There were men and women throughout the library reading books. A librarian wearing a sweater over her shoulders sat at a desk organizing a stacks of three by five index cards. A young man sat at a table, his face visible behind two columns of heavy, academic tomes. He held his finger up to his lips in the universal sign of “Ssshhh!”Continue reading “Book Stuff by Ryan Priest”
Here we are at week 259. This is seemingly a momentous and historic week for Britain as we’re now out of The European Union.
I thought this would be a good topic for today’s posting. I could explore cause, economics, identities, the effect for future story writers and much more. But here’s the thing. I don’t give a cats cock!
I had a look to see if there was anything interesting that happened 259 years ago.
Well hello there Chinas!! (A nod to Rikki Fulton. He always deserves a mention at this time of year.)
Here we are at the first Saturday posting of 2020 with Week 255.
It’s great to be back.
All the best to all of you for the coming year.
Both me and Diane behaved ourselves over the festivities but unfortunately we had to arrange some bail for Nik.
He had an unfortunate incident with a Twin-Tub and an Aardvark.
Well here we are at Week 252.
The submissions continue to pour in. The brilliant thing is, we now have two months of stories. We’re delighted to have so many in advance as we reckon that things may quieten down this month.
We have a celebration and a milestone for one of our writers. Fred Foote has joined the fifty club!
He has joined the legendary Tom Sheehan and one of the authors who has too much time on his hands to write pish!
Fred is an icon and we have had a helluva time working with him.
Many congratulations Fred and there is a wee spiel as an introduction to his story this week.
At some undetermined moment between me starting this draft and it magically appearing in your inbox or news feed via the wonders of the interweb, Literally Stories will have surpassed 200,000 page views.
Yes indeedy faithful readers in four short years we have reached a level of activity that a Kardashian nipple or a Bieber tattoo can expect to log in just under 4 nanoseconds.
If Hugh was here this week he’d probably say something like “fuck those limelight seeking, dopamine craving, attention hugging social media whore-bastards and all who ride on them.”
But he isn’t.
So I did.
Hello again one and each.
Another busy and interesting week at LS and, as always, a few unexpected twists and turns.
It goes without saying that we’ve had five more brilliant stories (more about those in a bit) but we’ve also had a whole host of wonderful submissions that have already filled up slots for the next few weeks.
That last line requires context – or perhaps perspective – in order to carry its full weight. A theme we’ll be touching on quite a bit over the next couple of hundred words I suspect.
The literary legend we know simply as Hugh Cron is taking a well-deserved break from proceedings this week and has entrusted me, his faithful Welsh sidekick, to come up with a few choice words to sum up the week that was at LS Towers*
* not an actual tower – more of a chateau really.
I can neither confirm nor deny if Hugh is adding something extra to his Irn-Bru over the course of the weekend but I can at least confirm that from a roundup perspective what I lack in wit I more than make up for in lack of wit.
I’ve been off. So I’ve been happy. I’m back to work on Sunday. So I will be suicidal!
I’ve had a few sherbets this week, throughout the week. (Sherbet(s) – ‘Sherbet Dip’ – Sip – Meaning having some alcoholic beverage.) This gave me this weeks posting.
If you are of a certain age, alcohol has been a constant companion. We marvelled at our relations who could handle the booze. Those that were never sick, were legends. We started off with a shandy (Beer and lemonade) and then had a sherry at New Year. From there we sneaked into pubs to marvel at our first pints. We had four and wondered how any man could drink twenty. Before we knew it we were drinking four pints as a thirst quencher, then starting on the haufs. (Spirits) Ironically, we all remember the first time that we drunk a bottle.