The Story So Far...

What a terrifying thing it is to want to be a writer. When I say "want to be" obviously I mean a published writer. Of course, when I talk about published, I'm talking about "Traditional publishing" that's in print, in a book made of paper and ink, that can be found on a shelf in a shop (or purchased from the Internet). A book that I didn't have to pay for and if I'm really lucky, gets me paid.

Why terrifying? I hear you gasp. Let me break it down for you. Cue the music! What, no music - Okay hum along with me (the "Knight Rider" theme will do... No, the original one. Jesus, you crazy kids).

Just a Thought - Sexy Vampires... Really?

I would like to know who was the first oh-so-clever person who happened to wake up one morning and think to themselves... 'Oh yeah, you know what we need "Sexy Vampires" that can get all rude and dirty and stuff... and maybe don't go poof in the sun, cause that would be a dull story. Maybe we should just have them have a lot of sex and squirt their non existent Vampy love juice all over some kinky types.'

So if Vamps are - undead - cannot have babies, don't have a working circulatory system... How do they get it up? Erections need blood, it pumps from one head to the other (yes, I know it's more complicated than that). Wait for it, I can hear your cogs turning... Don't you dare answer with - "They drink blood!" - Shame on you, I eat steak, does this fuel my rampaging man-thing? Cause it doesn't (well it does but, once again it's complicated).

Betsy's Last Legs (Microfiction)

Welcome my dear, come in put your feet up and have a nice cup of tea! I decided to scribble "Betsy" after a friend put out a little Facebook request for stories "for a project". Hmm I thought, why not! But the request was a tough one, with a word count set at only 150 it would have to be tiny. I failed and the story ended up closer to 180 words, but no matter, because what I present to you now dear reader is the re-edit... Yes I went crazy and started inserting words all over the place. Not quite willy-nilly you'll be glad to know (well almost). This version stands at a mighty 290 words, yes count them if you doubt me, I dare you. Or you could just take my word for it (why not I've an honest face). For your entertainment, I present to you "Betsy's Last Legs", enjoy!

‘D’you know that Alanis Morissette track, you know the one, she warbles on about a load of “Ironic” shit and none of it is…

The Story So Far...

So here we are in 2012... and so far so-so. At work we were asked for a short list of reading resolutions for this year (my place of work is a book shop in case you were wondering - no, we're not geeks... how dare you). My contribution to this wall of inspiration/shame, call it what you will, was given with almost minutes of thought and sits proudly with the following.

The Cider House Rules - John Irving
Post Office - Charles Bukowski
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle - Haruki Murakami

The Snowman (Microfiction)

I have a confession for you, this was the story I was going to write for you last Christmas. Yes it's late. You look surprised, I've been consistently slap-dash ever since I started this blog two years ago... Yeah I know, where have all the good times gone? Since it's the season of goodwill to all men (unless of course you happen to work in retail and everybody wants what you've just sold out of) you will have to forgive me. The reason that I've finally got around to writing this story is a simple one, I was wandering through the interweb reading some of my favourite blogs, when I stumbled across the flash fiction contest on "Terribleminds" Chuck Wendig issued the challenge - "CHRISTMAS IN A STRANGE PLACE" to which I answered with a scribble. If I get the chance I may post again in time for New Years... But I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you. So I wish you all 'Seasons Greetings' and a hope that next year will bring you some joy and happiness to call your own. Enjoy!

‘If I could just get a bloody signal I wouldn’t be in this mess.’ James shivers, as he fumbles to put his phone away, his hands clad in both pairs of his spare socks lack their usual dexterity. ‘At least I’m not as cold anymore, that’s something right?’ He tells himself as he presses on through the snow. ‘Jesus what a state to get into… Two pairs of Y-fronts don’t make much of a hat.’ He tugs at his head gear, trying to close the gaps where they do not quite meet. He staggers on, the wind blowing hard now causing the snow to sting his face, he prays they will find his car before the spring.

The Story So Far...

Okay it’s fair to say I’ve been an absentee blogger… I should hang my head in shame, my last posts were back in July. Yes I have a few good reasons, of course I do. What’s that? "You want answers, and you’re not leaving ‘til you get them!" In that case its only fair that I give you one (I'm pretty sure we've all heard that before).

Perfect Diction (Microfiction)

 Can you believe it's been two years since I climbed Mt Fuji? I know I can't, where the hell has the time gone? Why haven't I finished my bloody novel yet? Blah blah... Life! Blah blah... Work! Blah blah... Cute little babies and first born demanding attention. I've just celebrated the twelfth anniversary of my thirtieth birthday, so that means I'm getting on for middle aged. On the plus side at least I don't wet myself when I laugh! So I've been reading 'The Dirty Havana Trilogy' by Pedro Juan Gutierrez... So far, so bloody fantastic. If your starving, drunk on bad rum, and have no money to your name at least you can cheer yourself up by getting your sexy on. It has inspired me to throw this microfiction together. OK so the characters may not be staving, might possibly be a little tipsy, and almost certainly going to get their jiggy on. That's possibly as close to the book as it's going to get... Enjoy!

I run my fingers over my beard, I often do this if I’m thinking hard about something (or trying to give the impression that I’m thinking hard about something).

            ‘Well?’ she said and gives me a look that asks, ‘are you going to answer me tonight?’

            ‘What was the question again?’ We both know I’m playing with her.

She smiles and pours me another, repeating her question slowly letting her lips and tongue properly form the words. I adore the way they move, I could sit here and watch her talk all night. Perfect diction.