On visiting the page for my book, Samantha today I was delighted to see that it has received a review which awards Samantha 4 stars. You can find the review here http://www.amazon.co.uk/product-reviews/B00BL3CNHI/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending. If you have read Samantha then I would love to hear your views
I like listening to a wide variety of music and on occasions (particularly when I am in the bath) I turn the volume up to the maximum degree possible without, of course annoying the neighbours! Despite my love of things musical I find it impossible to have music playing, however softly while writing. I find my ears concentrating on the words being sung or the beauty of the music rather than on my writing. My need for silence while working goes back to my school days. Other children could listen to music, watch television or do a whole variety of things while revising for their O and A levels, not me, I needed quiet to concentrate.
My need for quiet entails turning off my mobile, logging out of e-mail and disregarding the landline, yes I am an antisocial beast while writing! Once my concentration is broken I find it difficult to focus completely on writing again as that conversation with my mum or the e-mail from my friend is competing for attention with the story I’m composing.
I will pause while writing to make a cup of coffee or to enjoy a few moments stroking my dog, however I do not perceive these breaks as distractions, rather they help to keep the creative juices going (the coffee keeps me alert and playing with my four legged friend helps to relax me). On this basis I think that I am an antisocial coffee drinker who loves his dog, well I can think of worse things to be!
Kevin
“You only live once” the girl said.
“Indeed we do” her companion replied smiling.
Should he allow this beautiful young lady to do something so intimate and potentially fraught with danger? If things went as he (and she) hoped they would then mutual satisfaction would be the result. A sense of fulfilment would flood his being and the girl would smile with delight at having made another man happy. The man would boast to his jealous friends about the wonders of this talented girl. They would, in return seek to avail themselves of the lady’s services. Even were he to allow the girl to perform this most private and embarrassing of services for him he wasn’t sure whether he could, on second thoughts confide in even his most trusted friends. Even if he withheld the shocking secret from his dearest friends they would, undoubtedly notice something different about him which would give the game away. The smug smile on his face would act as a clue that he had given into that urge which oft afflicts men of a certain age and to compound the offence that he had done so with a girl young enough to be his daughter. Would allowing a lady of more mature years to minister to his intimate requirements be more acceptable? Perhaps so but the man wasn’t being tempted by a lady of his own age, he was being seduced by a gorgeous 20-year-old into doing something which he new, in his heart of hearts he might well bitterly regret. Never the less the man was tempted. What Could possibly be the harm? They were both adults. No doubt tongues would wag but let people gossip it was after all entirely a matter for himself as to whether he should give into temptation and allow the girl to ever so softly and with the greatest of care … dye his hair
A very interesting post irrespective of whether or not you suffer from writer’s block.
Many writers speak of writer’s block, an inability to create new work or to finish a project. They discuss a mental wall stopping them from reaching the creative part of their brain. Hundreds, probably thousands, of articles have been written about writer’s block, what it is and how to cure it.
Yet there are also hundreds, if not thousands, of writers who don’t believe in writer’s block.
I take the middle ground on this one. Writer’s block could be anything. It might be all in your head, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Often it’s a symptom of other issues in our lives or the story we’re working on. Other times it’s just an excuse for not wanting to write. What’s important is moving away from the term “writer’s block”. You have to figure out what your specific issue is and deal with that. By figuring out the underlying…
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Sounds are incredibly evocative. My home is some 25 minutes walk from several train stations. Occasionally, when the wind is in the right direction and most often at the dead of night when the traffic has ceased I hear the whistle of a train. It is a mournful sound which induces in me feelings of sadness. I am not sure why this should be the case. Perhaps it flows from my perception that there is something about the sound, in and of itself which is evocative of sadness. The speed of the train also reminds me that life is passing by rapidly, we are here now but very soon, like the speeding night train we will be lost in the darkness which for me is symbolic of death.
At other times I hear the hooting of an owl as he hunts in the park next to my home. It is an erie sound which has, in many different cultures been associated with bad luck or death. In Macbeth it is the bird of ill omen which portends the death of Duncan
Lady Macbeth: ”hark! Peace! It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stern’st good-night”.
Whenever I hear the cry of an owl it is of lady Macbeth’s words that I think. However, having said that I love listening to the owl as he hunts for his prey. I can stand for long periods by my open window harkening to his call.
Some sounds produce feelings of rest and contentment. I love listening to the sound of running water. It is hypnotic and soothes me when I feel tired or stressed.
Of course the lack of sound can be wonderful. To sit in tranquillity reading or just relaxing is very necessary to the human spirit.
While browsing the Telegraph’s website earlier today I came across the following article, by Celia Walden which resonated with me, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/twitter/9831941/My-husbands-cheating-on-me-with-three-million-people.html. Walden argues that Twitter is about forsaking the present moment in order to brag about it later. For example the author points to the craze which is, apparently prevalent in America where people tweet pictures of their meals rather than sitting down and simply enjoying them! As I’ve remarked before technology is wonderful. It has, however lead some to be enslaved by the technology rather than allowing it to act as their servant.
I’m off now to make a cup of hot chocolate. Please watch out for the photograph of the steaming mug on Twitter. If you are lucky I may even include a full length video of yours truly drinking it. I’m sure you can hardly wait …!
Kevin
Have you ever desired something so intensely that the lack of it positively hurt? Tony’s waking thoughts where filled with Sabrina. Her long black hair and emerald green eyes dominated his consciousness. At times Tony fancied that he could smell Sabrina’s delicate scent, a wonderful cocktail of wild flowers comingled with the apple shower gel with which she soaped her lithe young body. The lack of Sabrina’s presence only served to entensify his desire for the girl. He longed to lose himself in Sabrina’s beauty, to bury his nose in the girl’s long black hair. He would drink in her scent his hands softly exploring Sabrina’s face. There lips would meet and then …
He pictured the two of them strolling hand in hand through the woods in springtime. The birds are singing and flowers line the woodland path. They enter a secluded glade shielded from the footpath by high oaks. Without speaking they fall as one to the woodland floor, Their love making being accompanied by the singing of many birds.
On other occasions Tony pictured Sabrina as a beautiful woodland nymph. At a little under five feet in height and being of slim build she was the living personification of the nymphs who populated the myths of which he was so fond. Tony saw Sabrina walking ahead of him in the depths of the forest. He quickens his pace, however the girl without ever appearing to pick up speed remains forever just out of reach.
“Sabrina” he calls.
“Catch me if you can” floats back to him on the spring breeze.
“Sabrina wait for me” he shouts but his voice is lost among the calling of the birds and the babbling of the woodland brook.
But what if he did possess the girl? What then?
“The rose is a thing of beauty much desired by man but, once picked it’s fragrance soon fades leaving only withered petals”.
Should he ask her out for a date? Where she to say no the intricate fantasies which Tony had woven for himself would vanish like snow in springtime. No more moments of delight with Sabrina flitting through the woods , just a big fat “no” to sap his confidence. Tony guessed that he could maintain the fantasy for some considerable time yet. He had a vivid imagination and his occasional encounters with Sabrina only served to heighten the intensity of his fantasising. Where Sabrina to say yes what then? Would growing familiarity start to breed contempt? He thought of his friend Jack. Some six months earlier Jack had, helped by the dutch courage provided by several brandies taken the plunge and asked Lucy, the barmaid in his local pub out for dinner. Their relationship had blossomed like the summer flowers but come winter it had fizzled out and died.
“Mate Lucy and I should have stayed friends. We had great laughs together, she was one of the lads but now she can hardly stand the sight of me” Jack had said sadly, slurring his words as he and Tony sat drinking cider in Jack’s house.
“I can’t go into the Fiddle (Jack’s local) anymore as Lucy can hardly bring herself to be civil and everyones either sniggering behind their hands or feeling sorry for me. I don’t know what’s worse” Jack said.
Maybe it was better to continue to worship his Venus from afar Tony thought. He took a sharp intake of breath. What if Sabrina chose to date someone other than Tony Juniper? Tony’s stomach turned over at the very thought. So far as he knew Sabrina was unattached. Certainly she wore no ring to indicate that she was in a relationship although the lack of a ring was not an infallible sign that a girl was available as Tony well knew.
“I’ll ask her out” Tony said to Smudge his black and white cat. The cat seemed decidedly uninterested not even deigning to acknowledge Tony’s announcement by so much as a sswish of his tail.
“Be like that then” Tony said lifting the cat off his knee.
Smudge rubbed himself against his owner’s legs craving attention but Tony’s thoughts where elsewhere. He was remembering the first time that he had set eyes on Sabrina.
“£30.37 please sir”.
Tony raised his eyes from the belt which had just conveyed his shopping to the cash register and came face to face with his goddess. A pair of green eyes gazed expectantly back at him
£30.37 please” the girl repeated glancing over Tony’s right shoulder at the growing queue behind him.
“Sorry” Tony said fumbling for his debit card while, at the same time trying to read the girl’s name badge. By craning his neck he managed to decipher the name. Sabrina the badge said.
“Sir can I help” Sabrina said annoyance fighting with mirth to gain the upper hand on her face.
“No I’ve found it. Sorry to keep you waiting Tony said extracting his card, inserting it into the card reader and punching in his PIN.
“Have a nice day” Sabrina said as Tony took his shopping and headed for the exit.
Tony knew that she said that to all the customers. It was, almost certainly company policy for the supermarket’s staff to offer this formulaic farewell. None the less Tony left the store with a huge grin on his face.
Ever since the day when he had first encountered Sabrina Tony had increased his twice weekly visits to the supermarket. He now visited at every possible opportunity. He would run out of milk and rather than popping into his local corner shop Tony would visit the supermarket in the hope of seeing Sabrina.
“Just the one item?” the girl said raising her eyebrows at the sight of Tony’s single pint of milk.
“Yes” he replied disconsolately. This girl wasn’t Sabrina. Tony had scanned the checkouts searching for her however following searching looks from the security guard he thought it prudent to go to the nearest till and pay for his milk.
Incidents such as this became increasingly common. On occasions Tony would strike lucky and find himself being served by Sabrina, however in most instances he paid for his single item at a checkout staffed by someone other than his Sabrina.
“His Sabrina”, of course the girl wasn’t his but try as he might Tony could not shake off the view that he and Sabrina where meant to be together. Like a moth to the flame Tony was drawn with ever increasing frequency to the store.
On 23 March I wrote “The Collector” (http://www.freeproxy-us.appspot.com/newauthoronline.com/2013/03/23/the-collector/) which tells the story of an encounter between Brian and a satanic presence. Ever since reading “The Devil Rides Out” by Denis Wheatley I have had a passing interest in the supernatural. Wheatley as with many other Christians believes that the devil or Satan is a being or force capable of manifesting itself to those who worship Satan. In “The Devil Rides Out” there is a struggle between the forces of good (the right hand path) and those of evil (the left hand path) resulting in the triumph of the former and the destruction of the Satanist coven.
One might think that Satanists believe in a horned god who bestows power and prestige on his followers. There are certainly Satanists who hold that Satan is an actual force or being to be worshiped in return for wealth and power. However there are also so-called atheist Satanists who hold that Satan does not exist. To such people Satan is a symbolic figure representing the struggle of humans to be free from constraints, to live their lives as they choose. The main organisation promoting this view is the Church of Satan which was founded in the mid 1960’s. Yesterday evening I spent a couple of hours watching a documentary on the Church of Satan (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlQTLovsKaI).
The adherents of the Church of Satan believe in sexual freedom between consenting adults an idea with which many non-followers of the organisation would agree. Of concern is the organisations belief in a form of social Darwinism in which “the strong” have the right to laud it over “the weak”. As one believer expresses it in the documentary the “bum” on the street is of less importance than the CEO of a major company and society should be organised to promote inequality. Of course most people accept that to varying degrees inequality is inevitable and that a certain amount may be desirable in a free society. However this view is tempered by a belief in the moral obligation of people to assist the less fortunate via welfare programmes and/or personal charity. So far as I can ascertain there is no such belief among the adherents of the Church of Satan. Their rituals place emphasis on “tooth and claw” for, as animals we are part of the process of natural selection in which the weak will either perish or become subservient to the strong. Most religions emphasise compassion, not so the Church of Satan.
According to the Church of Satan there is no hell. They may well be right in this view. However the doctrines of the Church with it’s emphasis on the Satanic elites could result in the creation of hell on earth.
On 16 March I published Sting In The Tail (http://newauthoronline.com/2013/03/16/sting-in-the-tail/). The story attracted positive feedback with 12 bloggers liking it. I was delighted with the likes (who wouldn’t be?!), however on re-reading Sting In The Tail I noticed the following errors all of which have now been corrected:
How did these ttypos find their way into the published version of Sting In The Tail? Writing Sting In The Tail took some 4 to 5 hours. Having finished I was extremely tired. Instead of making a cup of coffee or going for a walk and returning to re-read my manuscript at a later point I instead read through the story straight away. I corrected a few minor typographical errors and as everything else seemed fine went ahead and published it on my blog! My resolution so far as future writing is concerned is to not publish in haste and repent at leisure. Rather I will save my manuscript, go and do something wholly unrelated to writing and return bright eyed and bushy tailed, at a later time to re-read my stories prior to publishing them. One can never wholly avoid mistakes when writing as even proof readers may miss errors, however it is always best to come at one’s work with a clear mind rather than a brain befuddled by tiredness.
Does the fact that I am blind impact on my writing? This question pops into my head occasionally and it is one which I have been meaning to address for some time. First let me describe my level of vision. Sitting in my spare room (where most of my writing takes place) I can see my computer screen. The screen appears blank to me although I know that words are gradually populating it’s surface as Jaws (my screen reading software) announces each time I type a letter). IF I raise my eyes I see the outline of a poster with writing at the foot of the picture. I wouldn’t know what the poster is except for the fact that friends tell me that it shows rather a nice representation of a dolphin. To my right and left are book cases full of braille books. I can see the outline of the books but nothing else. The sun is shining, it’s light on my wall and the quilt make me feel happy. There is something about the gentle rays of the sun which I love and I’m grateful that I have sufficient vision to appreciate the sun.
The fact that I am registered blind does, I believe mean that senses other than sight feature more prominently in my writing than would perhaps be the case where I fully sighted. For example when describing Sam’s visit to Woolton Woods in my book “Samantha” the sound of Sam’s feet crunching through the leaves features prominently due to me loving the noise made when walking on newly fallen leaves. The crunch of freshly fallen leaves coupled with the gorgeous scents which rise from them make for a heady cocktail of sensory delight. Passing through Woolton village Sam is delighted by the fading splendour of the flowers in the hanging baskets which festoon the cottages. I can’t see those baskets but I know through having passed often through the village and having had the baskets described to me what a wonderful display they make. This is not the same as seeing objects oneself, however I do, I hope still manage to impart Sam’s pleasure as she looks on the fading blooms.
For me what is fascinating about people is what makes them tick. Why individuals are as they are and act in the manner they do is a subject of endless interest. I am more interested in a person’s personality than in how they look which does, very possibly arise from the fact that I can not see people very clearly. Where a friend to pass me today in the street I would see a passing shape. Only when my friend speaks to me do I know that it is John, Brian or Jeff the identification being made by the distinctive sound of my friend’s voices. Living in a sighted world I do, of course fully appreciate the fact that most people are interested in the physical appearance of persons both in real life and fiction. Looks self evidently play a significant role in explaining what initially attracts one sighted individual to another. Talking to my sighted friends I know that physical factors are what first draws them to a person of the opposite sex. All this is not to say that looks are the be all and end all of attraction. Once most people fall into conversation with a person to whom they are physically attracted factors other than appearance come into play, for example does he/she make me laugh and does he/she have similar interests to mine.
Returning to the issue of writing, as a blind writer I find that I sometimes have to remind myself to describe the physical appearance of the people who populate my stories something which I suspect does not happen with writers who are fully sighted. As pointed out above, I am well aware that I live in a sighted world and physical attributes do play an important role in life as in story telling. In certain instances physical attraction is central to my stories. For instance the fact that Becky (a young graduate who enters the world of escorting in order to pay off her debts in “The First Time” is slim and blonde) plays an important role as many customers of sex workers like slim blonde ladies. Consequently it is important that Becky’s appearance is described as “The First Time” would lack authenticity where the central actor’s physical attributes to be overlooked. Having said that the primary point of “The First Time” is to explore the psychological effects of prostitution on Becky. I am more interested in how Becky’s engagement in sex work impacts on her emotionally so once Becky’s description is provided the story concentrates on Becky’s emotional state which is, in my opinion as it should be.
In conclusion my writing is no doubt influenced by the fact of my blindness. I do not believe that this is to the detriment of my craft I do however need to keep in my mind the fact that I live in a sighted world in which vision plays a pivotal role and ensure that where appropriate the visual aspect is reflected in my story telling.
