Monthly Archives: December 2013

Trolling Along

1 Reply

On 6 December I published a post regarding trolling and, in particular it’s pernicious effect on book reviews, http://newauthoronline.com/2013/12/06/when-does-a-book-review-become-trolling/. I have, today received a comment on my post by a person who argues for (as he puts it) “the utility of internet flamers and trolls”. I do not agree with the premise of his article. It is, however well expressed and in the interests of encouraging debate I have linked to it here, http://pop-verse.com/2013/11/27/the-utility-of-internet-flamers-and-trolls-or-why-you-should-go-fuck-yourself-2/.

In my experience internet trolls are rarely (if ever) interested in promoting genuine debate whether about books or other topics. They are frequently people with a variety of problems who rather than confronting their own inadequacies choose rather to spew bile on the internet while hiding behind false identities. In the article linked to above the writer contends that different rules apply in the virtual as opposed to the real world. I can’t agree. Good manners should not cease merely because one is hiding behind the anonymity of a keyboard.

Many trolls exhibit behaviour which if demonstrated by children would result in those concerned being reprimanded. Indeed we expect children to exhibit childish traits but it is profoundly sad when grown men and women behave like kids in the playground.

The Darkling Thrush By Thomas Hardy

2 Replies

Thomas Hardy’s The Darkling Thrush is one of my favourite poems. I recollect having had similar thoughts to those described by Hardy while pausing to listen to the song of a bird. In my case it was, I think a blackbird rather than a thrush which produced the emotions so aptly described by the poet in the below poem.

 

“I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-grey,

And Winter’s dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be

The Century’s corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.”

Gasping

Leave a reply

“How could he do it? Put a pillow over Tony’s face and”. Jean shuddered unable to finish her sentence.

“There was always something not right about that lad. Didn’t I tell you he wasn’t right in the head?” Tina said addressing the small group who sat at a corner table in the Grapes, a bottle of white wine between them.

“Yeah Tina, you always said that” Martha said as she poured herself another glass of wine.

“But why? A kid just doesn’t up and suffocate his dad like that. There must be a reason. Kids aint born evil” Jean said.

“Bloody do gooder, why are you always looking for reasons. Boy is evil, that’s all there is to it” Tina responded banging her fist on the table as she spoke. “I’m sick of people making excuses. No wonder the country’s in the state it is, because people like you say “oh poor lad, we must understand him”. Understand him, the boys a monster. They should throw away the key. They won’t though. A good lawyer, paid for out of my bloody taxes and he’ll be out in 5 (7) years maximum”.

“They never should have got rid of the rope. You remember me saying that don’t you Tina?” Martha said appealing to her friend.

“I do Martha and I always agreed with you on that, as god is my witness I’ve always believed the biggest mistake this country ever made, apart from joining the Common Market, was to get rid of hanging. That little bugger will be living the life of riley while the poor bloody tax payer foots the bill”.

“But the kid’s only 13” Jean said.

“13, that’s old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Society is going to the dogs. Have you seen Wendy’s Lucy? 14-years-old and pushing a pram and it’s the fucking tax payer who picks up the bill again!” Tina said banging her glass on the table.

“He was such a lovely man was Tony. Always laughing and joking and now that little sod has murdered him. Christ I don’t know what the worlds coming to. I’m glad that I haven’t got much longer on this earth” Martha said.

“Come off it Martha you will outlast us all” Tina said. “Hows little Ronnie” (referring to Martha’s grandson).

“Oh he’s great. Do you know what the little rascal did the other day?” The conversation moved on the subject of Tony forgotten.

 

—

 

He felt the pillow pressed against his little face. He gasped for air. Just as he thought “I’m going to die” the weight was removed. It was always the same. For no reason the pillow or a cushion would be pressed against his face and at the moment when the boy felt he couldn’t take any more the torment ceased, until the next time.

He was a patient child. He waited the hate like a fire kindling within him. An afternoon of drinking in the pub. A man taking his last snooze on the sofa. You, dear reader know the rest.

Noise!

5 Replies

Modern society is saturated with noise, much of it emanating from technology. I am a huge fan of my iPad. It is considerably lighter than my laptop and I have downloaded many useful apps including one for WordPress. However many of the apps contain a facility enabling the device’s owner to receive notifications when content is updated so, for example a notification is generated every time someone comments on one of my posts on WordPress.

It is wonderful to know that my content has provoked interest and/or likes but not when I am in the midst of a particularly beautiful passage of poetry or I’ve just reached a crucial sceene in the detective story on my Kindle! Of course I can go in and disable the notifications but I’m sure I am not the only one to be driven mad by “jo blogs liked your post on newauthoronline” when I am wrapped up in a good book.

As I said above, I really value all the comments and likes on my blog and I always try to respond to feedback. There is, however a time and a place for everything and this is not, in my view while I am reading a good book! Perhaps this mania for the enabling of notifications stems from a fear that we (the user of technology) might just miss something of importance if we are not always connected to every possible source of information. Like butterflies we flit from flower to flower without ever pausing long enough to truly savour each individual plants nectar. As I write this my e-mail and all other notifications are well and truly disabled!

Reviews

Leave a reply

It is wonderful to receive feedback on my writing and I am grateful to those people who have left reviews on Amazon for Samantha and Sting In The Tail. People have busy lives and it isn’t always easy to find the time to review books (I know from my own experience that this is the case. I have often meant to leave a review but have not always got round to doing so). If you have downloaded any of my books and have not left a review, I would love to know what you thought of my work. Please do consider leaving a review. Many thanks, Kevin

(For my Amazon author’s page please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0).

Enid Blyton Removed From School Library

8 Replies

I have happy memories of my grandfather reading Enid Blyton’s The Famous Five as I sat on his knee. As a child it never crossed my mind that Blyton’s books could be construed as being racist. Today however a number of reprints of the author’s works have been published with certain words and passages having been amended to avoid giving offence. Today’s Daily Mail has an article concerning a school who removed Blyton’s books from it’s shelves, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2519806/Enid-Blyton-Famous-Five-childrens-classics-axed-school-win-race-equality-award.html. If you read the entire article it becomes clear that most of the books which where deemed to be unacceptable have been replaced by versions with the language which some deem offensive, having been removed.

Racism is ugly and it is right and proper that children are taught that all ethnic groups possess equal worth and everyone, irrespective of their origin should be treated with respect. Having said that, would it not be possible for teachers, parents etc to explain the historical context in which Blyton was writing to youngsters, explaining that words and phrases which where once deemed acceptable are now (rightly) not so deemed. Blyton as with Kipling was a product of her time. Even great authors such as Dickens used language which we now view as unacceptable, for example his reference to “the jew” in Oliver Twist. I love Dickens, Kipling and Blyton, however to say this does not imply that I or any other reader shares their views on race or any other issue. We need, as I said above to judge authors in accordance with the historical context in which they wrote. Obviously it is easier for adults to make such judgements but, with sensitive and appropriate explanation it ought to be possible for children to continue to enjoy The Famous Five.

She Lingers

6 Replies

Here in London’s Crystal Palace autumn lingers. The perfume from fallen leaves scents the air. How strange that people spend vast amounts on expensive scents when nature produces perfumes more fragrant than anything man is capable of producing.

Autumn is melancholy and beauty inextricably interwoven. The gorgeous smells emanating from the newly fallen leaves make me feel good to be alive. Yet it is, at the same time the dying of the year, the interlude between life giving summer with it’s blooming roses and winter which will, inevitably clasp us to her icey bosom. Yet life continues far beneath winter’s frosty grip and, come the spring we will be delighted by birds building their nests, roses budding and the sound of lawn mowers as the powerful aroma of newly mown grass scents the air. The great cycle, turn and turn again. We are part of something beautiful and a little mysterious.

Autumn

Trapped

4 Replies

Boxed in, unable to escape. Dark. I feel wardrobe and door but, no exit. Trapped, I am caught, no way out. Don’t panic of course there is an exit.

Feel, this is the hall, the shape of the storage cupboard. I turn, blessed light, dim but perceptible reaches me from the living room windows. Free!

(I am blind with a small amount of residual vision which means that I can see light and dark. I am also able to distinguish shapes so, for example I can see the outline of a person but I am unable to recognise them. This morning I was in my spare room, the one in which most of my writing takes place. I know the room, as with every other part of my flat like the back of my hand, however, this morning I became disorientated. I have no idea why but perhaps it stems from the fact that I was carrying my iPad and, not wishing to drop it all of my thoughts where concentrated on preventing an accident, consequently the part of my mind which deals with orientation went into slumber mode hence the above. My spare room opens out into the hall. The door is usually open and this morning was no exception. The logical part of my brain told me that the door was open yet, for a moment I was unable to locate the exit).

And the Lord said… “Let there be Ads.”

Leave a reply

A disturbing glimpse into a distopian future which I would recommend reading, Kevin

judithgreene's avatarfauxlosophical ghost txt

The clock in Ava’s brain ticks over to 6.5 and she woke instantly.

She had not remembered going to sleep, nor did she recall her dreams. Ava never remembered her dreams. Her eyes hadn’t come online yet. She was still lying down. All she could see was the time, in small print in the distance. It ticked over to 6.51 and began to flash. She would have .01 minutes before the noise came and she would be forced to log in.

But she remained lying down in the darkness with the time in small print in the distance and she thought. She conjured images, whatever came to her in these brief moments of silence she would follow. These private images were so pure, so indicative of her. Pure her. Pure self that she could not show to anyone. Pure self that was more real than anything she could imagine. In…

View original post 4,279 more words