Tag Archives: reading

Street Walker Free In The Kindle Store From 25 February Until 1 March

My collection of short stories, Street Walker And Other Stories, is free in the Kindle Store from today (25 February) until 1 March.

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.

To download Street Walker free please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4 (for the UK) or http://www.amazon.com/Street-Walker-other-stories-Morris-ebook/dp/B00HLRNDP4 (for the US). If you download Street Walker And Other Stories please consider leaving a review on Amazon.

 

I hope you enjoy Street Walker together with my other stories.

 

Kevin

Max Miller Poet

This young poet (Max is 16-years-old) is well worth checking out, http://maxmillerpoetry.wordpress.com/. I particularly enjoyed Max’s poem, The Boy On The Train. The poem resonates with me as someone who travels on the tube Monday through to Friday. I can imagine Max sitting or standing, on the tube, pen in hand quietly observing his fellow passengers.

The School Library

Escape into tranquillity. The scent of books reassures, beckons me in. A world of wonder fills the shelves. Some volumes stand atop high bookcases, tantalisingly out of reach of a small boy. Poe, Hardy, so many authors call to me.

I sit, the only sound that of a clock ticking and the occasional turning of a page. Engrossed, safe from the hurly burly of the playground. Footsteps pass the door. I hold my breath, friend or foe? Will I be chased out to god’s fresh air?

Sometimes the footsteps pass, peace lays her gentle hand on me once moreand I return to my books. On other occasions the door opens and a friendly teacher enquires what I am reading. An exchange ensues, oh the delights of not being talked down to, discussing books man to man with a kind adult.

The dreaded voice

“go outside and get some fresh air. Play with your peers”.

Sadly the book is replaced and, casting a backward glance I exit the peaceful harbour to swim in a sea of children.

‘An Act of Mercy and other stories’ promotion

Starting from Friday 21st until Tuesday 25th February, my collection of short stories ‘An Act of mercy and other stories’ will be free to download from the Kindle store.

Get ‘An Act of Mercy and other stories’ here now: http://www.amazon.co.uk/An-act-mercy-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00EHS74CS for the UK and http://www.amazon.com/An-act-mercy-other-stories-ebook/dp/B00EHS74CS for the US

People Don’t Read Round Here

Over the festive season I fell into conversation with a lady. The conversation ranged far and wide and at one juncture touched on the subject of books. My partner at the dinner table remarked that she had only read 2 books, (I don’t recollect the title of both works but one of the books was “Flowers in the Attic”). My companion went on to ask me for recommendations regarding what she should read. I responded that literary tastes are highly personal matters (I return to Wuthering Heights again and again because it is, in my view a wonderful work of fiction while others find nothing of merit in it). I went on to describe how I’d enjoyed reading Kevin Cooper’s thriller Meido and recommended his book to my companion. At one point during the conversation another of those present said that “it isn’t like that round here” by which she meant that people don’t read books in this area.

The above conversation took place in a fairly typical suburb of Liverpool. I don’t like using the term but for want of anything better the area is “working class” comprised of (mainly) owner occupied houses inhabited by people engaged in occupations ranging from barmaids and cleaners to those employed in clerical work.

The implication that people living in a given area do not read books is, of course a sweeping generalisation. My grandfather who had never gone on to higher education and lived in a council house throughout his life spent many hours reading to me. I well recall the glass bookcase which stood in the spare bedroom chock full of books ranging from Enid Blyton’s Famous Five to works of poetry. It is, I believe largely due to my grandfather who was “working class” (oh how I hate to use that term as people are, at bottom individuals not social groups), that I gained my love of literature and went onto university to read history and politics.

Sadly there is among certain people a lack of aspiration which is exemplified by the view that people round here don’t read. This can, if we fail to take care become a self fulfilling prophecy (I.E. many homes contain few, if any books but are replete with wide screen televisions to which parents consign their children rather than spending precious time reading to them). A house full of books won’t guarantee happiness but it will assist in producing rounded individuals with a love of literature and a broad perspective on the world.

There are, fortunately organisations working to promote education among all people. Perhaps the most notable of these is The Workers’ Education Association which has, since 1903 been striving to uplift the aspirations, through education of all segments of society with particular emphasis on those of (that term again) “the working class”). All power to their elbo. For information on the WEA please visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Workers%27_Educational_Association.

Prostitution In India

Two of my short stories, “Samantha” and “The First Time” deal with the lives of women engaged in prostitution. In “Samantha” Sam is trapped in the world of prostitution and it is touch and go as to whether she will survive or end her days in the cold and murky waters of the river Mersey. In “The First Time” we meet Becky, a young graduat who enters the arena of prostitution as an escort in order to pay her creditors. Becky fears becoming homeless and the dread of sleeping on the streets leads her to take up sex work.

Given my interest in prostitution I was interested to read the following post on the issue in India, http://cupitonians.wordpress.com/2010/08/03/guest-blog-legalizing-prostitution/. The post is worth a read and I recommend it to you.

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

Updated Author Profile On Goodreads

I have updated my Goodreads author profile to include my latest collection of short stories, “Street Walker And Other Stories”. For my Goodreads author profile please visit https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6879063.K_Morris.

 

Kevin

The Letter

Susie gazed out at the atlantic. Great waves crashed against the cliffs . A gust of wind caught the girl almost knocking her off her feet. She seemed not to notice, her eyes remained fixed on the wild sea. Unbidden the words came to her

“Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,

Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink,

Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble

The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,

Here now in his triumph where all things falter,

Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,

As a god self-slain on his own strange altar,

Death lies dead.”

Susie’s salty tears mingled with the sea water which the ever increasing wind blew into her eyes.

“I’m not crying, it’s the sea water making my eyes sting” So what if I am crying? All this will pass and go. Long after I am dead this will remain, the uncaring ocean buffeting the cliffs as it has for millennia. Eventually the cliffs and the surrounding habitations will be claimed by the sea. Out of the sea life came and to the ocean humanity will return.

But I’m 20, I don’t want to die”.

All flesh is dust a mocking voice intoned. Susie whirled around. There was no one save for the gulls which wheeled and screeched overhead.

“Yes I will die but please god not yet. I have my whole life to look forward to” Susie said burying her face in her hands.

“Stupid girl” the voice, like some  insidious demon crept into her brain.

“Shut up, shut up” the girl wept sticking her fingers into her ears attempting to silence the tormentor.

“Stupid slapper. Silly whore” the voice said undaunted by Susie’s attempts to silence it.

Doing her best to ignore whatever devil was taunting her Susie reached into her coat pocket. She felt the plain brown official envelope.

“I can’t, I won’t open it. I’ll throw it away. Better not to know”.

“Ignorance is bliss, little miss a coward is” the voice sneered.

“Fuck off, fuck off” Susie screamed. Her words where lost in the howling of the wind and the crashing of the waves. Susie became aware of the crumpled envelope in her hands. In her agitation she had screwed it into a ball. How easy it would be to rid herself of the thing. One flick of her wrist and the letter would be lost forever in the depths of the Atlantic.

“Coward, coward” the voice taunted.

With a supreme effort Susie unscrewed the envelope and with trembling hands opened it. Reluctantly the girl extracted a crumpled letter.

“I can’t read it, I can’t” Susie wept. “Why did I do it? God let it be good news. Please, oh Christ I can’t bare it”.

 

Susie’s mind went back 4 months. She was drunk. She had never been so drunk in her entire life. The thump, thump of the music transported the girl into a world where only she and the beat, beat of the bass existed. She danced wildly letting herself be taken by the music to another realm.

Susie didn’t remember him arriving. One moment she was dancing alone, the next Susie was spinning around in the arms of a total stranger. Later that evening Susie recalled having sex in a cubicle in the gents toilets. Susie thought that she had consented but she had been so drunk she wasn’t sure.

“Christ, no condom. How could I have been so bloody stupid. I went to a good school, got all the right exams and I’m now at uni. I should have known better”.

Susie had gon to the hospital on the following day and had been tested for sexually transmitted diseases.

“You have herpes but that can easily be dealt with by antibiotics” the nurse had said.

Susie breathed a sigh of relief.

“You will, however need to come back in 3 months time for a HIV test”.

“Can’t I have that today?”

“The HIV virus can take upto 3 months to manifest itself so any test conducted today would be extremely unlikely to show whether you are, or are not carrying the virus”.

Susie had thrown herself into her studies for the next 3 months. When not studying she partied hard. Alcohol helped her to forget for some of the time but, in the early hours of the morning she would wake up sweating.

“What if I am infected? Christ only knows how many other girls that bloke slept with before we had sex”.

Eventually the 3 months passed and Susie returned to the hospital for her HIV test.

“You can call in for your results in a few days time or, if you prefer just telephone the number on your card quoting your clinic number” the nurse said handing Susie a small slip of paper.

Susie had meant to call. She really had. However there always seemed to be something preventing her from making that call. There had been her friend’s wedding, her mum’s birthday and so, so many other things.

“Don’t make excuses. Of course you could have found a few minutes to make such an important telephone call” the insidious voice whispered in her ear.

“Yes, OK, I could. now fuck off back to whatever rock you crawled out from under” Susie shouted.

Slowly Susie raised the paper to her face.

“Dear Miss Armstrong,

I refer to your visit of 4 July and the test conducted on that date. We have, unsuccessfully attempted to contact you on several occasions. Having been unable to do so I am writing to inform you of the result of your test for HIV. I am pleased to advise that the test is negative (I.E. you are not HIV positive).

Should you have any queries regarding this letter please call the number above and quote your clinic number to the health adviser.

 

Yours Sincerely “.

Susie wondered idly why doctors signatures almost always resembled squashed spiders. For the first time in many hours she smiled.

“Thank you god. Thank you”.

The gulls screeched overhead, the icey wind buffeted the girl and the great waves continued to crash against the crumbling cliffs. Susie no longer cared. She embraced the storm for it represented nature of which she was an integral part. It felt good to be alive. Susie took deep breaths.  The touch of the wind on her face  was wonderful. She smiled as her long black hair blew wildly in the sea breeze.

“If you exist god, thank you, thank you” Susie said.

Happy Christmas!

This will be my last post for a week or so as I will be spending the festive season with family. You don’t get rid of me that easily and I will be back, before the new year like the proverbial bad penny so you have been warned! To all my readers, have a truly wonderful Christmas and look after yourselves. Very best wishes to you all. Kevin  PS; my collection of short stories, An Act Of Mercy remains discounted, on amazon.com until 24 December. Amazon advise that it was discounted since 18 December, however due to me living in the UK I was unable to see this when viewing my book on amazon.com.

Out Of Small Acorns Great Oaks Grow

This evening I am meeting friends for a drink and the first round will be on me as I am rich! Well not quite but I have just received notification of my first payment from Amazon (a grand total of £8.86) which covers sales of my e-books in the Amazon Kindle store. Not quite enough to retire to that island in the sun, but out of small acorns great oaks grow. Many thanks to all those who have purchased my books.

 

Kevin