehawk, Jiggery-Pokery and last but not least, the appropriately named Brewers Droop.
Gasps of disbelief came from the crowd as they realised Lightning Lil had failed to start.
Lil had to malfunction sometime, after all this was 2085 and all of the greyhounds were robots.
JOB FOR A WITCH by Rick Haynes
Two witches were discussing the latest job application list that had arrived by King Crow.
‘It says here that only those with broomsticks need apply.’
‘But Chellin, we all fly sticks!’
‘Do we Jazeen?’
‘Of course we do! This is a plum job with the Queen Witch of Euranopia. We all want to apply.’
‘But where are your broomsticks Jazeen? You need to have one to fly one.’
Jazeen searched the wooden racks. There were no brooms.
‘Where are they?’
‘I destroyed them, thus destroying your dreams.’
‘Why Chellin?’
‘Read the last paragraph!’
‘Only the most evil witches need apply.’
Grave Robbers by D.S. Scot
“So bones bring good money?” John asked.
“They do. Now dig,” the doctor smiled.
“Why do I have to dig?”
“You are young and fit,” hissed the doctor.
After the grave was empty, John opened the coffin. “Disgusting!”
“Hurry,” the doctor barked.
“I’m going.”
When all the bones were placed in the bag, John asked, “What happens when you run out of graves?”
“There’s never a shortage of bones,” the doctor grinned.
“Where do you get them from?”
The doctor brought his shovel down on John’s head. After kicking him into the grave he said, “Simple. From you … next month.”
Friday, 31 October 2014
The Not-So Great Escape.
So I've been think quite a lot in recent days *sound of a cog chunking along* mostly about writing. As it would appear I change my mind, more than a woman changes her mind about the outfit she's wearing, a certain amount of reflection would appear necessary... but not that much, that I become absorbed. I've been manage to read quite a bit lately, which has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to get that out there. I'm just joking, it does. Amidst the brilliant books I have been reading, I have continuously read Maybe, Misery.
Each time I read it, I like it a little bit less. I am proud of it, but it is juvenile. It's pretty much the literature version of Luc Besson's The Fifth Element... he wrote it when he was twelve. And it dawns on my that Maybe, Misery is my high school book. Despite its good points, there's no way around the fact that I would of written a story exactly like that during my high school exams. Filled with sex, violence and all things silly. Well maybe not the sex.
The Talon Strand grows on this, even in it's early draft, it is nowhere near as silly as Maybe, Misery. It has its moments but there is definite growth in the undertones... somewhere. It's at the point now where I am close to printing it out to get a good look at it on paper. I see more clearly that way. My eyes go bog eyed staring at a screen all day... Again I kid, I have no ability to go bog eyed.
Now, to my point. Due to the realisation that I haven't written the best book I could have written, I feel I need to write my Great Gatsby. Yes, that is a bold claim. I don't mean about the life and times of this generation... that would just be a book about me complaining about humanity. I mean, that perfect book, words flow flawlessly and every sentence almost seems like poetry. Where reading it feels like you're experiencing it for yourself.
And the painful truth is, that I can't do that with The Talon Strand. The subject matter just isn't right. It's supposed to be an 'out there' tale. It is bloody fiction after all.
So what is my grand plan you ask?
I haven't got a clue. Not a single one. I just know now, that I won't be done writing until I am 100% sure that I can't do any better. Which as of Maybe, Misery... I know I can.
So on this Halloween day of Birthdays, births and spook goings on...
Here's a toast, to you, me and the redemptive future.
*I'm sure that last line was straight out of Maybe, Misery. *Awkward silence*
Each time I read it, I like it a little bit less. I am proud of it, but it is juvenile. It's pretty much the literature version of Luc Besson's The Fifth Element... he wrote it when he was twelve. And it dawns on my that Maybe, Misery is my high school book. Despite its good points, there's no way around the fact that I would of written a story exactly like that during my high school exams. Filled with sex, violence and all things silly. Well maybe not the sex.
The Talon Strand grows on this, even in it's early draft, it is nowhere near as silly as Maybe, Misery. It has its moments but there is definite growth in the undertones... somewhere. It's at the point now where I am close to printing it out to get a good look at it on paper. I see more clearly that way. My eyes go bog eyed staring at a screen all day... Again I kid, I have no ability to go bog eyed.
Now, to my point. Due to the realisation that I haven't written the best book I could have written, I feel I need to write my Great Gatsby. Yes, that is a bold claim. I don't mean about the life and times of this generation... that would just be a book about me complaining about humanity. I mean, that perfect book, words flow flawlessly and every sentence almost seems like poetry. Where reading it feels like you're experiencing it for yourself.
And the painful truth is, that I can't do that with The Talon Strand. The subject matter just isn't right. It's supposed to be an 'out there' tale. It is bloody fiction after all.
So what is my grand plan you ask?
I haven't got a clue. Not a single one. I just know now, that I won't be done writing until I am 100% sure that I can't do any better. Which as of Maybe, Misery... I know I can.
So on this Halloween day of Birthdays, births and spook goings on...
Here's a toast, to you, me and the redemptive future.
*I'm sure that last line was straight out of Maybe, Misery. *Awkward silence*
The Weekly Round-Down. (No.13) Halloween Edition.
How gleefully apt, that Halloween falls on the thirteenth edition of this post. I hope you all have lovely plans for Halloween. Here in England, it's as glum as our government. Kids knocking on the door expecting money, dressed as teenagers. It's my Nan's birthday today... I remember, when I was a young whipper-snapper, my Nan was still my best friend. In her closet, she kept a broom all year round, claiming that she was a witch. No, some twenty-odd years later, watching her pinch my last Eccles cake, I'm still inclined to believe her. I went around to see her and gave her our Halloween book, in which I wish her happy birthday. Definitely beats a card.
Rather than tell you about my week this week, I think we'll keep it to a minimum. It's been good. There, that's done.
During the aftermath of our Halloween release, we are sorting out getting some of the paperback copies sorted to be signed by each of us, which is awesome. I really can't describe how awesome it has been working on this project. So my thanks go to Nav, Ava, Rick and Ken for allowing me the pleasure of working with them, especially as I was the junior author amongst them. Though this book may be short and written in under three months, I consider it an achievement to have worked with four fantastic authors. So to celebrate Happy Halloween, which you can get (Here). I'd also like to present four drabbles written by each of us for this occasion, so enjoy...
The Feast by C.S. Bailey
The 31st of October is Halloween. But for me, it’s known as the feast. I am the ghost that haunts your room at night, the demon that hides under your bed or the clown that scares you to death.
Dressed in my clothes or what you would call a costume I head into the dimly lit streets of my neighbourhood looking for treats.
Banging on the doors of houses; clattering my hands against the windows and ringing the bells recklessly. I want people to know I’m coming for them.
Until, my mother grabs my hand and tells me to behave.
Burning Down the House by Nav Logan
The dry timber crackled into life, starting with the flaming brand and quickly becoming an inferno. Soon, the heat became as hot as the depths of Hades.
The spirits which had dwelled for so long in the ancient timbers of the house, shrieked their protest. Their sanctuary was being destroyed.
They clung desperately to their past lives, wanting to remain in the land of the living, but the hooligans in a rash moment of drunken stupidity had evicted them from their home.
Now the ghostly spirits were released into the night.
They would seek retribution for this act of vandalism.
TIME TO PARTY by Rick Haynes
Padding silently through the dense foliage the werewolves sought a high point to observe their quarry.
As the dancing at the Halloween party reached a frenzy, they sensed that a golden opportunity awaited them below.
Razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight as they saw their prey exposed in the intense disco lights. Their howls would soon ring out as human flesh and blood would once again fill empty stomachs.
A huge bang; the crowd screamed; the darkness total.
As the evil creatures raced towards their feed, bright lights suddenly exposed them.
“Bollocks! Cut! Cut! Cut! Whose bloody mobile just rang?”
Happy Halloween! by Lady A. K. Michaels
Just a few short hours until my favourite time of the year. A measly amount of time and then I can roam free, search out some sustenance without the fear of detection. How stupid these humans are, not knowing the difference between a costume and a real monster in their midst. All the better for me. Blood and brains...my nectar! My heart beats madly in my chest with excitement as my trusty hound waits, anticipating my letting him lose on my victims. After all, an attack by a wild beast covers up my...proclivities! Happy Halloween everyone!
Also, as an extra treat, here is a short story by Mandy Dowson titled The Raven.
The throne was a monstrosity of twisted and contorted bones. The sharp pain of a splintered femur stabbing her thigh was almost enough to bring a grimace to her face. Almost, but not quite. She smiled, her lips stretching thin, exposing a set of perfect pearly whites, and she nodded once, decisively. The time was at hand, the moment was now, and revenge would be hers.
Distantly, her mind recalled her previous splendour, as in a dream it seemed to be a wispy and uncertain thing. She had been glorious. She had been golden and beautiful and undamaged. Once.
As if to torment her, the sudden vision of the past shone e’er brighter in her mind, flashing in wonderful and terrible snippets she named Regret, Shame, and Betrayal.
This is all that is left to me, she thought, letting her eyes wander the vast hall stuffed to bursting with all manner of perversity and pain. There in a corner, a rutting couple repeatedly stabbed and jabbed with dagger and spear. Here, a rotting corpse, still shockingly sentient, pleaded with its ghastly maw of a mouth. For release or for mercy, it mattered not, neither were to be had here.
She had Fallen, yes. Fallen from grace and all that was pure and perfect. Her crucible, a simple human man. He tempted her so, and loved her not. So guileless had she been, so blind to treachery that she hadn’t realized the peril she had placed her soul into until it was far too late. Sighing, she shifted on her throne of bones, relishing the sensation of pain as another bead of blood wound its way down the back of her calf.
So Fallen, she had been damned. Banished to the realm of despair and madness and loss. Hell, to be named correctly. Many were the realms of Hell and legion were its guests. The throne she perched upon made her the over-seer of this particular realm, but no less a guest herself. The Realm of Scorned Lovers was generous to its guests, granting them each a boon, if they but ask. Those with no desire for revenge were moved on, their visit here only transitory. But for those like herself, who not only accepted their revenge but yearned, burned and existed for it, their stay was permanent. The cost of their revenge was paid forever. Though it mattered not to her.
So far from the gentle and loving being she had previously been, her desire for revenge drove her. Only that, and nothing more.
“Come,” she whispered feverishly. “Come and let me taste that which I most lust for.”
A flutter of wings, and the creature landed lightly upon her shoulder, whispering of the madness it would bring to its intended victim. Eyes glistening with excitement, she softly stroked the beaked head of her pet, her instrument.
“Go forth,” she told it. “And remind him of all he ever gave to me.”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
On the kindle this week, I have read two wonderful short stories. The shorter of the two, titled The Ghost Writer by our very own Bryan Thomas was a very humorous look at celebrity culture. So if you hate all that celebrity nonsense as much as I do, you can check it out here. The second was a lovely children's tale by the talented Jolie. You can check that out here.
I won't post my top 15 but I will tell you that my favourite Halloween song is 'Kidnap the Sandyclaws' by KoRn. It's off the Nightmare before CHRIStmas soundtrack.
I hope you all have a wonderful day! I just found out that our Rick Haynes is a Grandparent, so congratulations to you Mr. Rick!
Happy Halloween!
Rather than tell you about my week this week, I think we'll keep it to a minimum. It's been good. There, that's done.
During the aftermath of our Halloween release, we are sorting out getting some of the paperback copies sorted to be signed by each of us, which is awesome. I really can't describe how awesome it has been working on this project. So my thanks go to Nav, Ava, Rick and Ken for allowing me the pleasure of working with them, especially as I was the junior author amongst them. Though this book may be short and written in under three months, I consider it an achievement to have worked with four fantastic authors. So to celebrate Happy Halloween, which you can get (Here). I'd also like to present four drabbles written by each of us for this occasion, so enjoy...
The Feast by C.S. Bailey
The 31st of October is Halloween. But for me, it’s known as the feast. I am the ghost that haunts your room at night, the demon that hides under your bed or the clown that scares you to death.
Dressed in my clothes or what you would call a costume I head into the dimly lit streets of my neighbourhood looking for treats.
Banging on the doors of houses; clattering my hands against the windows and ringing the bells recklessly. I want people to know I’m coming for them.
Until, my mother grabs my hand and tells me to behave.
The dry timber crackled into life, starting with the flaming brand and quickly becoming an inferno. Soon, the heat became as hot as the depths of Hades.
The spirits which had dwelled for so long in the ancient timbers of the house, shrieked their protest. Their sanctuary was being destroyed.
They clung desperately to their past lives, wanting to remain in the land of the living, but the hooligans in a rash moment of drunken stupidity had evicted them from their home.
Now the ghostly spirits were released into the night.
They would seek retribution for this act of vandalism.
TIME TO PARTY by Rick Haynes
Padding silently through the dense foliage the werewolves sought a high point to observe their quarry.
As the dancing at the Halloween party reached a frenzy, they sensed that a golden opportunity awaited them below.
Razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight as they saw their prey exposed in the intense disco lights. Their howls would soon ring out as human flesh and blood would once again fill empty stomachs.
A huge bang; the crowd screamed; the darkness total.
As the evil creatures raced towards their feed, bright lights suddenly exposed them.
“Bollocks! Cut! Cut! Cut! Whose bloody mobile just rang?”
Happy Halloween! by Lady A. K. Michaels
Just a few short hours until my favourite time of the year. A measly amount of time and then I can roam free, search out some sustenance without the fear of detection. How stupid these humans are, not knowing the difference between a costume and a real monster in their midst. All the better for me. Blood and brains...my nectar! My heart beats madly in my chest with excitement as my trusty hound waits, anticipating my letting him lose on my victims. After all, an attack by a wild beast covers up my...proclivities! Happy Halloween everyone!
Also, as an extra treat, here is a short story by Mandy Dowson titled The Raven.
The throne was a monstrosity of twisted and contorted bones. The sharp pain of a splintered femur stabbing her thigh was almost enough to bring a grimace to her face. Almost, but not quite. She smiled, her lips stretching thin, exposing a set of perfect pearly whites, and she nodded once, decisively. The time was at hand, the moment was now, and revenge would be hers.
Distantly, her mind recalled her previous splendour, as in a dream it seemed to be a wispy and uncertain thing. She had been glorious. She had been golden and beautiful and undamaged. Once.
As if to torment her, the sudden vision of the past shone e’er brighter in her mind, flashing in wonderful and terrible snippets she named Regret, Shame, and Betrayal.
This is all that is left to me, she thought, letting her eyes wander the vast hall stuffed to bursting with all manner of perversity and pain. There in a corner, a rutting couple repeatedly stabbed and jabbed with dagger and spear. Here, a rotting corpse, still shockingly sentient, pleaded with its ghastly maw of a mouth. For release or for mercy, it mattered not, neither were to be had here.
She had Fallen, yes. Fallen from grace and all that was pure and perfect. Her crucible, a simple human man. He tempted her so, and loved her not. So guileless had she been, so blind to treachery that she hadn’t realized the peril she had placed her soul into until it was far too late. Sighing, she shifted on her throne of bones, relishing the sensation of pain as another bead of blood wound its way down the back of her calf.
So Fallen, she had been damned. Banished to the realm of despair and madness and loss. Hell, to be named correctly. Many were the realms of Hell and legion were its guests. The throne she perched upon made her the over-seer of this particular realm, but no less a guest herself. The Realm of Scorned Lovers was generous to its guests, granting them each a boon, if they but ask. Those with no desire for revenge were moved on, their visit here only transitory. But for those like herself, who not only accepted their revenge but yearned, burned and existed for it, their stay was permanent. The cost of their revenge was paid forever. Though it mattered not to her.
So far from the gentle and loving being she had previously been, her desire for revenge drove her. Only that, and nothing more.
“Come,” she whispered feverishly. “Come and let me taste that which I most lust for.”
A flutter of wings, and the creature landed lightly upon her shoulder, whispering of the madness it would bring to its intended victim. Eyes glistening with excitement, she softly stroked the beaked head of her pet, her instrument.
“Go forth,” she told it. “And remind him of all he ever gave to me.”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
I won't post my top 15 but I will tell you that my favourite Halloween song is 'Kidnap the Sandyclaws' by KoRn. It's off the Nightmare before CHRIStmas soundtrack.
I hope you all have a wonderful day! I just found out that our Rick Haynes is a Grandparent, so congratulations to you Mr. Rick!
Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.11)
Yeah, I left it until the last minute a-bloody-gain. So in the spirit of my forgetfulness, here is...
The Last Minute
It started with a rejection
You turned me down
Throwing me by the way side
Followed by a period of self reflection.
But I persevered
I never lost my cool
And I tried and tried again
For yet another negative answer was all I feared.
This time, there was change
Your eyes shining as you smiled
The word yes left your lips
Still to this day, I still found it strange.
We dated for a long time
And took it easy as could be
Until I hearts took control
As we sang our own chime.
Things took a turn for the worse
You became down right unwell
The doctors told me there was no hope
But I kept my sadness scarce.
Our love become infinite
Beyond the stars
Sadness incarnate as you took your last breathe
Just know I have cheered every moment
Right to the last minute.
The Last Minute
It started with a rejection
You turned me down
Throwing me by the way side
Followed by a period of self reflection.
But I persevered
I never lost my cool
And I tried and tried again
For yet another negative answer was all I feared.
This time, there was change
Your eyes shining as you smiled
The word yes left your lips
Still to this day, I still found it strange.
We dated for a long time
And took it easy as could be
Until I hearts took control
As we sang our own chime.
Things took a turn for the worse
You became down right unwell
The doctors told me there was no hope
But I kept my sadness scarce.
Our love become infinite
Beyond the stars
Sadness incarnate as you took your last breathe
Just know I have cheered every moment
Right to the last minute.
Second guessing for a second time.
It occurs to me, that maybe I just shouldn't say anything. Not necessarily become a mute, but anything regarding what I plan to do. The other day, I posted that after The Talon Strand, my writing would become almost non-existent. Which, honestly was a hard thing to say. Anyway, we automatically assume that our brain will do the rest and move on... acceptance and all that jazz.
No! Not my brain! Not a fucking chance. Ever since I made that stupid bloody post, my brain has taken it upon its self to pound me into submission with ideas about my books and not a single idea has been about the two books I have planned to finish, those being The Talon Strand and Beating hearts. Speaking of which, Beating hearts is looking really good. I'll have to tell you a bit about it soon but it's great working with Jolie.
Even yesterday, after work I went to my Nan's as I usually do on a Tuesday evening. Except the bugger wasn't in, just a note explaining she'd gone gallivanting off to bingo somewhere. So then I decided to make some tea, a large quantity of tuna and pasta, it's the simple things. But much to my chagrin, Nan had either hidden/chucked away the dodgy tin opener. I soon gave up on cooking and decided on a burger and chips from the take-away... Anyway, to my point! On the way there, I was actually debating with myself on ways I could improve one of my stories (Indigo Watch) out loud in the middle of the street. Luckily I had the cover of darkness.
I am a strong believer in fate but only to the degree that fate is mainly a chance occurrence made so by our choices. I do not believe it is fate for me to write. Perhaps, deep down buried in my genetic material, there is a collective need to express myself through words but that isn't fate. So now, rather than make decisions that my brain obviously doesn't agree with, I will just see how things go and move on... acceptance and all that jazz - Though upon comprehending that I've accepted it's premises, I wouldn't be surprised if my brain changed its mind and not a single idea popped up.
Anyway, before I swing off to the gym and lose my mind (or at least appear so), I will be attempting poetry later, if my brain will let me.
No! Not my brain! Not a fucking chance. Ever since I made that stupid bloody post, my brain has taken it upon its self to pound me into submission with ideas about my books and not a single idea has been about the two books I have planned to finish, those being The Talon Strand and Beating hearts. Speaking of which, Beating hearts is looking really good. I'll have to tell you a bit about it soon but it's great working with Jolie.
Even yesterday, after work I went to my Nan's as I usually do on a Tuesday evening. Except the bugger wasn't in, just a note explaining she'd gone gallivanting off to bingo somewhere. So then I decided to make some tea, a large quantity of tuna and pasta, it's the simple things. But much to my chagrin, Nan had either hidden/chucked away the dodgy tin opener. I soon gave up on cooking and decided on a burger and chips from the take-away... Anyway, to my point! On the way there, I was actually debating with myself on ways I could improve one of my stories (Indigo Watch) out loud in the middle of the street. Luckily I had the cover of darkness.
I am a strong believer in fate but only to the degree that fate is mainly a chance occurrence made so by our choices. I do not believe it is fate for me to write. Perhaps, deep down buried in my genetic material, there is a collective need to express myself through words but that isn't fate. So now, rather than make decisions that my brain obviously doesn't agree with, I will just see how things go and move on... acceptance and all that jazz - Though upon comprehending that I've accepted it's premises, I wouldn't be surprised if my brain changed its mind and not a single idea popped up.
Anyway, before I swing off to the gym and lose my mind (or at least appear so), I will be attempting poetry later, if my brain will let me.
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