Handbags and shoes,
herself she will lose,
for handbags and shoes.
Handbags and shoes,
the road she will choose,
drowning in booze,
for handbags and shoes.
Handbags and shoes,
herself she will lose,
for handbags and shoes.
Handbags and shoes,
the road she will choose,
drowning in booze,
for handbags and shoes.
Thank you to Francis H. Powell for the below guest post. You can find links to Francis’s sites at the end of his article.
Kevin
What is your vision of a horror writer? Perhaps a rather aged looking man, with large piercing eyes, bushy eyebrows, their mere presence is likely to frighten away any children? He sits near a crackling fire, with dark thoughts running through his mind, with the sound of Carmina Burana, blaring away from a decrepit ancient gramophone. Every so often, he lets out a loud raucous laugh, as he delights at his own cruel invention in his mind. He has never married, in truth has been a hardened misogynist, he prefers the cruelty men can do to women, rather than engaging women themselves. He dislikes children, their crying, their moaning, the complications they add to life. In fact he despises many things. He has hate running through him. His attitudes have not softened with age, they have hardened. Would you trust leaving your child with him, he writes about Satanism…Surely you would tell your child to keep away, if you were neighbors. Surely horror writers eat babies?
I am not a horror writer as such, however my stories have a very dark side to them. This a bit about me…
I had always wanted to have children. When I got over the age of forty, the idea of having a child seemed a forlorn hope. My friends had long since procreated. What made things difficult was the fact that I’d always had a really good connection with children and had for a long time worked with them. I got married for the first time aged fifty, and it seemed logical to try to have a child. I did not consider it inevitable that my wife would fall pregnant, you read or hear about so many couples who are unable to have children. When I arrived back from work to be informed by wife she was pregnant, it took time for the news to sink in, it seemed so unreal. Then followed nine fraught months of worry. Such worry I had never experienced before in my life. When my son was finally born, what a relief.
Now a big portion of my life revolves around my son…taking him for walks, going to the play park, taking him to crèche, helping to put him to bed…all the normal things parents do.
One of my short stories in my book Flight of Destiny, deals with a parent’s worst nightmare…a father taking his infant for a walk in the park, goes home only to find the pram empty and the baby gone. The story is called “Snatched”. Following the discovery of the empty pram, the man not only feels terrible guilt, but also the wrath of his wife. His wife’s behavior becomes more and more extreme. One day she announces the baby has been returned…but she denies her husband, any access. The husband gets more and more frustrated as well as intrigued about the return of their son, while his wife is more and more bizarre and eccentric in her behavior. Things come to a head when the man finally gets to see the snatched “baby”.
Links:
https://www.facebook.com/flightofdestinyshortstories
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00WSWYVNK
https://twitter.com/Dreamheadz
http://theflightofdestiny.yolasite.com/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwNl0F6095Q
I have known the darkest of nights,
Lost myself in sensuous delights.
I have felt the vampire’s fear,
Held her close and thought her dear.
I have seen her blood red lips,
Fought against her fatal kiss.
I have endured her fangs sharp,
as shards of glass within my heart.
I have watched the dawn come,
Perceived the vampiress turn and run.
I have been contacted with a request to promote “The Read”. The read offers talented new writers and actors the opportunity to showcase their talent. The programme is open to those based in Southern California only. For details of this opportunity please visit http://www.cineartsdancetheatre.com/.
Kevin
Earlier today I visited the garden in Woolton Woods, which contains a large number of benches paid for by the family and friends of those wishing to commemorate the lives of the departed.
—
A walled garden.
Summer flowers bloom.
Memorial benches speak.
“One day that will be you”.
A Gentleman Suitor To His Beloved
—
“My darling, let us sit down upon the grass.
Though the firmament fall, my love for thee tis sure to last.
Other men may betray, but my heart is steadfast.
Let us be quick my sweet, for I must dash”.
—
The Lady’s Response To Her Suitor
—
“Sweetheart, the ground is wet and cold,
To recline upon it would quite ruin my clothes.
The heavens show no sign of falling,
Besides, I hear mama calling”.
The man a mermaid caught.
Together they did cavort.
Their love was dearly bought.
It ended up in court
The following was written a day after having returned from a visit to Keswick in Cumbria. The lake is located at Lingholm, while the brook is situated some 5 minutes walk from the cottage in which we stayed.
Gentle ripples on tranquil lake,
May your beauty my sorrow take.
Brook that babbles the livelong day,
Thou will wash my cares away.
Author Victoria (Tori) Zigler is offering a number of her books at a discounted price in the Smashwords Summer Sale. For details please see (http://ziglernews.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/smashwords-summerwinter-sale-2015.html).
Kevin
During my recent visit to the lakes, I visited St Bega’s Church in Bassenthwaite Cumbria, (http://www.visitcumbria.com/cm/bassenthwaite-st-begas-church/). The building is pre-Norman and it was amazing to touch the ancient arch, constructed out of rough hewn stone and know that it had been built prior to the Norman conquest of 1066.
As explained by the above link, the church inspired one of Tennyson’s greatest poems,
“Lord Alfred Tennyson stayed at Mirehouse in 1835 while he was writing his poem ‘Morte D’Arthur’ and St Bega’s Church inspired the opening lines:
‘…to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark straight of barren land,’.
A small distance along the shore you will find a simple open-air theatre erected by the Tennyson Society at the place where it is thought he composed much
of the poem”.