Author Blog Challenge 2016

Author Blog Challenge 2016 is underway today.  A great way to challenge and promote yourself and your blog, at the same time helping other authors promote themselves and each other.

https://authorblogchallenge.wordpress.com/

Good luck.

Oblivion

I am back on the Creative Writing Course, three weeks in on my 2016/2017 course.  Well I have been busy, lots of tasks and word counts too complete (which I will post at a later date) but this week’s task was the biggest challenge yet. We were given lyrics to Clean Bandit – Let it be (ft. Jesse Glynne) and (using lots and lots of language features) asked to do three things: -

·         Write a response;

·         Make a video;

·         Publish it to YouTube.

Well I am sorry Jesse, but I didn’t have a response, so instead I have used my own lyrics and made a video and published it to YouTube.  In the words of Meatloaf “Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWHlcgp_Kvw

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge (Round 2) 2016

Here it is my second (a probably final) submission to the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. There are so many amazing submitted stories I have read, that I will be extremely surprised if I reach the finals.  However I have enjoyed the challenge immensely, even if I have felt like tearing my hair out at times.  Here is the Judges feedback from my first submission (Round 1) :-

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY - The crying girl is a curious and intriguing element. Vivid description adds to realism. The walls of literature closing in are frightening and add to the suspense. Your story had a good pace. You were able to set the scene well. I also liked your final paragraph (the ending).

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK - Questions remain at the end of the piece. Who was the little girl? What was the purpose of the old man? He seemed ignorant of the protagonist's fate. Why was Harper killed? The dialogue between Charles and Harper could be better developed. You could have highlighted their personalities, thoughts, and suspicions more through their dialogue.

Anyway back to Round 2 - My (extremely random) prompts for this story were as follows:-

• Genre: Romantic Comedy
• Location: A Nuclear Power Plant

• Object: A Jar of Honey

Hinkley Honey

Penny arrived at Hinkley Point ten minutes before the agreed time.  There were no other cars on the road and no sign of life.  To the left of Penny was the countryside, stretching before her like a giant quilt of golden and green squares held together by the thick stitching of hedgerows. It rose and fell like giant waves on a gentle ocean, sprinkled with farm animals. Occasionally there was a cluster of deciduous trees that separated the fields. Penny envisaged vehemently protesting and afterwards ambling through pastures, hand in hand with Bob as they found a secluded clearing and sampled the picnic she had lovingly prepared. What could possibly go wrong today?

To her right was the imposing Hinkley Point.  It was vast with geometric angles in complete contrast against the greens, blues and golden lights of the trees, water and sky. Penny was unconsciously drawn to the structure existing in the periphery of her vision.  Where were the protestors? Where was Bob?

Penny checked her appearance in the mirror and groaned.  The reflection revealed that this morning’s coiffured up-do now resembled a bird's nest. She cursed her undisciplined mane, zealously pulling clips to release the unruly curls which eagerly sprang loose.  

Leaving the car armed only with her placard and hamper she searched for fellow-protesters. Penny broached the secure perimeter of Hinkley Point, gazing apprehensively at cautionary signs displaying the hazardous environment contained within.  Turning, Penny absorbed the rolling landscape and began to understand Bob’s enmity.

“Hello can I help you?” Penny turned, startled.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.  Are you joining us today? My name is Penelope, but everybody calls me Penny,” she balanced the hamper precariously on her hip and thrust out her hand.

Taking her hand in his, he smiled. “Hello Penny, I am David and it’s a pleasure to meet you, however I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Penny stared at him confused, digesting his gawky demeanour, thick rimmed glasses and wild curls, not too dissimilar to her own. “Friends against Fracking? Hinkley Community Hall?” she questioned.

“No, sorry” David replied shaking his head.

Penny proceeded to proudly hold up her placard “DON'T FRACK WITH ME”, smiling expectantly at David.

David glanced at Penny quizzically “do you know what fracking is?”

“Of course I do” she insisted, dangerously swinging her placard gesturing “it’s digging up our beautiful countryside, polluting our water, destroying our earth” she tried to deliver as passionately as Bob, but it appeared to fall flat.

“Hmmm it is Penny, you’re right. So why are you stood at a Nuclear Power Plant?”

“Bob said this is where we were to meet” Penny delved into the depth of her memory.  Had she got it wrong? Was she too busy watching Bob rather than listening to him?

David studied her confused expression “I can assure you there is no fracking intended here or anywhere in the vicinity, what you see over there will remain as it is, nobody is digging or polluting the water.  Not on my watch. I am senior operator here and if there was any intended fracking, I would know about it.”

Penny shrank to the floor “oh god, I am such a fool, such a stupid fool” without warning tears began to swell in her heavily mascaraed eyes.

“Hey, now don’t say that. What’s in there?” he nodded toward the hamper.

“It’s a picnic, for Bob and me” she whispered.

“Bob is your boyfriend?”

“Humph, that was the plan” she said, more to herself rather than David.

“It seems such a shame to let this go to waste Penny, I don’t know about you but I haven’t had chance to eat.  I have been here all night, I am ravenous.”

Penny looked at David, he was actually rather handsome in a mad scientist kind of way and beyond the thick rimmed lenses he had the bluest eyes.  She returned his smile and sitting cross-legged proudly opened her beloved basket.

“Wow” said David, going straight for the jar of honey and holding it up “Bob must be a special someone?”

Penny shrugged “I did think so.”

“So, what is so wonderful about Bob, that you bring him honey?” David winked.

Penny giggled “I know I am pathetic, desperately looking for love” She leaned toward David “can I let you in on a little secret?”

“I would be disappointed if you didn't”

Penny looked around as though checking for eavesdroppers. “When I went to my first meeting of Friends against Fracking, I actually thought I was attending speed dating, I got the date wrong.” Penny let out a smothered snort.

“What on earth is speed dating?”

“Exactly what it says, you meet lots of potential dates, but only have three minutes to chat before you move on to the next one” Penny pronounced.

“Well if that’s the case I have spent my entire life speed dating.  Not many of my dates last beyond the first hello.” he confided.

“Yeah me too” Penny agreed.  “What do you think we are doing wrong?”

“Perhaps trying too hard? Love should be unexpected, random, suddenly appearing when you least expect it.” David leant forward and tucked a stray curl behind Penny’s perfect pixie ear.

Covering his hand with hers she looked at him intently “I know what you mean.”

David pulled Penny up from the ground.  “Forget about Bob, forget about fracking, let’s take this picnic, your wonderful jar of honey and go and explore the countryside.”

Penny smiled an illuminous smile.  “Let me lose the placard and I’m all yours” she turned to the car, her auburn curls bouncing in the breeze.  David looked on longingly and took the phone from his jeans pocket.  Keeping one eye on Penny and one on his phone, he fired off a quick text “She is wonderful, thanks Bob.”

“Ready?” asked Penny.

Returning the phone to his pocket, he took her hand, lifted the hamper, kissing her gently on her lips he smiled, “ready.”

Hayley Mars

Vanished - NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2016

This is my submission to the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge 2016. I and another 2100 participants wrote our stories over a 48 hour period. My story was edited down from 1850 words to 1000 words. That is why the ending is a bit ambiguous and also shows strain from the editing.

My prompts for this story were as follows:

• Genre: Suspense (Emphasis is on the suspense, even more than on characterization)
• Location: A Bookstore (Majority of story must take place in this location)
• Object: A Passport (Must at least be mentioned in the story, but may play a key roll if desired)

Vanished

I stared across the street into the window of the bookstore, suitably named “The Book Nook”.  The shop was bathed in darkness, diffident, unimposing. I saw something move within.  Was it a trick of the light?  I shook my head and fell back into the warm embrace of my home.

Every evening I found myself stood at the window in the throes of insomnia, watching, waiting.  Tonight the moon was full illuminating the inky curtain of sky. Rays of light bounced off the bevelled glass of the aged bookstore and there she was.  I found myself staring into the eyes of a young girl, my hot breath distorting the image I frantically wiped the window.  She was gone.

After a sleepless night I broached the ancient building. What I had considered quirky and quaint suddenly appeared ominous.  The windows were dirty, the paint tainted and chipped.  For a second I hesitated.  Turning the brass handle, a rusted chime echoed around the space within.  The smell of incense and stale cigarettes clung to me as I marvelled at the lengths of literature, basked in a dusty haze.  I was not sure how far the shop went back but it appeared endless.  Scraps of paper adorned the walls, musings, quotes “a life without books is no life at all”.  

The sound of a cough tore me away from the overflowing shelves of used paperbacks, and I turned to the desk nestled in the corner.

“Can I help you?” said the man occupied behind copious mounds of magazines and books.

“Sorry, good morning Mr….?” I asked.

“No need for such formality my dear, you can call me Charles”.

“Good morning Charles” I repeated.  “May I ask, do you live here alone?”

“Goodness gracious me, what a bizarre question.  Yes Harper, I do live here alone.  Why do you ask?” he came from behind the cranny of his desk.

Astonished that he knew my name I was momentarily silenced.  Before I had time to engage, he held out his hand containing my passport, which I took confused.

“You must have dropped it, I found it yesterday by the post office.  To be honest, that is why I thought you were here, I left word with the postmaster”. He looked at me questioningly.

Reality smothered concern and I felt embarrassed. “I didn’t get your message.  Thank you for returning this to me.  I was copying it for ID purposes.  It must have fallen from my bag.”  I realised I was jabbering incessantly and fell silent.  Charles just watched me, amused, absorbing.  I felt my senses sharpen and my skin prickle.

“Why did you ask me if I live alone?” he asked.

“It was just that I thought I saw a young girl in your shop, last night, late?”.

He shook his head quickly “you must have been mistaken. I am here alone”.  His voice was deep, mellifluous, convincing but I saw uncertainty cloud his eyes, unblinking yet drawing me in. I suddenly felt a chill.  

“May I look around?” the words came unintended.

“Of course Harper, it would be my pleasure.  Now if you don’t mind I need to get back to my work” and with that Charles disappeared beyond the mountain of clutter he had earlier emerged.

With trepidation I made my way into the bowels of the shop.  Dust collected as far as I could see. Spider webs weaved loosely around books and between the dirtied shelves. Ancient lamp fittings hung motionless embedded into the cracked ceiling. The floor was littered with dirt, books, discarded paper. The fissures in the wall housed abandoned piles of dated material. Dust floated lazily in the air catching in the back of my throat. With each footfall it billowed and fell. All that could be heard was the rustle of paper beneath my feet and my own hurried breath.

I became immersed in the tiers of tired battered spines, mottled gilded print portraying obscure inscriptions of unknown authors, a mish mash of size & shape.  I wasn’t aware how long I had been there but a gloom fell, making the silky thread of web invisible in the dim light.  I heard a sniffle and as I rounded an ornate bookcase there she was.  Sat huddled in a crumbly crevice was the girl.  Two browns eyes stared up at me, the same eyes.

“Hello” I said to her “What is your name?”

She stared at me, her eyes red and swollen as though she had been weeping for a lifetime.  I saw fear in her eyes that appeared to flow flagrantly from her soul.  “Leave” she whispered. Shuffling towards me she grabbed my wrist with a strength I was not expecting.

“You must leave” she pleaded “Go now, before it’s too late”.

A clatter from behind made me jump and turn, releasing the grip of the girl.

“Who’s there” I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the clogged cases.  When I turned back the girl had gone.

I turned to leave, making my way back through the dust and debris.  The lofty shelves looming, threatening.  At each turn another bookcase. I hurried through the labyrinth and yet the passageways still stretched as far as I could see. Panic engulfed me.  The daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible somber glow. Each wall of books was identical to the next without any identifying marker of any kind. Suddenly with a deafening grinding the walls of literature began to close in, I screamed but it caught in the back of my dry throat and I keened, like a wounded animal, as the historical prose consumed me greedily.

Charles awoke with a start.  The shop was in darkness and he was unaware how long he had been dozing.  He stretched with the enthusiasm of a tired elderly man, and mused that Harper must have turned down the lights and  left discreetly leaving him sleeping.  He turned the sign on the door and retired upstairs.

Flash Fiction - Lucky Charm

One of my fellow writers alerted me to the above challenge/competition, full details of which can be found on the following link http://www.nycmidnight.com/Competitions/FFC/Challenge.htm in a nutshell you are given a genre, location and object and thereafter you have 48 hours (yes only 48 hours) to write a flash fiction of no more than 1000 words.  Everybody gets two challenges and the best progress through the remainder of the year.  This all kicks off on the 22nd July and I am still undecided whether to enter as it is not a small fee (55US Dollars) however there are many cash prizes to be had and I do love a challenge!  I thought I would give it a trial run and asked my daughter to give me a genre, location and object.  She came up with horror (genre), cove (location) and spoon (object).

LUCKY CHARM

The boys huddled around the injured animal which lay whimpering at the feet of Sam.  A look of warped triumph contorted Sam’s handsome features.  Ben, Tim, Ralph and Rory looked on with apprehension at what Sam would do next.  The rough bloodied rock was still clenched firmly in Sam’s fist and he delivered the final, fatal blow with purpose.

The boys, rather than digest the dead rabbit, all stared at Sam.  Ben and Rory in awe, Ralph with disgust and Tim looked as though he may faint.  Sam carelessly cast the rock aside and reached inside his sheath for his hunting knife.  With swift accurate strokes he dismembered the rabbit’s feet and handed one to each of his friends, who took them without question.

“Tis lucky those boys, keep them close, keep them safe” he insisted.  

“Didn’t bring the rabbit much luck” muttered Ralph.

Sam slit the rabbit from throat to genitals and Tim gasped in an attempt to smother his cry.  Sam looked up at him menacingly.  “What’s the matter fat boy? You gonna piss your pants again?”

Ben and Rory sniggered, whilst Ralph leapt to his defence.

“Leave it out Sam, we’re all mates here”.

Sam stared at Ralph and held his gaze, without turning away he said to Ralph’s younger brother “hey Rory, pass me that spoon out of your tin.” All the boys carried identical tins which the home provided before they were kicked out of the door at sunrise.  Rory rushed to adhere to his beloved Sam’s wishes. 

 “There you go Sam.  Watcha gonna do with it?”

Without answering Sam turned back to his prey and with both hands pulled the rabbit skin apart. Blood splattered and tainted the warm air. He glanced at his audience, before using the spoon to shamelessly scoop out the insides of the dead animal.  It was too much for Tim, the contents of his butty tin together with last night's supper projected uncontrollably from the pit of his stomach, all over the bloodied remains, all over Sam.

“You fucking idiot” Sam spat and without warning lunged for Tim, knife still in hand.  Ben and Ralph quickly wrestled the knife from Sam and pulled him off, whereupon Tim took to his feet and shot off, faster than his voluminous body should allow.  Sam knocked Ben and Ralph out of his way and hurtled after him.

“Jesus Christ” stated Ben.

“He’s a fucking lunatic” Ralph responded.

“What do you think he will do if he catches him” asked Rory.

Ralph looked at Rory and winked “I still have this” he said holding up the knife “so hopefully nothing too ruthless.  Come on let's go and find them.”

The three boys stumbled across the steep sandy banks down to the cove which was situated on the other side of the bay.  It was a scorching summer day and they seemed to walk miles, their clothes drenched in sweat and clinging tirelessly.  They did not see Sam nor Tim on their journey and before long they tired of calling out for them.

Rory started to jump perilously on the precariously sharp cliff face. “There he is, there he is” Rory cried.

The boys turned simultaneously and followed the direction of Rory’s pointed finger.  They all recognised the rounded shape of Tim who was sitting, head in hands, on a grey rock close to the shoreline.  They made their way down to the cove and as they approached, Tim jumped up triumphantly.  “There you are, I have been looking for an age” he declared.

“Where the hell have you been Tim, and where is Sam?” questioned Ben.

“I outran him is what I did, can you believe it, not such a slow fat kid after all am I?” said Tim.  

Rory laughed “if I were you mate I would keep on running, he was as mad as hell and he knows where to find us.”

“I will buy him some fags, that’ll do it” giggled Tim.

“What the hell is that?” Rory exclaimed.

They all turned to see what Rory was looking at and realised that the rock they thought Tim was sat on was a beached whale. “I found it” Tim stated proudly.

“Is it dead?”

“Yes it is definitely dead Rory, I checked” replied Tim.

“Poor bugger” sympathised Ben “what shall we do with it?”

“We could try and get it back into the sea” offered Ralph.

“Not a chance, it will weigh a ton! Let’s just leave it be” said Tim.

Ben raised his eyes “I know what we can do, I once heard that a whale was opened up and precious stones were found inside, oyster pearls or something like that, worth thousands”.

“Oh god no, haven’t we carved up enough animals today” groaned Tim.

“Let’s do it Ralph, please, come on, if Sam was here he would do it in a heartbeat” pleaded Rory.

Ralph hated his younger brother’s approbation of Sam and he could feel his hackles rising.  “Sam wouldn’t do it Rory, beast is already dead, no torture, no fun”

“Oh I think he would” Ben responded “he is probably watching us all now, wondering who is man enough to slice open this beast.  Come on Ralph, you have the knife, open him up.  Make us rich”.

Ralph looked at three pairs of eager eyes expectantly awaiting his compliance and for the first time he saw pride and admiration in the eyes of his brother.

Ralph turned, leant over the creature and slowly inserted the knife into the cold grey skin.  Ralph was surprised how easily the knife penetrated the dead whale and he easily severed the beast open.  He stood back as the contents of the whale spewed out onto the baked sand.

All four boys stood open mouthed as they gazed with horror into the dead eyes of Sam, well the top half of Sam, detached from the waist down, still holding onto the spoon, and just like that, Tim threw up again.

The End