Tag Archives: creative writing

What Is The Point?

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What is the point? The point of what? The point of anything? Anything? Yes. What is the point of the question for, if there is no point why ask what the point is? I don’t know, why engage me in conversation if there is no point. But, you my friend asked what is the point. Indeed I did so perhaps to ask the question is, itself to assume there is, somewhere a point for if there is not why should I bother to engage in this fruitless internal dialogue? So there is a point then? Yes, maybe or perhaps I am entangling myself in overwiseness, showing off for effect. Maybe you are but, if so what is the point of such narsasistic behaviour? I don’t know, what is the point of anything? Oh I refuse to argue with you. This whole debate is, ultimately pointless. Why engage in it then? Silence

Drunk

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“Come on big man” the drunk slurred. He attempted to steady himself glaring bailfully at his opponent who looked back, his bloodshot eyes stirring straight into those of the drunkard.

“Come on, think you’re tough. I’ll show you what hard is” the drunk said spittle flying from his lips. The other mimicked the drunkard’s actions further inflaming his addled brain.

“You taking the piss are you, I’ll make you smile on the other side of your ugly mug, you see if I won’t”. The drunkard stepped back and, raising his fist brought it crashing down on the face of his tormenter. The shop window shattered sending shards of glass tinkling down onto the pavement.

“Come back you coward” yelled the drunkard glaring at the spot where his reflection had been.

Telescreen

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The man behind the screen watches his cold blue eyes intent, malevolent. He sees all, watches the mould slowly eating the walls, but who watches the watcher? Do men with emotionless faces mark his every move as the huntsman does the game,until, at last the rifle is raised and …

Torchlight

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Torchlight, the playground deserted save for the solitary wanderer. The boy, alone or lonely? Traverses the track, his shoes the only sound disturbing the silence which wraps around him. Sometimes the silence is like an old friend, a comforter shielding him from banal chatter and the stupidity of crowds. On other occasions it is a thick blanket, suffocating, killing, stifling breath.

Entwined in darkness he goes his lonely light dimly illumines the darkness. Night is his realm, an escape from the banality of day but, sometimes the darkness oppresses, and, hurrying towards the lit windows he seeks sanctuary of a sort.

Barking

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Standing in my kitchen, peeling an orange, I was arrested in my progress by a sound cold, short and sharp –  The barking of one of the many foxes who make their homes in and around Crystal Palace. “Bark” the sound sent a shiver down my spine. Once again, “bark”, what are you about my friend? Do you hunt for food or call to your brethren? My dog lies seemingly unperturbed in his bed. He is your distant cousin but on this evening acknowledges you not. Sometimes he stands, nose pressed against the window, intent on you, his distant relative in the garden far below, but tonight he communes not with you. Fox, dog, so close and yet so far removed. Creature of domesticity, something wild lurks within. Sometimes you give short, sharp barks like your relation yet, if your paths chanced to cross you would give chase. You are, my dog, mine but not wholly so. You are part of the domestic hearth but yet have a paw in the wilderness. When you dream you are, I think closer to the wild fox calling at my window than you are to puny man.

The barking has ceased but the sound of death lingers on.

Bemused

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The title of a book provides a clue to it’s contents. It is designed to arouse the curiosity of the book buyer. When choosing the title for my collection of short stories, “The First Time” I picked the first story in my collection entitled, appropriately enough “The First Time” as the title of my anthology.

“The First Time” derives it’s title from the fact that the main actor in the story (Becky a young graduate with a first class degree in english literature) encounters her first client as a professional escort (prostitute), hence the title, “The First Time”.

The title aptly sums up the plot of the story (I.E. the effects of Becky’s first act of prostitution on her psychological and physical wellbeing). “The First Time” is not, in any manner intended to be erotic, however on looking at my book’s page on Amazon I see that many of the people who purchased “The First Time” also bought books which are clearly erotic in nature. To give just two examples purchasers of “The First Time” also purchased “Fifty Shades of BDSM” and “Jessica’s Seduction”. I must confess to being somewhat puzzled by these results as my book description does not so far as I can ascertain give the impression that “The First Time” is in any way erotic. I quote:

“In this collection of short stories the author explores why young women enter the world of prostitution while other stories look at what happens when the

worlds of sex and technology collide.

In “The First Time”, the first story in this collection, we meet Becky a young graduate who enters the world of prostitution in order to clear her debts.

The story looks at the effects of prostitution on Becky and her fellow escort and friend Julie. In “The Pain Behind the Smile” Issie presents her friend,

Peter with a birthday cake, however things are not what they seem.

In “Lucy” the acquaintances of a crusty old bachelor speculate how he could attract and retain the affections of a beautiful young woman. As with “The

Pain Behind the Smile” things are far from what they seem.

“Hemlock” explores what happens when machines attain the capacity to appreciate high culture. The story is both humorous and deeply serious.”

 

I am delighted that during the free promotion of “The First Time” my book was downloaded a total of 110 times. I still remained puzzled though as to why many of those who downloaded my book also downloaded avowedly erotic works. There is nothing wrong with erotic literature but I still remain somewhat bemused regarding the company my little collection keeps.

(For “The First Time” please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y/ref=la_B00CEECWHY_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381576128&sr=1-1).

I’m Not Good In The Morning

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“Hello” he said. Of course I don’t answer. Perhaps you will think me rude as a greeting should illicit a response. But look at things from my perspective. There I am relaxing in my bed, minding my own business and he breezes in and says “hello”! What you still think that I’m lacking in social graces do you? Well how would you like to be disturbed at a little after 6 am by a cheery fool saying “hello?” I thought not, you wouldn’t be thrilled either so you can, I think understand why I totally blanked my friend’s attempt to engage me in conversation.

Not content with disturbing my beauty sleep he will humiliate me later today by expecting me to wear a harness. Not just in private in our home. No that would be bad enough, he expects me to wear it in public. Surely there is a law against such things and, if there isn’t then I’d urge you to lobby your MPs to bring one in urgently! Does anyone know whether making a guide dog wear a harness breeches my human rights?”

Feeling Bereft

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I feel bereft. Since December 2012 I’ve been working on my story, Samantha and yesterday (20 February) I completed the manuscript. For several months Samantha and the other people in my book have been my more or less constant companions. While walking to the station to take the train into work my mind has been busy thinking about the storyline and rehearsing dialogues. Suddenly all that is over, ends have been tied up and the story put to bed.

 

Since December the actors in Samantha have become real to me, they have lived in my brain and become part of my life. At a fundamental level I know that the persons in Samantha are mere figments of my imagination, however to write convincingly one must believe in the people you create, they do at some level take on a life of their own. When Sam is abused by her brutal pimp it is a mere will of the wisp, a nothing which suffers. Sam does however represent those who are forced into the sex industry against their will and, as such she is real. Her pain represents the suffering of actual sex workers who have been compelled to become prostitutes so, at another level Sam does, most definitely exist.

 

I said at the start of this post that Samantha has been completed. This is not quite correct. While Samantha exists in draft form on my blog (http://newauthoronline.com/2013/02/20/samantha-part-16/), It is my intention to edit the book with the view to publishing my manuscript as an ebook. During this process changes will be made although the fundamentals of the story will remain the same.