On the horizon, out of the dust of the Harvest Road, comes a small trotting tribe of misfits.
The city outside of The Seventh Circle was a furnace whose incomplete combustion rendered spent, fetid air. Each time the bar’s door opened, squalls of ash and heat punished One Ball. He ignored the oily soot that coated his skin and leathers. This was where he sat. His headaches bloomed every day and were getting worse.
An athletic-looking man, late 30s, tall, long legs spilled at seating but signifying comfort, unmindful of the mass of traffic from all corners of the world marking the Bean Pot City as a current center of international traffic, reads a soft-bound book amid the jet-setting hustle and bustle of Boston’s Logan Airport. Some of the world’s movement flows clearly past his interest in the printed, still word held in hand, taking his mind to another location, another setting, other personalities as alive as those flowing about him, queries, demands, exclamations and greetings in the order of the day.
Before I start we would like to appeal to all of you who we haven’t met yet. I’m talking about the readers who don’t comment. We see the same images besides the ‘likes’ but you are all silent.
Perhaps it’s shyness. You know what is said about being shy? (Well you don’t because you wouldn’t ask.)
…A shy ostrich who buries their head in the sand and sticks their arse up in the air isn’t shy for very long.
We would like to invite you, for one day only, with no commitment, to have a wee comment.
It doesn’t need to be deep or meaningful, it just needs to be anything. Even a ‘I liked this’ would do. Don’t depend on a thumbs up…Put your own thumb up and let yourself go! Normally that phrase would have went somewhere else but I want to encourage and not scare away!
I’m even giving you a week to think on it as we are looking for these comments on our Saturday’s Posting on the 18th November. This is a special day for us as it is our 3rd year anniversary. Please get involved and send us a message.
So: Whippoorwill, Little Fire, Writerlady, Roy Dorman, Sue Vincent, xprettylittlethingsxo, therebemonstershhere.com, the drabble etc. We would love to know what you think of the site, any favourite stories and more importantly what you get out of it.
And we are not forgetting about our regulars and some like Orvillewrong who is reasonably new but is someone we now look out for. In a way, we are trying to express our thanks to you all and we want you all to realise that we appreciate you being around. You keep the site alive!
All of this made me think about shyness whilst writing. Is there such a thing or is it self censorship? If you feel so strongly about a subject that you would never write about it, surely that passion and those views should be used to do exactly that!
If you are a wee shy soul and don’t want to use those dirty words like ‘Boobies’, ‘Bottoms’ and ‘Cunt’ just shut your eyes whilst you are typing them and imagine a Unicorn is dictating.
I always wonder what the difference is between shyness and not being assertive. I think that the assertive phrase is for the successful and the shy phrase is for the common people. It’s a bit like being called ‘eccentric’. They have money and stay in an affluent area whereas a ‘nutcase’, has a drug problem and stays in an effluent area.
Even a ‘paedophile’ is income driven. A skint one is a pervert in the system living next to a school watching and wanking. Whereas a rich pervert who is wanking the system that they themself hide in is called a Politician.
Ah, double standards, inverted snobbery, deviants and censorship have been my ‘go to’ writing topics for so long!
So now onto this weeks stories. We had two new writers for you, Tom who is getting ever closer to number fifty, and a fourth and eighth timer.
Our topics were as diverse as usual. We had self acceptance, war, a life change, illegal gambling and advertising to the extreme.
As always our initial comments follow.
On Monday we had Jack Coey who added to his three previous stories with ‘The Callback’.
‘The setting was well done and the characters were believable.’
‘I loved the style and structure.’
‘The parallel is excellent, it is beautifully subtle.’
One of our new writers was next up. To both of them we welcome them and hope that they have fun on the site. ‘Step by Step by Step‘ was Deva Meri’s début.
‘This made me cry. The segment about him going down the stairs and realising that he couldn’t go back to his life was heartbreaking.’
‘Brilliant imagery and a harrowing central tale.’
‘So many layers. You felt for all the characters.’
Our second newbie had their first story published on Wednesday. ‘Captain Corn‘ from David Howard broke the back of the week.
‘Very enjoyable and well constructed.’
‘I was intrigued from the start.’
‘Everyone of us found merit within this skilful piece of story telling.’
There is nothing that I can say about Tom Sheehan. His word count bombs us all out the water. His class is a pleasure to read. On Thursday, ‘From One War To Another Without Choice‘ was another wonderful example of his work.
‘The writing is almost hypnotic.’
‘When the ending comes you feel as if you’ve just emerged from some odd dream. It is beautiful and sad.’
‘Excellent. The acceptance and despair about war was harrowing.’
That brought us to the end of the week. It was held on a Friday. Larry Lefkowitz added to his excellent back catalogue with ‘Caesar’s Shade.’
‘The fickleness all makes sense.’
‘The cynical and greedy dialogue is very well done.’
‘This is a clever idea beautifully executed.’
That’s us well and truly rounded up.
As I’ve said, next week is our three year anniversary and we would love for all our readers and writers to contribute so please give it a go.
And even if you are a wee bit apprehensive grab that Unicorn by his horn and let fly!
Although that would be easier if a Unicorn had shagged a Pegasus. But maybe if you grabbed him by the horn, he wouldn’t want to move, only twitch a bit!
Banner Image: Pixabay.com
So week 148. Who would have thought it? Probably any normal…Nay, individual who had read Week 147.
That’s a nod to Nik as he likes Frankie Howard although I should have typed three ‘Nays’. (I hate the word normal. I hate the idea of normal even more!! We are all individual! And I only wrote the word to make that particular point which I have done on many occasions but it needs repeating every now and again)
We sat at the desert inn, at the window which afforded a magnificent view onto Monument Valley, awaiting our luncheon orders. She sipped desert mint tea sweetened by hummingbird saliva and I lapped pomegranate wine, a divine concoction of pine sap sweetened by cactus rind and desert rosehips with a drizzle of wild honey, harvested not from the hive but from the beaks of mountain owl.
It did not come with electricity or a smash of static on the air, but it was there. Braelin Cordelis, five minutes into the darkness of a new day, a streetlight’s glow falling through his window like a subtle visitor, was caught on the edge of his chair. Knowledge flowed to him, information of a most sublime order, privacy, intimacy, all in one slow sweep of the air; his grandson was just now, just this minute, into this world, his only grandson. He could feel him, that child coming, making way his debut into the universe, and his name would be Shag. And for this life he and Shag would be in a mysterious and incomprehensible state of connection. This, in the streetlight’s glow, in the start of a new day though dawn not yet afoot, he was told.