3rd book is on the way...

...very soon! In my last post, I was looking for a different publisher for my then completed 3rd book 'broken will always be broken'. Well, I found one. A company called YouCaxton. Not only are they much cheaper but the initial correspondence was very welcoming and open. But, because I have not used this company before and the way they work is different to my previous publisher, I have decided to leave 'broken will always be broken' and instead publish 'Words to be performed from under a table by the last of us'. I have done this because 'broken will always be broken' is extremely special to me and, in my opinion, probably the best thing I have written.

So, 'Words to be performed from under a table by the last of us' is the next book to be coming out (the proof copy is in the post on its way to me as I type this) within the next month or so...fingers crossed. In the time line of my first two already self-published books, this will sit as book number four...'broken will always be broken' is three in the time line. I will then look at publishing 'broken will always be broken' towards the start of next year thus completing the four book opus.

In the meantime, I have started a 5th book with the working title 'Bimble in Crinklewood'. This will focus on 12 very distinct characters (and the narrator/lead character) who make up this town of Crinklewood our lead character finds himself in. It will pull in elements from the revenge/ye olde speaking story I spoke about in my last post with each character being loosely based on someone I know or have come across in my life. It will also bring in pieces of the relevant notion of the number 12 throughout history. It also marks a slight first for me as not only am I attempting to write an honest to god book/story with an original story outside of my own experiences and I have approached it differently by using post it notes and research methods online.

Exciting times ahead indeed.     

Searching for a suitable...

...self-publisher has become my task for March. As I said in my previous blog, what I want for my 3rd book is beyond what my previous publisher can do at a reasonable price. So, today I have sent out questions and queries to several other publishers with hopes of finding a suitable one...and already, I have had responses and am very hopeful. Of course, that doesn't mean I have stopped writing...oh no, I am now working on book 4 and 5 simultaneously!

Book 4 is a revenge story written in two distinct styles. Style one is told from the thoughts and speech of the main character and is all ye olde english. Lots of "thou" "thy" and "nary" involved. Style two is told from the actions of everything else around the main character and is very blunt and short. The thinking in me going down that route is to extenuate the simplicity of what is happening outside of the main character whilst at the same time show his own madness and thought patterns crammed with metaphors.

Book 5 is actually a coming together of two poetry projects I have completed (one about words and the other which has sketches, poetry and observations in) and writing a third section to bring them all together. This is called "Words to be performed from under a table by the last of us". 'Words' is literally about words. What we use them for, how they are used and the context in which they are used as conceived by the main character. 'To be performed from under a table' is a collection of observations about the state of the world we live in and how the main character views it. 'By the last of us' has the main character wandering hell after taking his own life and attempting to make sense of everything. So, a lot going on at the moment! And some poetry below from my 5th book!

The Open Book

My spine has been broken,

pages of my story ripped apart,

words inside dead and stolen,

ink now bleeds from my heart.

Scattered about at my feet

commas and full stops die,

turned to ash in this heat,

not much left but a decry.

The open book sliced in two,

scissor writing pouring out,

letters begin to fade and undo,

losing what it was all about.

A wind disperses what is left,

forever gone in the night,

this all amounts to a simple theft,

and the end to an unwinnable fight.

 

The Suffer of Rain

Tiny pin pricks gently fall like feathers whispering in the snow,

grazing over bare skin as if teasing my senses with light.

Striking the ground tentatively and with an embarrassed hush,

they disappear in a fragmented star dust eruption of reaching digits.

Now with a little bit more meaning a waving blanket begins,

tucking over me in a harvest beyond the horizon.

A fine consistent wetness begins to seep into my being,

darken the ground I walk onwards to what I do not know.

Then comes the torrent undeterred or concerned with light,

a battering of ink marking my soul with determined words.

Crawling around and into every fibre of my corpse,

bouncing against anything it strikes as if re-joining the clouds.

And finally the suffer of rain becomes alive forced downwards,

slicing away my softened up flesh and muscle.

I feel my body fade away cut to pieces and butchered,

washed away amongst the rest of the sewage down hells drain.

Broken will always be broken...

...is the title of my now completed third book. Fully finished, fully edited, front and back covers done...even the thank you page is complete!

I am very happy with it as it reads and flows well (despite the distinct style changes over the course of its three main parts), makes a sort of sense as the third part of the trilogy with my first two books, and, is an original, honest and at times, fantastical, piece of work. I am happy with the various drawings and photographs included in it as well as the short pieces of poetry and children narrative dotted about. It is at times, as expected, raw and brutal, uncompromising and painful but it also has a simple message at the end which I think a lot of people can relate to.

But, I hear you ask, what is it actually about? Well, our main character has found a way to traverse through "reflections" in his life in an attempt to make sense of his existence. He travels to the past and the future and gets trapped in the present for a period. We see the birth of our universe as well as the destruction of the Earth, spend intimate time with family as well as amongst the stars, and, raise the question of regret and how far we will go in order to put right what once went wrong.
Naturally, it is based on my life with 99% of the past and present sections pulled from memory having happened to me. The rest is possible future time lines with maybe just a dash of sci-fi thrown in for good measure. 

The next stage is self publication. I have shopped around but it looks like I will be once again using the same publisher I used for my other two books. This time though, I want it to be hardback and bigger in size...unfortunately that  means all the costs will be higher so it may be at least the end of February before I begin the self-publishing process!

Until then, see below for a little snippet of what to expect:

As he stepped out, the rhythmic pounding echoed in the distance and he could just about feel it through the ground. And yet despite the distance away the piston worked, evidence of the damage it caused was all around him, especially on the gravestones themselves; there weren’t any of them still intact. James shuffled through careful not to stand on any rubble and rock, his concentration remaining fully on the ground and how he walked on his swollen ankle. Eventually he arrived at the grave he was visiting. Even though it too had succumbed to the fracking piston, he had made some makeshift repairs using the pieces that had broken off mixed with fresh concrete. It certainly wasn’t pretty but its shape remained as close to its original and he was determined to keep it that way.

                He dropped to one knee and kissed the headstone before lightly brushing it with the feather duster he somehow suddenly materialised from the overlong and ripped coat that hung from his body. He then sat down with his back resting on the headstone and placed his palms onto the ground itself gripping the soil with his fingers and whispering words only she could hear. James could feel the rhythmic pounding rippling through his entire body sat in this position; through his fingers, under his bum, on his back…he imagined it was her heartbeat coming from the grave itself. As much as he wanted to sit here forever, in reality his legs were cold and his bum was numb after twenty minutes. As he prepared to make the struggle of actually getting up from this position, he noticed something new protruding from the ground a couple of yards in front of him. Crawling over to what looked like a white ball half sticking out the ground, he stopped sharp in his tracks when he noticed what it really was; the top half of a skull.

A new year...

...a new project! So, the last project I blogged about is coming to an end (7th January) so of course, I need a new project to get my writing teeth into. This time, I look for the future for inspiration.

To be honest, it seems that this new project will tag on to the end of my last 2 projects and will form a trilogy within a single book. The first part deals with my character managing to relive parts of his life through reflections whilst the second part has him stuck in one of said reflections living out the period I am living out now whilst the third part has him stuck in a future completely alone. Questions raised include identity, depression, loss, suicide, meaning of life, meaning of death, mental illness and the ramifications of actions and the absolute harm it does...heavy stuff!

The plan is to finish the second part in a few days then continue the third whilst revising and editing the rest. It feels like a daunting task but to be honest, I have pretty much revised and edited the first part and really just need to flesh bits out and tie it all up. The second part I have revised and edited on the go so that shouldn't need much work. And the plan for the third part will to keep it tight and fairly short. Below is an excerpt from the third part:

the future…

chapter one

A rhythmic pounding slow and steady rips through the dour brown morning. Every time the sun threatens to pierce the clouds, they slide across and block it out with a defiant glee and mischief. James stands in the corner of the garden looking out at nothing and everything waiting for the horizon to reveal the thing he is searching for. He narrows his vision and adjusts the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose fully aware that no amount of squinting or playing with the glasses will help his old eyes see into the distance. And then, just as before, she appears…and suddenly he is awake.

He stretches his body down the single bed grimacing as his bones crack and his muscles spasm. As usual, the sheets are damp with sweat and he knows the time without having to look; so routine and predictable are his sleep patterns these days.

The rhythmic pounding is still there. In fact, it never goes away.

Groaning as he sits up, he wipes the drool from his mouth and scratches out the crust from the corner of his eyes. A sudden pain strikes his chest causing him to grasp at it and regulate his wheezy breathing. As it subsides, he pushes himself to a standing position and staggers out the small room and into the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet to piss for a good ten minutes is the norm now but at least it gives him the time to wake up as the urine spurts out in fits and starts stinging as it does. He flushes and watches his marmalade coloured piss get replaced by the murky stinking water of the tank before using bottled water over the sink to wash his hands.

A new project...

...came to mind a few weeks ago. I applied for, and got, a new job and started work last Thursday. It is different from my previous job and is, so far, only until the 7th January 2017 (which ironically is the same exact date I was made redundant this year). It is OK. I go in, do what I am told and come home. Simple.

Anyway, the new project will be similar to the diary part in 'this heat, it's hell closing in on me' in that I will be writing every day in entries entitled "Day..." and talking about feelings on that particular day. But it is also planned to be a journey even deeper into my own mental issues and the search for the purpose of life. Recently, I have felt that there is something just there, just out of reach that will explain this existence and give me the answers I desperately seek (don't we all) so I am hoping this new project will help. It is also something to keep me writing every day despite now being back in (virtually) full time employment.

I have also finally finished editing everything I have written for my 3rd book, the prequel/sequel to my first 2 books and even managed to continue with the story. This is the book I wanted to write after being made redundant at the start of this year which has not only matured from a children book into the beast that it is now but also been a complete nightmare to track and edit...but it is getting there. But for now, a little sneak peek at the new project:

Day - minus 2

How many steps are there in your house? I bet you count them every time you walk up and down the stairs. You don’t? Why not?! What the hell is wrong with you!

There are 14 steps in my house. I know because I count them every time I walk up and down the stairs (and because I have just checked…twice). And by the way, I am not counting the landing as a step. There are 14 steps when I go up the stairs and 14 steps when I go down them…simple.

How do you know something is real until you actually touch it? I look out my bedroom window and see green fields that stretch for miles; trees and bushes litter the landscape and the odd tractor or car trundles down the single track road. I have walked the fields and driven the road many times therefore at that point, they were real. But what about when I am merely the observer?

What happens to us when we die? I suppose it depends on beliefs and upbringings of the individual. Do we just rot away into nothingness or does our soul (if we have one) transcend and live on? Is the notion of “heaven” and “hell” a false notion or do they exist? Some will argue that during our lives we experience both as a direct relation to how we act and what we do. Surely chocolate and sex are versions of heaven whilst pain and the loss of a loved one reflect hell?

And what about the time we have on this planet. The norm has us working in a job we don’t like for the sole purpose of being paid. We spend the majority of our conscious years slaving away to maintain our material possessions whilst being treated like slabs of meat by those above us. Even the ones who keep us safe or mend our broken bones are not credited as they should be. 

Don’t get me started on how we treat each other, the animals we share the Earth with (yes…share) and the planet itself. I thought humanity was meant to be the most intelligent species on Earth, yet, it seems to be the only one to actually de-evolve over time!

broken will always be broken

I have lost the reflection I once had, cracked mirror all that remains.

Broken will always be broken, glass eyes are long forgotten.

No kiss can give life, tears dry and rock.

Dark breathe, take my hand.

What can I do?

Where can I go?

Home…

I feel the cold…only because I am not warm. Coffee helps. Coffee helps with a lot of things. Why is that? I drink a lot of coffee. I listen to a lot of music. Music isn’t just one of the pleasures in life…it is life.

Music is poetry sound tracked by living sound. I wish I could see music. Watch its colours spiral and spin, smell its emotions chop and change, touch its beat heart and soul. If there is a meaning to life, an answer to why we are here then it must be hidden inside music…possibly!

I went for a walk. My body pranced about amongst the trees and fields traversing the path nature had created whilst my mind toiled with my worthlessness, debated the point of me actually being here and reminded myself that no one gives a shit about me.

…my mind is fire,

a desire for destruction

aimed inwards,

wolves tearing pieces,

a savage hanging

of fresh scars,

and broken hope.

Designing front and back covers...

...for my books is always something I look forward to. 'Love or Suicide and the Life In Between' and 'this heat, it's hell closing in on me' had their covers designed and created by myself and related directly to the contents and subject matter in them.

There wasn't any point looking at stock designs or asking someone else to design them as it simply wouldn't work. Not that its a bad thing going down that route, more because I was the best person to portray the two books visually on the front and back cover due to the personal aspect of them. It helps that I am pretty artistic and studied Art as well as Design & Technology in College. For me, it also highlights the fact that the two books are self-published so every single thing...from content to layout, grammar to fonts and front cover to back cover...is all me. So, after completion of my third book, 'to be performed from under a table' came the task of creating a front and back cover.

First thing was first, the book was about my reaction to the world we live in, my place in it and the very real thoughts of suicide and how that would affect the people around me. So, the covers had to relate to this directly.
Secondly, I wanted something iconic and simple. Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon is so iconic, both musically and visually, and the cover of the album is so simple. On the other hand, you have Sgt Peppers by The Beatles which has a cover crammed yet is just as iconic as Dark Side.
And thirdly, I wanted to design and create it using the tools available to me just by switching my laptop on...I didn't want to download or purchase any fancy software.

My initial thought was a completely black cover with a small white hole in the middle...to signify a journey or passing over to the other side (go to the light). I decided against this though because I didn't think it would grab the attention of someone looking to buy it. Then I thought of incorporating a table (due to the title and the content) but again vetoed this for the same reason as the black cover/white hole idea. Then, I thought of a door. And then of a figure walking towards it. Inside the door could be a universe...which would signify either death or life. But then I came up with idea of showing, very clearly, that this figure had committed suicide by slashing his wrists. Furthermore, I wanted the title of the book on the front (but in a strange font) and for the first time ever, some blurb on the back about the book.

And so I set about creating and designing it. It didn't take me long and I didn't mess about with it during its birth. I had a clear idea of what I wanted it to look like and represent and I set about doing it. Yes, I could have easily gone over and over it adding little details or changes, but, like the contents, I wanted it to be raw, to the point and clear. Simple yet very effective. Open to interpretation and also very honest about what it was trying to say. So, here it is, the front cover for my third book.

Depression, suicide, death...

...insecurity, loss, confusion, isolation and anger are just of the heavy subjects my 5th project covers.

It is called 'to be performed from under a table' and is a collection of sketches, poetry, short stories, observations, arguments, discussions and general musings. It was intended to be an outlet for my emotions and thoughts as I continued to work on my 3rd and 4th project but became something altogether. It is also something I thought I had completed a few weeks ago but...

...I have now decided to add a short story at the end.

This short story will deal with a character who has committed suicide. He is then confronted by a figure who shows him the consequence of what he has done and how it affects the people around him. It will delve into a future without our main character and give the reader an idea of how important a person actually is to others they come into contact with. Of course, not everyone will be affected in a good way by our main character and I will aim to show the other side as well. I am not aiming to be preachy or bring religion into it too much...if our being does continue on after death, then I believe the place it goes and the judgement is serves is determined by our own soul.

The reason for the short story is my own mind set at this moment. A mind set I have had bubbling under the surface for years now but which has recently become more prominent and as writers, we tend to write about what we know, our experiences and our feelings. So, below are some excerpts from the completed half of this project...enjoy!

Those who

I can see from under this table

that there are those who

want to reach down and pull me out

from under this table.

Yet I can also see

that there are those who

want to bury me with their shit

brick me in under this table.

At times from what I hear

that there are those who

want to leave me alone

walk past me under this table.

A couple of moments I feel

that there are those who

spit on me

kick me as I lay under this table.

Yet in the end, from under this table I know

that there are those who

like me don’t even care

forever I am under this table.

A scratch on a record

I knew I could never go back there

An advent of darkness now before me

As dust filled words follow empty voices

Whispers of regret and faith, no more.

For to go back there would be

Harder than it is to be here

A kind reminder of a sin committed

Littered by actions of self-harm

And left with a curse of memory

Of what I gave up and extinguished.

The coolness and safety of the night

The life and uncertainty of the day

Touch, taste, smell, sight, feelings.

The building crescendo of music.

Yet fear hold dear

Ruled my excuse for existence

And condemned me governing my decision

A certain finality twisted

One more day of regret.

A scratch on a record.

 

broken always finds broken

Finding a pattern through this fragmented life,

our own fractured light becomes tortured and lost,

its shards cut deep opening up once healed scars,

and spilling out come words tangled in blood and ink.

Separated, across clouds and starlight we write,

the only illumination in the darkness cast,

our shadows tainted with a rapture of pain

harvested by wings of bone and sharpened claw.

It digs into our soul and blackens our mind,

tears apart foundations built from a supposed trust,

a failed love imprinted throughout our being

is now the hated guide we tether ourselves to.

There is no freedom and time cannot save us,

we are forever locked in silent self-torture,

the punishment decided by our inner imprint

is deemed an absolute necessity and deserved so.

Yet somehow, broken always finds broken,

keeping alight the shine buried deep within,

but the cruel irony brings with it a fresh hurt,

the melancholy loss of a love never to be.

 

So I have recently joined a Writers Circle...

...in Southport. So far, I have been to 7 meetings and read out my own work 4 times becoming a fully fledged member as of last week.

I had never even considered joining a Writers Circle (and didn't even know there was one in Southport) but I picked up a leaflet and thought I would give it a go. Although I was very nervous at first, I was made to feel very welcome and enjoyed listening to other people read out their work and then comment on it. Over the next few weeks I decided to read out some of my poetry and listen to the feedback from the other members jotting down their comments and thoughts. Below is an example of 2 poems I read out together with the comments from the members:

to be performed from under a table

When comfort runs dragged across bare arms in line of red and scratchy scratch,
and darkness is the colour of coffee that swirls around sticking to white teeth,
an attempt to sew shut the voices using thrash stitching and death needles,
keep you locked in coffin of slinky coldness dripping with a brilliant hatred of me,
your arms tired from pushing the ones to the edge of ceramic forgiveness,
all the while protecting and comforting the he inside of the me,
this fighting an odyssey of celluloid reverse promises grinning with lies,
guiding your carcass over trenches of worn out scars and fresh skin,
and what's left but a frightened shell shivering under a table of wood,
a splintered performance with a bow to the crowd and a pitiful applause.

The feedback I received was (from my scribbly notes): good metaphors, good technique, wobbles a bit a third of the way through, flows well, re-absorb the piece, loses its way in the middle.

Fragile

Tears fall into the infinite - slow, fragile.

Your eyes search for hope, I cannot give.

We knew time was not on our side, why?

Isn't the point of love exactly that - the point!

I brush your white skin for the last time

and hold you to my heart. You listen

wishing to capture every beat left in me.

An impossible wish in an impossible dream.

Yet you try...and you pray...and you almost succeed.

Almost.

But I slip.

And I fall into the infinite - slow, fragile.

The feedback I received was (again from scribbled notes): consistent, poignant, feeling of loss, choose a different title, get rid of the 'why' on the third line, sad.

The reason I have written about this in this months blog piece is because if you are a writer and are serious about writing, then join a Writers Circle because not only do you get some interesting feedback about your own work but you also get to hear other peoples work and comment on it. It is also a way of meeting like minded people and possibly even increasing the chances of your work reaching a wider audience...give it a go!!!

 

It's all about my second book...

...today and getting it out there amongst all you wonderful readers.

I self published 'This heat, it's hell closing in on me' through Grosvenor and I also paid for a 2 week promotion package through them (now just about coming to an end) which involves press releases, library promotion, reading and writing groups, and, circulation around the big retailers. I am hoping this will get my book out there and garner reviews (good or bad) and sales.

It's been available on Amazon (paperback and Kindle) for close to 3 months now and although there has been some sales of it...it hasn't been the best start. Not that the whole purpose of writing a book is to get money from it. My first book 'Love or Suicide and the Life In-Between' was absolutely written for myself and in fact, any royalties I were to receive, I donate to The Samaritans. And yes, the second book 'This heat...' was again written for myself...but, I feel like it should also be an investment in which it sells and I get money for said sales. At the end of the day, we all have to pay the bills!

So, for those of you who don't know, 'This heat...' is a collection of poetry, (very) short stories and observations based around my own life from mid 2013 to the end of 2014. It is split into 2 parts: part 1 deals with identity and how are parents shape our lives whilst also looking at the subject matter of Life and Death. Part 2 is a yearly diary (2014) written using poetry, feelings and statements with both parts dealing with subjects such as depression, self-harm and counselling as well as family, work life and how we feel about our homes. It is raw, honest, uncompromising, harsh, beautiful, deep, whimsical, brutal and very personal book. It does overstep the line on many occasions with regards to its subject matter and delivery, but, it also gives a very real look into a persons mind.

So, below I have attached some pieces as little snippets for you to enjoy (or not).

 

When beauty dies

A sultry sway,

a sexy tilt.

Daring whispers

slay the night,

bring dark eyes

lord of light.

A slender neck,

curves of sex.

That innocent way.

But a broken heart.

But an abused body.

But a shattered mind.

But a battered soul.

When beauty dies,

death’s cold touch

now a warm shoulder,

helps on as such.

Is the gentleman,

is the lost love.

Death the sonnet,

death the brave,

death the guide,

death the save.

Sing

And on your last breath,

and on your final grasp,

and on your remaining beat,

and on your fixed stare...

...a distant song draws you away,

a distant sight catches your eye,

a distant reach pulls you closer,

a distant voice calls you on...

...you glance back once more,

you miss those you leave behind,

you feel their despair,

you know you will see them again...

...the light surrounds your soul,

the infinity completes your journey,

the day has only just begun,

the song only just to be sang.

 

7th November

saucerful

Menacing vibrations

eerie and dark,

creeping plinks and plonks,

their air of strain encompassing.

A drone inside my head

switches moods; swinging madness,

danger, danger…flashing pain

and a whimpering paleness lost and sharp.

Is it this way or is it that way?

the noise clasps my head with vice claws

screeching down my throat,

there is nowhere to run

from the beating,

from the drumming failure

that emanates from my whole being.

Wavering limbs crumble,

the piano lid comes down

crashing and crushing,

slice after slice after slice…

…and the carpet stains red.

But for this, a sense of peace rumbles in,

a lone chord plays out like a funeral march

as complete loneliness settles over quiet death,

(no more secrets left)

my path now set by a procession…on and on,

the world drifts away…going, going, gone,

angels morn the victory of my weakness and weep,

reaching as my soul is dragged downwards,

the glee of suicide has claimed another,

the sadness of despair has won…

  

Pushing forward...

...with two major projects at the moment.

The first project is my 3rd book which began life as a book for children but has morphed into something more sinister and is now a prequel/sequel to my two self-published books. It has poetry, stories within stories and drawings (done by an actual child - my neighbours daughter) within and is currently pretty much a mess but I am getting there with it.

The second project will become my 4th book and is a novel (finally) which asks the question, what would happen if aliens came to our planet and decided to treat humanity the way humanity treats its animals and pets? This is a subject I feel strongly about (especially being a vegetarian) and the idea has been floating round my head for some time.

I do have another two side projects on the go: I have managed to compile and link all my erotic pieces into one long story and I am looking at doing the same with my words project; a project which looks at the idea and art of words through poetry and short stories.

Besides that, I have also finally joined a Writers Circle; the Southport one. I have been to three meetings and read out some of my poetry twice. The first poem was from my 1st self published book and is one of the most visceral, dark and disturbing poems I have written. The second poem was a bit throw away (from my 2nd self published book) and was just...nice. I do like the mix of different people there though and think I will stick to going...for now anyway.

Since my last blog piece, I have managed to read through three very different books...if you want to be a writer, you have to read! The Single Feather by Ruth Hunt (a lady I met at the Southport Writers Advice Panel) about a disabled person who joins an art club in the hope of improving and getting her life back on track. Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway...a book a neighbour borrowed me. Self help which does what all self help books do...generalise. Some good points in it though! And finally, the graphic novel Infinity Volume 1 which pits superheroes from all over against Thanos. A lot to take in but the artwork and story are both excellent!

So, onwards and upwards...below is the beginning from my 4th book...enjoy:

Home at last…

It wasn’t a gracious return and it wasn’t quiet. The landing gear digs into the ground and causes The Inferno to skid bringing it to a sudden and jolting stop.

‘Where is the landing strip?’ I mutter.

Using the ships computer, I scan the surrounding area and find nothing. I scan again and get the same result.

‘That can’t be right!’ I say to my ship and scan again…nothing.

I unbuckle myself and peer out of the cockpit window, my eyes darting from side to side squinting against the shimmering light. I should be on a concrete landing strip. There should be a tower to my left and a terminal to my right…but there isn’t anything. I power most of The Inferno down (except for the cameras recording all around the ship), suit up and lower the exit ramp. It kicks up a cloud of dust and awakens a putrid smell; a mix of excrement, must and decay. I cover my nose and slowly walk down the ramp testing the ground before committing to stepping on it and begin walking across a landscape I no longer recognise.

With each step, there is a crunch underfoot. The smell continues to flood my senses and make me balk on more than one occasion as I breathe in the stale air and begin to sweat in the torturous heat. I lean down and scoop up a handful of earth. Sifting through it, I notice shards of white that crumble away in-between my fingertips. Standing back up, I check the display on my wrist indicating the signal is only five miles north of this position, the signal which awoke me from hyper sleep after 10 years hiding on the dark side of the moon.       

                With not a single landmark in sight, I have to trust in the wrist computer and start to walk in that direction, the smell becoming more bearable with every step and my lungs adjusting to the stale air.

                ‘Hello!’ I shout, ‘is there anybody out there?!’ my throat raw, ‘can anybody hear me!’ I squeal. I wait for a reply but get none. What had happened to my beautiful blue planet? Where was everyone? What is this land I walk upon?

My legs feel heavy, a result of spending so long in hyper sleep. All my limbs had seized up during those 10 years and I had lost even the most basic functions like sight and speech…I actually thought I was dead for the first few hours after waking! Eventually, my strength returned as the pod vibrated, massaged and warmed up my arms and legs and I finally managed to climb out of the pod and listen to the message properly. It seemed to be on a loop and was very short, a few beeps and pauses, but it seemed directly aimed at me; it read ‘come home’.

And here I was, home at last, lost in this landscape of ash and sand. I stop walking and strain my ears. I can’t hear any birds. There isn’t that recognisable hum of buzzing insects or pitter patter of tiny animal feet. Pulling out my binoculars, I slowly scan the sky, then do a complete 360 on the horizon and finally spot something. It’s very small, a building maybe…I don’t know. It takes me off course and away from the signal but a spark of light coming from it could mean life. I take a sip of nutrient water from my suit and push on, new strength and purpose in my legs propelling me forward. Every 500 yards or so, I stop and look through my binoculars the closer I get…it is a structure of some sort, small but definitely man made.

Eventually, my enthusiasm gets the better of me and I run the last half mile completely out of breath and hurting when I come upon the structure. It’s a building, no more than 10 square feet in size built from brick, at speed by the looks of it, and missing its roof. The door has rotten away and inside is two glass cases, child size in length and width and shining in the suns light.

‘Shit!’ I curse realising that these were the things I saw sparkling away.

I catch my breath and step inside the building, the smell and heat overpowering me and forcing my eyes shut. Slowly I force them open and focus on the glass cases. One is completely smashed with larger bits of the white shards spilling out and mixed in with the glass. The other is intact and inside is a skeleton…a child’s skeleton. I bend down and the first thing I notice is that the feet are facing completely the wrong way, backwards in fact! Looking upwards, the fingers are all missing but the thumbs are present, several ribs have been snapped off and there is an overly large ring through the nose cavity. I cringe at the look of twisted horror on the face and a sudden rush of realisation spreads through my body as I switch my attention between both cases and then on the ground itself. I scoop up a handful of the larger white shards and step outside the building scooping up a handful of earth in my other hand and bag them up. Pulling out my binoculars, I find my ship on the horizon and begin the trek back to it; I need to run these samples through The Inferno.

With my thoughts racing, I now begin to notice debris mixed in and sticking out of the sand. Broken concrete and glass are everywhere. Sharp pieces of twisted metal protrude upwards and black slats of charred wood lay dormant and dead. But the biggest components are the white pieces. I now see the variation in size and in colour.

‘How did I miss this?’ I ask myself as the closer I get to The Inferno, the more debris I come across, ‘What the hell happened here?’

My heart sinks even more when I reach my ship and notice the front wheels are completely buried in the sand and the nose of the ship is resting on the ground. I walk up the ramp and reach the cockpit switching the power back on before slumping into my Captains chair. Lights flicker on and the surge of life floods through the ship. I tip out the contents of the bag onto a flat screen which immediately lights up and a display above me shows the scan has begun. I lean forward and rest my hands on the top of my head.

‘Where is everyone?’ I whisper to myself, ‘computer, play me the last message from NASA, loud speaker please.’

‘Yes Captain’ there is a pause.

‘This is NASA control, Captain Michael Jones, do you copy?’

‘NASA control, this is Captain Michael Jones, I copy loud and clear.’

‘Captain, we have a situation here, a grave one, you will be given priority one delta six orders, copy?’

‘NASA control, please repeat, confirm priority one delta six.’

‘Captain, we repeat and confirm, priority one delta six.’ there is another pause.

‘NASA, awaiting priority one delta six orders.’

‘Captain, you are to pilot The Inferno to the dark side of the moon, copy?’

‘Copy, pilot to dark side of the moon.’

‘Captain, upon arrival at dark side of the moon, put The Inferno in an orbit which keeps you there, copy?’

‘Copy…request you tell me what the hell is going on?’

‘Captain, there is no time to explain, you are to put yourself into hyper sleep and await our next communication, copy?’

‘NASA, I copy but why hyper sleep?’

‘Michael, listen to us, they won’t be able to detect your life signs in hyper sleep and you are our…’ static.

  

Seems like it is selling...

...rather well, my second book! Having gone out of stock three times in the last month suggests that anyway. It has also received its first review and I have entered it into a self-publishing competition so fingers crossed. The other thing I have done is signed up for a two week promotion pack through June by the books publisher so lets see if that helps with sales and getting it out there.

Other than that, I have been concentrating on my third book and am currently in the stage of the third draft. It is developing well, feels more solid and flows better with each draft. I am also extending my time off work to focus on this book and myself (something I have never done) which is exciting and a little scary!

So, what else has been going in...well: I went to see The Jungle Book in the cinema and it is brilliant! Awesome cast, looks gorgeous and has a dark daring edge about it. Also went to a couple of concerts. Gregory Porter and Michael Bolton. Both were not my choice and both are not really my cup of tea (especially Bolton)...but, both were excellent! Gregory Porter has one of the best voices I have heard live and his albums really don't do him justice! And Michael Bolton...well, he is a bit of a legend and you know what, he proved it!

New albums I have bought: Deftones 'Gore' = brilliant as always. Ihsahn 'Arktis' = insanely good. I also beefed up my Prince collection (another legend gone) and finally picked up some classics - Paradise Lost 'draconian times' and Napalm Death 'Scum'. Currently reading the third Miss Peregrine book, Library Of Souls which has been brilliant.

Apart from that, it has really just been lots of coffee and lots of writing. Still writing some reviews for Roobla and have started a new story for Hot Chilli Erotica. Anyways, I have included some draft three work from my latest book below...naturally, this will no doubt change during the countless other drafts but for now, enjoy!

 

Prologue

Reflection ? – 22^nd February 2177

Ask a child to draw the moon and they will always draw it with a face. Nine times out of ten, it will be smiling and coloured in yellow, the notion of the moon being made of cheese integrated into their young minds forever. Depending on the skill and imagination of the child, sometimes the drawing will have extra detail such as teeth, eyebrows or hair; some may even emphasis the shape by adding craters and imperfections. The drawing I had, somewhere, was pretty accurate, I thought, and I always loved the glint it had in its eyes; mischievous and full of life. It was the only thing I could think about as I lay motionless on my back staring up at a sky consumed by the sun.

                “Where am I?” I ask myself half blinded, half cooked and struggling to move and lolling about on the ground like an overturned tortoise.

                “Relax” I say out loud suddenly aware that my voice seems distorted and echoes in my ears.

                I lift my hands up to the side of my head but they are stopped by some sort of helmet. I blink and look away from the sky squeezing my eyelids closed and then opening them as wide as I can and forcing tears out from my eyes. I roll my body from side to side and gain enough momentum to turn onto my front. As my eyesight slowly returns, I see that the ground is dust and rock. Sharp jagged stones feel hard, even, through the suit I am wearing and the ground shimmers with a heatwave thick and alive. I am distracted by an explosion to my left and with all my strength, I manage to push myself up onto my knees and awkwardly turn my head to the sound of it.

                A crumpled mass of metal and glass dances with fire as sparks shoot from within. A few seconds later and there is an inward collapse of the structure and it collapses in on itself with a loud bang. I put all my energy in standing up as memories return and with a wave of sadness realise what this hulking mess is, or rather, was; K.A.R.A. my spaceship. As I watch it helplessly melt, more memories flood through my head and I begin to panic, my breathing becoming strained.

“Breathe, breathe in the air” says a female voice.

“Look around, careful where you stand” the same voice whispers in my ear.

“Speak to me…tears you cry” who is speaking to me?

“Forget the sun, you haven’t got long” I scan the horizon ahead of me careful to not look upwards.

There isn’t much left, the loss of the moon and the expanse of the sun has turned the Earth into a floating rock. Its surface is nothing more than ash and boulder. Where once rivers of water were are now rivers of larva and this beautiful blue and green planet is now a hellish red and grey desert. The intense heat from the sun has also shifted its core and its destruction is very imminent. 

An alarm rings through the entire suit and a countdown begins. Thankfully, K.A.R.A. managed to get me within a mile of the crater but with every step, my surroundings are shifting and changing. Am I hallucinating? Am I dreaming? Is this all real? Am I mad? Hell, am I even alive? The voice in my ear speaks to me again.

“Welcome home” and a wave of recognition sears through my body; I recognise this place, it’s my home town.

But it couldn’t be. The crater is in Mexico yet my home town is in England.

“No time to waste and fritter away…the mission, the mission needs completing” I remind myself out loud as I walk through pockets of what once was, what is now and what will eventually be; an observer of Earth’s existence.

Marching on, I witness the fall of Troy, am stood centre stage when they drop the atomic bomb, battle through the depths as the Titanic comes to rest and pass through huge bubbles of outer space. I see myself in a white room, witness the marriage of my parents and am there at the birth of my sister. Suddenly, I hear a bell…and then a wailing. Drawing me closer to where I need to be, louder and louder until I am forced to stop dead. One of these time pockets has car frames sticking out of the ground, their plastic insides twisted and virtually unrecognisable. Rusted metal chains and huge footprints are here and there and with each painfully slow footstep I take, there rings the unmistakable sound of coins crunching.

“Remember this place!” the voice says in disdain.

“You remember it well…I was always with you. It was always us and them, always me and you versus them; they were nothing but ordinary men”

“I remember” I say as I leave the pocket behind me, a flash of green grass appearing in my visor and staggering my balance.

The alarm in the suit is increasing, the whole thing is failing and the heat is causing it to disintegrate. As much as I can, I quicken my pace but a sudden laugh takes me by surprise and an intense memory remembering games I used to play as a boy brings me to a complete stop.

“Stay with me, ignore the…loonies” the female voice tells me.

“Stay with me, ignore the…loonies” another voice tells me…clinical and cold.

“Stay with me, ignore the…loonies” a third voice tells me…darker this time.

“Who are you all?!” I scream out loud spinning round as I do.

I am in a room. My arms are restrained across my stomach and my chest feels tight. The only other thing in this room is a table littered with photographs. The room is stifling and so hot and as I struggle to free myself, I notice a large mirror on the wall and peer at my reflection. I am wearing a space suit and behind me is a landscape of ash and boulder but when I turn around, I see the table and the photographs. 

“Son…it’s me…it’s always been me” the female voice is in this room.

“Mum? It can’t be…no…I…” this can’t be real, what is going on.

I walk over to the table and look down at the photographs.

“My son” she says again and I realise that the voice is coming from the photographs themselves so I lean in to get a closer look.

It's available...

...my second self-published book is finally on Amazon. Well, as I type this, the Kindle edition is on Amazon anyways...the paperback should be on in a week (or so I have been promised). Am I happy with it? Very! As with my first book, Grosvenor have done a very professional, high quality job and it is 99% set out exactly the way I wanted it. The front and back covers are high quality gloss, the paper used inside is good and it is has a solid thickness and better size overall!

The content, however, is so open and honest that it does borderline (and even sometimes go too far) on too much. I am not saying that I am unhappy with what I have written or believe it to be rubbish. On the contrary, some of my best work is in this book but it is so raw and deep that it becomes a read very much not enjoyed. It basically tells the story of how I view the influence my mother and father had on me and how I went through severe depression leading to self harm and counselling sessions. I then look at the subjects of life and death and write a diary using a poetry format. The diary section is especially brutal and uncompromising, in parts, down to the pure emotion I was feeling on that day that just came pouring out on the page.

But, it is also another piece of work I am very proud of. Another piece of work that I believe to be fairly original and very honest...a piece of work that is just another extension of who I am, what I have been through and what many other people go through.

My third book is coming along well. I have completed the first draft and am going back through it now...although I have decided to make it more adult (as opposed to the original children's book idea) and write it in first person. I am pretty much giving myself till the end of April to get the second draft done...then I really will have to look at getting a full time job! It is becoming more a prequel to my two self-published books though...us writers can't help but write about ourselves and experiences no matter how hard we try not to!! But for now, see below some pieces from my second self published book 'this heat, it's hell closing in on me'.

20^th October

all you need is six line part 20

The sickness inside gives me a little kick to let me know he’s still there,

the disturbances in my sleep pattern and waking up soaked all but confirm,

feeling down and worthless in work is a return to form for that little voice,

“I am a fat waste of piece of shit space” and I am never to forget that fact,

repeat those words with no escape and no freedom from the father inside me,

“I hope you make the same mistake” destined to haunt my existence forever.

23^rd August

I walk with the dead

Blinded by my surroundings,

I walk with the dead,

bodies lay motionless

on my journey,

round and round in circles,

I fear I am next,

I fear my time is up,

I fear…fear.

Then I am lifted higher,

taken to an escape

and set free on the wind,

let me go home,

oh please let me be,

guide me back,

guide me away,

guide…guide me.

“I do not know whatever happened

to the one I set free on the wind,

I only wish he made his way home,

I only wish I can make my back home”

10^th December

Untitled

A frail frame casts a thin shadow,

bent and weak it shuffles on

towards a dark demented crucifixion,

the path covered in broken glass.

A caged and contorted mind

screaming for freedom and redemption,

cathedral of suffering peaked through cut

after cut after cut; deaths desire.

An untitled man

in an untitled life

with an untitled future

tormented by an untitled past.

Unified in pain.

Never rid of it.

Tragic corruption.

It will never stop.

To the end of days.

Lo and behold.

Even into hell.

Deserved of me this is…

Well, it is!