My story, Samantha, which explores the emotional effects of sex slavery on a young girl is free in the Kindle store from 7-11 June. To obtain Samantha free and to view my other books please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0. If you download Samantha please do consider leaving a review either on Amazon, this blog or both.
There is something reassuringly familiar about the presence of much loved books ranged around the room on book shelves. The scent of bees wax perfumes the atmosphere as you sit comfortably ensconced in an armchair. No noise can be heard other than the ticking of a grandfather clock and the periodic sound of pages turning.
On looking at the books displayed on my bookshelves within my KDP Select dashboard I was struck by the somewhat quaint and to me rather lovely reference to bookshelves which conjured up the above vision of a traditional library or perhaps a single bookcase displaying much cherished books. It is good to know that in this age of technology familiar references remain. Everything changes but, somehow remains the same. Oh gosh I am turning into an old fuddy duddy!
In February 2013 I published my book, Samantha which tells the story of a young girl forced into sex slavery in the English city of Liverpool. Can this educated young girl, from a well-to-do background escape from her brutal pimp, Barry or will she end her days in the murky waters of Liverpool’s Albert Docks?
Samantha will be available in the Amazon Kindle store free from 7-11 June (the story usually retails for £2.03). For Samantha by K Morris please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI.
Working full time has it’s advantages not least among them being the ability to meet those piffling little obligations known as bills together with other living expenses! The downside to being in full time employment is that I am usually fairly tired by the time I return home in the evening and my ability to write is, as a consequence diminished.
I want to spend time on long term writing projects which will entail me devoting less to blogging. My intention, at the moment is to cut down on my blogging to approximately 2-3 posts a week affording more time for long term composition. Some weeks I may blog more and others less. Rest assured that I won’t be disappearing so don’t break open the champagne just yet or, if you do, invite me along for a drink!
Kevin
While browsing gumtree.co.uk I came across the below intriguing advertisement
“A smart and attractive girl is needed to help a private detective in his investigation, a good remuneration in return.”
What a great basis for a short story or a novel. Imagine the possibilities. A private detective wishes to investigate the affairs of a criminal who is known for his cunning and suspicion of anyone who is not part of his own tight knit fraternity. He does, however have one weakness, a liking for attractive intelligent women. The detective finds his girl who manages to seduce the criminal mastermind and communicate his secrets to her employer. Alternatively the young lady falls in love with the criminal and they disappear into the sunset together leaving the detective high and dry!
What wonderful material for a writer to get his or her teeth into!
The below humorous poem was penned by one of my former colleagues and relates to the antics of my guide dog Trigger who can be seen in the below photograph:
There was a young guide dog named Trigger,
Who pursued people’s lunches with vigour,
Whether cold food or hot,
He’d go after the lot,
And caused many a smirk and a snigger.
The subject of paedophilia is a highly emotive one, “others rush in where angels fear to tread”. Over the weekend I wrote “An Act of Madness” in which we are introduced to Ian, a man with an unhealthy sexual interest in young teenage girls. Ian graduates from looking at images of child abuse online to raping a 13-year-old child who has been procured for him by an unsavoury pimp, Tom.
Although I wrote “An Act of Madness” in a period of only 2 days it is the most difficult story I have written. What Ian does is monstrous and I felt queasy throughout the composition of “An Act of Madness”. The best way to describe why I wrote this story is to say that I felt compelled to do so. One can not brush child abuse under the carpet and it is important to understand what causes men (and sometimes women) to sexually and physically abuse children. Of course to understand is not to condone, the monstrosity of child abuse can never be condoned, however by attempting to get into the mind of the paedophile we can, perhaps help to prevent him from offending or reoffending.
On the one level there is an inevitability in Ian’s offending. He has, for a considerable period and by his own admission maintained an unhealthy interest in very young teenage girls. This interest escalates from looking to physical and sexual abuse (the road from clicking on images of child abuse to the rape of 13-year-old girl is, for Ian all to easy). However Ian recognises that he has a problem, he has the opportunity to seek help, an opportunity which he fails to take. Had he listened to the wee small voice of conscience which cries out in the depths of the night he may, possibly have avoided the offending behaviour which leads to tragedy for both him and the children involved.
For “An Act of Madness” please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/01/an-act-of-madness-part-1/
My book, Samantha which tells the story of a young girl forced into prostitution in the city of Liverpool will be available, free in the Kindle Store from 7 June to 11 June. For further information on Samantha by K Morris together with a 4 star review, please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI.
Below is the final part of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 4 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-4/.
Ian woke to the sound of the dawn chorus. Even in the heart of Brixton the birds sing, Ian thought. For a few moments he was at peace listening to the sound of many birds singing fit to burst. All to soon the recollections of the previous evening’s debauchery came flooding back. He turned to see Lisa one arm around that beloved bear and the other draped over Angel. Despite being only 13 Lisa had attempted to protect Angel from Ian’s drug and alcohol fuelled lust. It had, of course been useless. Ian had struck Lisa a crushing blow across the face sending the girl flying across the room. As Lisa lay dazed on the floor Ian had raped Angel while she watched helplessly. Lisa’s face was deeply scarred where Ian’s ring had sliced into her cheek. Both girls face’s showed signs of dried tears mixed with the blood which Ian had drawn during his animal rage.
Ian turned away. He couldn’t look anymore. Getting out of bed he dressed quickly, opened the bedroom door and headed for the stairs. This time there was no Tom to detain him at the front door. Ian pulled back the heavy bolts and stepped out into the cool morning air. The birds still sang but Ian did not hear them. His thoughts where dark, no joy filled his soul.
“God, god what have I done? What have I done?”
Ian wandered aimlessly for over an hour. He wasn’t conscious of having been aiming for Brixton Tube, however, looking up he found himself outside. He entered, bought a ticket from the ticket machine and headed for the Victoria line.
The platform was relatively empty as at just after 6 am the morning rush hour had not yet begun in earnest.
Ian stood close to the yellow line, the point of safety which the public should not cross when trains are approaching. He felt nothing, absolutely empty. His life was meaningless. Looking into the future Ian saw more young lives blighted by him, scores of children stretching forward all brought to the depths of depravity due to his selfish desires.
A tube approached.
“Stand back, stand behind the yellow line” the underground official on the platform yelled at Ian.
“Sweet Jesus he’s jumped” could be heard over the radios carried by his colleagues.
It is often said that people who jump in front of trains frequently don’t die immediately. Rather they linger on in agony, sometimes for days before merciful death relieves them of their sufferings. Others do survive but with severe disabilities. In Ian’s case it was quick. The wheels of the train cut him in half. There was a moment of acute agony, a pearcing scream and then what had been the essence of Ian was snuffed out, forever.
Below is Part 4 of my story, An Act of Madness. For Part 3 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/06/02/an-act-of-madness-part-3/.
Ian felt that sense of forboding which often afflicts one before the breaking of a powerful thunder storm. He craved yet feared the coming of the thunder and lightening. His temples throbbed and he needed release but how and when that deliverance would come Ian did not know but the thought of it thrilled and scared him half to death in equal measure.
The pent up sexual frustration churned around inside Ian struggling to get out. He became careless. Ian had long regarded Anna, the teenage daughter of the Browns who ran his local news agents as material for his fantasising about teen girls. At 14 Anna was tall, slim and blonde. She stood not quite on the cusp of womanhood and this state of becoming drove Ian wild with desire.
One morning as Anna pushed The Guardian through his letter box Ian, to her great surprise opened the door.
“Morning Anna. It is a beautiful sunny day. You must be hot, would you like to come in for a drink?”
It was indeed a baking hot summer’s day and Anna hesitated before answering
“No thanks Mr Right. I have water with me but thanks for asking”, then with a smile and a waive Anna turned and headed for the next flat.
Once the door closed Ian stood shaking uncontrollably in the hallway. He knew that had Anna accepted his invitation to come in and have a drink that he would have offered her the £50 he had in his wallet for sex. Had he done that Ian knew that Anna’s reaction would, almost certainly have been to run straight home and report
“that filthy pervert from number 5) to her parents. The police and possible imprisonment would have been the almost inevitable result.
“Thank Christ that she didn’t come in” Ian muttered.
It would, he thought be far safer to call Tom who could provide a young girl to cater to his needs with minimum risk of discovery. If he didn’t call Tom then Ian knew that sooner or later he would do something which would lead to him getting caught.
Ian wondered whether the number he had for Tom would still work. He guessed that people like Tom changed their numbers and location frequently to keep one step ahead of the authorities. It had been almost six weeks since he had visited that hovel in Brixton so it was quite possible that Tom (or whatever his real name was) would have long since moved on. There was only one way to find out. With a trembling hand Ian picked up his mobile and located Tom in his contacts. His finger froze on the call buttond. It was so easy to make that call and so simple to delete the number. Yes he would delete the number and seek counselling for his addiction. Obviously he wouldn’t tell his counsellor that he had sexually abused a child (they would be obliged to inform the police). He would, however confess to a liking for young girls and do whatever was necessary to co-operate with the counsellor in tackling his perversion. But no, he was beyond redemption. Once a paedophile always a paedophile. Slowly, almost imperceptibly Ian’s finger pressed down on the call button.
“Yeah?”
“Is that Tom?”
“Yeah”
“Its Ian not sure if you remember?”
“I thought that you had forgotten old Tom! I’ve something very special for you. Two girls, one you saw before, Lisa and the other, Angel. Angel’s petite and black. Real cute. You’ll like her. I like you man. You can have both girls for £600”.
Ian’s hand was trembling so much that he almost dropped the mobile.
“Are you there man?”
“Yeah”
“Wanna come over?”
“OK, is it the same place?”
“Yeah, see you in half an hour?”
“No, say an hour”
“OK man, see you then. You will love Angel, Tom don’t provide no rubbish”.
—
Ian sat on the top deck of the bus as it wended it’s way towards Brixton. Looking out of the window he saw a park full of bright flowers. The reds, purples and whites combined to make a magnificent floral display. Someone rang the bell. Ian half rose from his seat,he was tempted to get off the bus, forget about Tom and spend the day walking in beautiful parkland. His groin twitched at the prospect of the two young girls Tom had waiting for him. With a wistful look back at the now receeding park Ian returned to his seat.
K Morris - Poet 