Tag Archives: writing

Don’t Blame The Mirror

Earlier today I came across the following post which caused me to think about whether I, as a writer have a moral responsibility regarding my writing, http://dverted.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/a-writers-moral-responsibility-what-is.html. Do I bare any moral responsibility if a reader of one of my stories takes it upon himself to break the law?

To take a concrete example. In my story, Samantha, http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI, Sam is date raped and blackmailed into becoming a prostitute. To ensure authenticity I researched GHB (a date rape drug) and included in my story details of how the drug works. Am I morally culpable if a reader of Samantha takes what I have written concerning GHB and employs that knowledge to commit rape? The answer has to be no as the information concerning GHB is freely available online (I gleaned my information from a site aimed at warning women of the dangers of date rape and furnishing information on how to avoid being subjected to it). Most people accessing such information will do so for legitimate reasons (E.G. to avoid becoming a victim of crime). A minority will, however access the information with the malign intent to commit a criminal act. This is deplorable and anyone guilty of rape ought to be severely punished. Rape destroys lives (literally)! Having said that I can not be held responsible if someone uses information contained in Samantha to commit the horrendous crime of rape. Where writers to be held liable for the actions of the mentally ill or the criminally minded we would, as authors be constantly looking over our shoulders (watching what we write) and the creative process would wither and die. Samantha merely reflects what, sadly happens all to frequently up and down the land, the story holds up a mirror to society, it is not responsible for what is reflected back however ugly the reflection may be.

In my story The First Time, http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-First-Time-K-Morris-ebook/dp/B00FJGKY7Y, Becky, a young graduate becomes an escort (a kind of prostitute) in order to pay off her creditors. If a student or graduate saddled with debt reads The First Time and sees in it a way out of their money problems am I responsible in any manner for their decision to enter the sex industry? Again the answer has to be an emphatic no. The First Time does, as with Samantha hold up a mirror to society reflecting it back, warts and all. Students are getting into debt and an admittedly tiny proportion of them are turning to various forms of sex work including (but not limited to) prostitution. It is the financial situation in which female (and a few male) students find themselves, not my writing which acts as the catalyst for their entry into prostitution.

So do we as writers have any moral responsibility? To me the primary role of the writer is to tell a good story without pulling any punches. The writer who Is constantly fearful of the reaction of others will not give of their best. The fact of the matter is that someone, somewhere will be offended by something or other. We can not, as authors be forever walking on egg shells. We do, however have a duty to be true to ourselves, to tell the best tale we can and to behave with integrity.

By Command Of The Lord Chancellor

“By command of the Lord Chancellor, help the homeless”. The man stands there, in the train compartment bellowing out his command. Noone responds. “Help the homeless”, again the Scottish voice booms out on this London commuter train. Once more there is no response from the passengers on the way home to their warm apartments or, like me going to meet friends for a slap up meal, with a nice bottle of red wine in my favourite Indian restaurant.

The same journey, an earlier time.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I am sorry to disturb you but me and my friends need money to buy “The Big Issue” to sell. I wouldn’t usually ask but can anyone spare some change”. The same man, with the Scottish accent asking for money. On this (earlier) occasion there is the jingling of change as one or two commuters give money.

I am not the only person who has observed this gentleman on numerous occasions as he begs for money on the train as it wends it’s way from Victoria towards Crystal Palace. Noone believes his story about needing money for “The Big Issue”, we have seen and heard him before. However a sense of compassion has, hitherto moved some of us to give but, on this latest occasion the gentleman’s threatening manner illicits no charitable outpouring.

I wonder what this man’s story is? There but for the grace of god, chance or however one cares to frame it go you or I.

Teenage Kicks

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.

Dogs Are Not Allowed

On the way home from work this evening I popped into my local Sainsburys with my guide dog, Trigger for a few items. On reaching the till a young boy announced, in a voice which would do credit to a sargent Major

“Dogs ar not allowed!”

The obviously embarrassed mother reprimanded her son, (I could detect the rebuke by the tone of her voice but, not being able to understand French I was at a loss to know what, exactly she said). At the time I just smiled. However, in retrospect I ought to have said something along the following lines

“Pet dogs are not allowed in supermarkets, however, my dog is a working guide dog who helps me to find my way around. Because of his special training he is allowed into shops, restaurants and other places which pet dogs are not allowed to enter. All guide dogs will have on a special white harness so you will know (if you see the harness) that the dog is a working guide dog”.

Obviously I would have phrased the above in a manner easily understood by a young child and my words would have been accompanied by a smile so as not to intimidate the little boy. As I said above I don’t know what the mother said to her son but her words where brief and sharp which leads me to believe that the child was admonished for his statement rather than having the role of working guide dogs clearly explained to him, It is only through patient explanation that children learn and shouting at youngsters is not the way forward. Education is, as with so many other issues the answer.

For my Amazon Author Page please visit http://www.amazon.co.uk/K.-Morris/e/B00CEECWHY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Update to About Page

I have updated my About page to include the link to my latest collection of short stories, Street Walker and other stories. I have also corrected the link to my Amazon author page. For my About page, please visit: http://newauthoronline.com/about/

Announcement

I have decided to spend more time on my writing which means that blog posts will be less frequent, 2-3 a week, sometimes more and, on occasions less. In addition to my blogging and writing I have a full time job. Balancing the competing demands of work, blogging, writing (not to mention friends)! Isn’t always easy, hence my decision to blog less frequently. I won’t be disappearing so don’t open the champagne just yet! I will continue to lurk in the depths of the web popping up from time to time with blog posts and comments!

I very much appreciate all my followers so rest assured I won’t be vanishing into the deep blue yonder!

 

Kevin

My Encounter

As someone who is registered blind I am ultra independent. I live alone and navigate the streets with the assistance of my trusty guide dog, Trigger. There are, however instances where I require help and yesterday evening was one such.

On my way home from work, about 5 minutes from the flat, Trigger stopped dead in his tracks. It being dark the limited vision I do possess was rendered next to useless. I stood stock still waiting for the sound of approaching footsteps. Fortunately I didn’t have long to wait. A man approached and in broken English indicated that I should take his arm. In fact he tried to take mine but it being far easier (and the approved procedure) for guides to allow visually impaired people to hold their arm I gently disengage my hand and, taking his arm allowed my companion to guide me round the obstacle.

During our brief encounter I asked my new found friend what was causing the obstruction. He responded

“Sorry I am from Russia, I don’t speak English”. I smiled, shook his hand, thanked him and continued on my way home.

The whole incident reminded me powerfully of our common humanity. One man, (not my fellow countryman) saw another soul in need of help and rather than continuing on his merry way he stopped and offered assistance. The fact that he was Russian, that we couldn’t understand one another barely figured in our interaction. It was an act of spontaneous kindness for which I feel extremely grateful. People are just that, people. Nationality and ethnic origin don’t matter, it is the person within, (the soul for want of a better word) which counts and this individual possessed a good soul.

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.

Getting in Contact

If you have queries regarding my writing or would like to do a guest post on newauthoronline please e-mail me at newauthoronline @ gmail.com (the address is given in this manner in an attempt to defeat the scourge of the internet, spammers. Alternatively please feel free to comment on any of my posts.

 

Kevin