For some time now the literary world has been speculating upon the delay between Sidney Shield’s 14th Gothic novel and the appearance of his long overdue 15th. The reasons being bandied about are quite preposterous, especially the more macabre ones, though Mr. Shield is not displeased by the latter. As personal secretary to the author, I have been authorized to give an explanation on his behalf. I hasten to add that the words used are my own.
I heard my orchids screaming last night. They were angry I did not kiss them and spit blood on their pistils. My body was numb from the combination of red wine and rum. The day had been full of anxiety, so I made the decision to exhaust myself with harmful liquid.
Ok we are on week 70! What has that number inspired in me? Well it reminds me of the 70s. Now I know that we are a worldwide community but unless I look on the web I can only say what the seventies meant to me as a very young Scottish person. I loved the music. I loved the freedom of flares although I lost my wee Yorkshire Terrier under them on so many occasions. I thought I had hit puberty early but eventually realised that it wasn’t my legs sprouting hair, just the dog hiding! I especially appreciated not having to iron my cheesecloth shirt. But polo necks (Turtle-necks) they were something quite different. They were positively evil. My mother’s sadism knew no bounds as she insisted that I wear these elbows of the devil. Even now the thought of a wet neck and one of those jumpers makes me shudder! I feel positively ill watching The Poseidon Adventure with Gene Hackmen wearing one of those things. And to cap it all, he is soaking wet all through the film!!
“Out, out!” roared the unfolding supernova, its end birthing one last litter of photons into the universe. Out these photons flew, alongside their elemental brethren, into every direction of this breathless third dimension. Out they flew, these fairies of light, into the stunning dark.
Crazy Ed Mahoney went out the back door on Monday to urinate in his garden. He believed, incorrectly, that he was saving on his water bill. His neighbors had given up on changing his ways. After seeing him in the act a few times, they learned not to look in the direction of his backyard at 7am, 1pm and 4pm when Ed would urinate like clockwork. Whatever else was wrong with Ed, he had an excellent prostate.
“My father, Franz Josef Schennach, was a gendarme, Hauptmann, in Tirol. After the Nazi took over, he had to prove that he was Arian. He could not prove this,” Anna Stenson said. She looked across the room from her chair.
“Brown eyes go to Africa… They taunted me. At school. Only the blue eyes would stay in Europe, if Hitler won. I was hoping he would not,” she said adjusting the hem of her skirt.
Continue reading “Swords Hanging on the Walls by Richard Mark Glover”
Even though nothing was said. Nothing was mentioned. I am still sure that my fellow editors were sniggering in the corner when I agreed to write this…Thanks guys!
I can be mature without a second thought! It’s not a problem! I can be serious and focused straight off the bat…So here is my 417th version of this posting.
The Land Rover is making an awful grinding sound because Dave took a bump on the beach too fast while staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror. I hear a splat and look behind to see we’ve run over another jellyfish and Dave’s back staring at his reflection again.
“I look good don’t I?”
His face is gaunt and hollow with bags under his eyes from a sleepless night in the tent; his hair is greasy, unkempt, and longer than I’ve ever seen it; he is unshaven with the patchiest beard I thought possible; but he is tanned, I’ll give him that.
Hi folks!
Just like trying banana on toast with pepper, flat sausage with beetroot and salad cream and of course, tuna, egg mayonnaise and a touch of red sauce, we are doing something a bit different this week for one day only. No, we haven’t diversified into a food site. (Doesn’t ‘Diversifying’ and ‘For one day only’ sound like the demise of Woolworth or a desperation concert from an old singing has-been?)
Anyway, for any avid readers of the site, you will know that Mr Fred Foote has given us many a wonderful tale. Please check out his back catalogue. In fact, check out as many back catalogues as you can, it keeps the stories breathing and the authors proud!!
So just for a change, on Monday, we are going to publish a revision to his ‘Author Part 2’ story. Fred sent this into us and we felt that it was a very clever and satisfying conclusion to his previous version and we wanted to give you all the chance to read it.
With that in mind I thought I would use revision as the inspiration for this post.
I met an old fellow years ago and he told me that he was a writer. Now to be clear, I am not sure if this was true or not. You see, I have met many people who have claimed that they were professional footballers, hitmen, spacemen, artists, famous chefs etc. This doesn’t mean that I am a sophisticated man about town who draws the interesting and beautiful people to me…It just means that I have met some moon units in my time. I hope the old guy wasn’t one! He stated that he had some writing success and he also told me that he was updating some fairy tales with a Scottish slant. That in itself was interesting. If fairy tales aren’t mad enough, having the characters out their faces on Super Lager or heroin would make Mr Disney spin in his grave. Oh, that was the same Mr Disney who made the Brothers Grimm spin in their graves!
Sorry I am getting off point. I was talking to this old fellow and I told him that I couldn’t look back at any of my stories without tinkering. I asked him when you should stop. He told me that anyone who writes stories or poetry would always tinker. He said that perfection was an arrogance that a writer should never have the luxury of. He went onto talk about leaving as is but always expecting to see something no matter when you went back to it. His idea of a deadline was to accept the completion, only to look at it later and want to change the damn thing yet again!
So it is interesting to think that no matter what, once we have got a story to the end, it is the nature of writing that will never allow you to accept that it is finished. I have the same thoughts with a bottle of whisky…I can never accept that it is finished…It makes me sad!!
Now whether or not the fellow was a moon unit was besides the point, I think what he said had some merit and it is something I think on when looking back!
As always, we have had a diverse mix of subjects this week from our growing list of talented authors. Topics such as stages of life, childhood, acceptance, cancer and assassination were all covered in these five excellent stories.
I still haven’t embarrassed any of my fellow editors by publishing their initial thoughts, so here’s hoping for this week!!
Chris Wight sent us his thought provoking, ‘Wake Up Jerry’ which we published on Monday.
‘A really simple story premise but very neatly done.’
‘The style / voice is recognisable / distinct. This is the hardest skill to do in writing.’
On Tuesday we had Steve Sibra’s very memorable, ‘The Dope Shack’.
The story will invade your thoughts every time you have a bottle of beer!
‘A strange coming of age story.’
‘Quirky ideas done in an age appropriate voice’
Jack Coey was next up on Wednesday with his minimalistic stylish offering, ‘Oblique Lines’.
‘It sucked me in and kept me hooked.’
‘I think the style is excellent’
Thursday gave us the very emotional and touching ‘Can I still Work One Day A Week’ from J.W Kash.
‘I think this story will instigate thoughts in whoever reads and these thoughts may be a hundred different points of view.’
‘Briefly told but different enough to tick a bunch of boxes for me.’
And that was just about us. We had the return of an old friend for Friday’s offering. It was so good to see dm gillis back on site. He gave us an action packed story with some very sharp observations in his tale, ‘Little Rules Of Engagement’.
‘Very strong, satirical and sharp.’
‘Great description and good set pieces.’
We thank all these authors for their input.
Well my friends, that is us for Week 68. We are already reading and deciding for Week 69. It is a pleasure and we hope to continually hear from new writers as well as our supportive old guard.
So eat something weird and send us that piece of perfection that you will want to change again and again and again and…
Hugh
One night in a cramped office I was contemplating suicide while entering food prices into a restaurant database. I’m a manager and my neck and lower back were throbbing and aching. Scroll, click, type. My eyes felt like they were bleeding. Someone knocked on the door.
Continue reading “Can I Still Work One Day a Week by J W Kash”
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