I have just updated my ‘Reviews of my books’ page to include yet another review for Samantha and also the recent review I received for The First Time.
For the reviews page please visit: http://newauthoronline.com/reviews-of-my-books/
My thanks goes to Jade Reyner of Jade’s Jungle for providing the inspiration for this post (see Jade’s piece entitled “Have you ever interviewed your characters” http://jadereyner.com/2014/02/13/have-you-ever-interviewed-your-characters/). Having read the above article I determined to interview a number of my characters, starting with Barry, the pimp in “Samantha” who entraps Sam into prostitution, http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samantha-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI.
Interview
Me: “Are you a sociopath?”
Barry: “Are you insulting me? I don’t understand big words but if you’re fucking insulting me I’ll break your bloody neck. Whats a soio, whatever you said anyway. I grew up on a council estate and I ‘aven’t got a clue what you’re on about”.
Me: (taking a step backwards), “A sociopath is someone who sees others as means to his own ends. Others don’t matter, only the sociopath’s needs matter and he will do anything to obtain his needs. Basically he lacks any sympathy for others. So, Barry are you a sociopath?” (placing my back against the wall).
Barry: “I want to make money. All girls are dirty whores, they’ll open their legs for a guy with a bit of cash, I am the middle man allowing that to happen. Whoring is a business, I’m a businessman”.
Me: “You haven’t answered my question” (as I glance nervously towards the door).
Barry: “When I was growing up no one gave a shit about me. Mum would lock me in the cupboard under the stairs for the slightest thing. She was a dirty bitch. She never gave a fuck about me, why should I give a stuff about anyone else. You middle class types don’t ‘ave a clue about the real world. I do what I ‘ave to survive”.
Me: “Do you have any regrets about forcing Samantha and other young women into prostitution?”
Barry: “You must be fucking deaf. I told you, no one gives a shit about Barry O’Connor so I don’t give a flying fuck about them. If someone pisses on you, you piss right back. I’m getting bored with you, fuck off before I do something you’ll regret”.
(Barry clenches his fists and rises from the table he has been sitting at. I grab the door handle and run as though my life depended on it).
Despite the security at my place of work intruders have been detected. Unauthorised visitors have been found wandering the coridors without the requisite credentials on previous occasions. Action has been taken, the authorities called in and the unwelcome guests sent packing. However try as the powers that be might, intruders keep breaking through our security barriers.
Things have gone missing from the filing cabinets and drawers. The unwelcome guests are circumspect being rarely seen. They generally operate in darkness when all good people and true are safely tucked up in their beds. However, on occasions colleagues have caught a glimse of the intruders, a mere flash of movement but none the less a sighting which is logged with the authorities. I think that the time has come to call in the services of that most stern of enforcers, Mr C, for with his powerful spring, sharp teeth and claws he will, surely rid the building of these pesky mice!
Below is an extract from a story I am working on. The story looks at what happens when a lonely and confused 14-year-old girl, pretending to be 18-years-old, places an advertisement on the internet. Will she, as she hopes “have a laugh” or will what Lizzie perceives as a bit of harmless fun end in tragedy. This is just a taster. It is not my intention to publish the whole story free online. When finished and polished it will be on Amazon. I’d be interested to hear what you think. Kevin
“Don’t kiss me darling. You’ll smudg my makeup” Monica said giving her daughter a perfunctory hug. “I’ll be back late so don’t wait up. There’s a pizza by the microwave. Don’t answer the phone or the door to anyone. You know I’ll always call you on your mobile”.
Lizzie raised her eyes heavenwards. “Yeah mum, see you later”.
“Bye darling” Monica said picking up her fake crocodile handbag, which complimented the boots, and headed for the front door.
Lizzie grunted unintelligibly and headed for the stairs, the pizza could wait.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that darling. You can speak well when you choose. You don’t need to grunt like an animal”.
Without pausing in her stride Lizzie climbed the stairs. As she reached the halfway point the sound of the closing front door could be heard. Lizzie sighed continuing to climb the uncarpeted stairs. Reaching the top she walked straight on entering her room.
Lizzie pulled out a folding dining chair and, sitting down reached for her laptop. Clunk, she turned to see a screw from the chair lying on the threadbare carpet. Lizzie bent and retrieving the screw proceeded to tighten it with a mini screwdriver she extracted from the desk drawer. She knew her handiwork wouldn’t last. The thread of the screw was so worn but it should hold for a while longer.
Lizzie reached for the switch on her laptop. As she leaned against the desk it wobbled. The desk had come from MFI a DIY shop which had closed some 25 years ago and had been given to Monica, by Lizzie’s grandparents as had the Windows 2000 laptop.
“All my friends are using at least Windows 7 but I have to use fucking 2000!” Lizzie said banging her fist on the desk which shook precariously with the impact.
Lizzie switched on the machine and as it powered up glanced listlessly at her history homework. “World War I was caused by imperial rivalries between the great powers. Discuss”. “Who gives a fuck” Lizzie said outloud. “What has what Germany, Russia and the other countries did 100 years ago got to do with me? I don’t give a shit”. With a flick of her wrist Lizzie sent her homework over the edge of the desk. The momentum carried the papers across the room where they came to rest under Lizzie’s bed. The act of clearing her desk relieved some of the pent up anger in the girl. Feeling somewhat calmer Lizzie entered her password. Once logged on she sat stirring for long minutes at the monitor. Did she really want to do this? It was dangerous, you never knew what weirdos lurked out there in cyberspace. But she didn’t have to actually meet anyone. It would be a laugh, something to giggle about with her mates. She would put an ad on the web, maybe chat to some guys, get them all excited, maybe promise to meet them but she wouldn’t actually go through with it. God they would be pissed off waiting for a girl who never actually turned up. She imagined guys sitting in restaurants, glancing at their watches until, eventually the penny dropped that the girl they had been chatting with wasn’t going to show. “Serve ‘em right, the dirty pervs” Lizzie said as she clicked on one of the many sites which offer free advertising.
“18-year-old blonde seeks no strings fun with a generous guy”, Lizzie giggled as she typed. There was an option to upload a photograph. Lizzie thought about doing so. It was unlikely that her mum or any of her teachers would see the ad but, being a cautious girl she decided against posting a picture. Possibly she would send one to blokes if they asked.
“I confirm that I am at least 18-years-of-age or older and that I have read and agree to abide by the terms and conditions”. Lizzie checked the box and clicked on the create account button.
A brief moment of panic seized Lizzie. What had she done? She was 14-years-old for Christ’s sake, who knew what pervs would answer her ad. But the site provided her with a unique e-mail address ensuring that no one need know her actual e-mail unless she chose to let them know it which, of course she had no intention of doing.
Time for that pizza Lizzie thought as she switched off the laptop. She would come back later to see what saddos had responded to her add. At the bedroom door Lizzie hesitated. She turned back and sat down at her desk. Lizzie reached for the laptop’s power button. She would delete her ad. “I must have been out of my mind putting that ad on there, I’ll delete the bloody thing. Fuck it, why should I? My life is boring as fuck. Mum doesn’t give a shit about me. I was an accident she once told me. A split condom in the back of a car and she couldn’t be bothered to have an abortion. Typical selfish bitch. I didn’t ask to be born but I’m here and I’m going to have a laugh. I won’t meet the blokes but it will be something to tell the girls about”. Rising from her chair Lizzie headed decisively for the stairs.
On visiting my Dashboard I was intrigued to observe that there are 4,106 comments in my spam queue. Does this mean that I have arrived as a blogger? I mean surely one could argue that the more spam one receives the greater the interest your blog is attracting. Then again perhaps not! To all those lovely spammers a big thank you for choosing my blog. My heart fills with joy whenever I see advertisements, in my spam folder for fake branded products. I no longer need to visit Marks and Spencers or any other store as, with one click of a mouse I am able to access a plethora of dodgy products which would make Delboy from Only Fools and Horses green with envy. Thank you dear spammers, it is good to know that instead of earning an honest living you choose rather to enliven my dull world with all those items I never knew I needed. Thank you!
My latest collection of stories, “Street Walker And Other Stories” is now available in the Kindle Store. In this collection of flash fiction we meet a variety of characters, many of whom have been deeply damaged by life. The stories range from a young prostitute
who walks the dangerous streets of London to tales of vengeance and comeuppance. Serious issues of abuse of power are touched upon. Anyone who is looking
for a comfortable read should avoid this book.
You can find “Street Walker And Other Stories” here, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HLRNDP4 (for the US) and here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1388476386&sr=1-1&keywords=Street+Walker+and+other+stories (for the UK). For my Amazon Author’s Page please go to http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0.
My collection of short stories, An act of mercy and other stories, will be available for 99 cents (Amazon US) from the 18th December until the 24th December.
An act of mercy and other stories is a collection of dark and intriguing tales encompassing blackmail, murder and sex.
For an act of mercy, please visit: http://www.amazon.com/act-mercy-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00EHS74CS/ref=la_B00CEECWHY_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384374016&sr=1-2
For my Amazon authors page please visit: http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
“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.
The free promotion of my short story, Samantha ends at approximately 12 pm (UK time) today. To download Samantha or any of my other books please visit my Amazon author’s page which can be found here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0.
I must have been out of my tiny mind to do it. It was totally illogical and goes slap bang against my own interest.
I’ve cleaned for the Browns for just over 10 years. They have a lovely 4 bedroom house with a big garden, in fact its more like a field. I wish I could afford a place like that! The Browns certainly have money. He does something in the city, a stockbroker I think and she works as a solicitor. Lots of couples with that kind of money look down their noses at people like me. We are lower than dirt, the little woman who cleans up their mess. The Browns aren’t like that. £10 an hour which is well above the minimum wage and always a Christmas hamper and generous bonus come the festive season. They never forget my birthday either. A big card and something in it. Such lovely people I can’t think what possessed me to do it.
They have such beautiful things. You could write what I know about antiques on the back of a postage stamp but that grandfather clock in the wooden case, oak I think it was was beautiful. I loved the feel of the wood. It was my favourite job polishing that clock. Such a sootheing sound it made, tick, tick and the way the pendulum moved back and forth fascinated me. I’d love to own a clock like that but being a cleaner there is not a chance!
The Browns are so trusting. I’ve often seen Mrs Brown’s bag open on the coffee table her purse poking out. They trusted me. I was their little treasure, almost part of the family.
It started a month or so ago
“I’m sure I had £70 in my purse but its gone” Mrs Brown said.
“Are you sure Anne?”
“Positive. Oh hold on a minute the zip was undone when I got home so the money could have fallen out or been taken”.
“I’ve told you before darling to make sure your bag is fastened. You’re such a scatter brain”.
“Yes Robert” Mrs Brown said but I could tell from her expression that she was only half convinced that the money had been lost or stolen while she was shopping.
Once you start stealing it becomes a compulsion. You can’t help yourself. The loss of money became a regular occurance. I could see the Browns watching me out of the corner of their eyes as I busied myself around the house. Of course they never caught me taking anything, thieves can be incredibly cunning.
Then today when I came to clean the house was like a bomb had hit it. Ornaments and that beautiful clock where missing. Poor Mrs Brown being comforted by her husband while Amelia, their teenage daughter looked on helplessly.
“Jean can I have a word please?” Mr Brown asked.
“Of course sir” I said my bowels turning to water.
“Lets go into the study” he said leading the way.
“Jean what happened, its obviously a professional job. The people who broke in new the code to the alarm and there is no sign of a forced entry. There is only one explanation. I’m sorry but you will have to go. I’ve no proof of course but you are the only person who could have done this. I’ll pay you until the end of the month. Here is your money” he said handing me an envelope. “We trusted you jean. We where good to you and you betrayed our trust. Please go now” he said the pain etched on his face.
I don’t know why I did it. They are as I keep saying a lovely couple but I’ve known Amelia since she was a little girl. She has sat on my knee and rolled around on the floor in fits of giggles as I tickled her. How could I tell the Browns that their little girl was a drug addict, that she was stealing to feed her habit? I must be mad,god knows why I did it …
K Morris - Poet 