They sat on the stoop watching lazy crows hopping along the furrows. Occasional seagulls floated above the flat brown, fading into the clouds. The white gates were closed. No one was coming. It was just them. Beatrice poured another glass of warm Chardonnay and lit another cigarette. “Fifteen years we’ve been coming here and forContinue reading “The White Gates”
There are rumours of another Bourne outing, but no word on the script yet. Persuading the lead players to get involved might not be that hard. But what to call the films?
Here are some suggestions, depending on when the films come out and how the script develops:
• Bourne in the USA (Springsteen soundtrack)
• Bourne to be Wild (Animals soundtrack)
• Bourne on the 4th of July (lots of red, white and blue, pies)
• Bourne on Christmas Day (thanks Matilda)
• Bourne Aloft (with bit parts for the Borrowers)
• Bourne Lucky (Kylie Minogue love interest)
• Bourne Free (opportunities for lions and locations in Africa)
• Bourne Vita (much hot chocolate consumed)
Kevin Crokesmith and his assistant, stood patiently in the reception area. The Crematorium people slid about with subdued faces in a monotony of black. “Well, Wendy are we early or are the girls late. She’ll be arriving soon.” His face was a slightly pinker version of the grey of his shirt and his too-wide black tie made him look like a lollypop. Wendy Boilings gave him a nod as she watched the Crokesmith girls tumble through the door, the taller one breathless the rounder one even more so. “The hearse is just coming.”
It isn’t keeping his job or not that matters, but what happens next for Donald Trump. A divorce filing is coming closer, the date likely to be nearer to the 20th January than not, when eyes will have shifted to the incoming president. His third divorce after a fifteen year marriage to Melania will be an expensive business for Mr Trump. How expensive depends on the terms of the prenuptial agreement Mrs Trump will have signed.
Prologue “What do you mean?” Hotpot stopped chewing for a moment to consider what he meant but he couldn’t remember. “She’s the one who knows” said Hotpot staring out of the field shelter at the gate where a middle-aged woman was fiddling with the latch. “And the others, the one she calls William and thoseContinue reading “The Sheep & The Grey Horse”
Getting through the publishing process, or not? It’s taken weeks to get over the trauma of the structural edit of the Draftsman. And in between then and now, life and the outside world have weaseled their ways into brain and heart to make it even harder to think fiction.
I have heard that when starting out as a novelist, getting your manuscript finished is the easy bit. I always thought that a little bit silly, because you’ve sweat blood over the thing, spent months or even years on it. But I’m beginning to see there is some sense to this. For a start there’s all the additional prep, the formating and understanding the process. Then there’s the cover design and blurb to sort, both of which are easy and exciting. But then comes the structural edit. This is not nearly so easy or as exciting, and sweating blood plays no part.
Whether you’re a writer or not, sometimes doing the same old same old day after day can get a little dreary, tedious even. And you find the contact problem gets harder and harder to solve. Much as you want to, you just can’t seem to keep your bottom in contact with the chair. Any excuse will do: answering emails even the really uninteresting ones, checking to see if the postman’s been, having yet another cup of tea and having to go to the loo even more often. You start to wonder if you should rearrange your knicker drawer, or straighten your speaker wires, maybe colour code the food in your freezer. In extreme cases, even the hoovering is irresistable. And the contact problem isn’t just about making contact with the chair. How often have you decided that your keyboard, screen and mouse need a thorough clean or at least a good scrape around with your fingernail or the scissors?
The hive was stuffy and busy. When Burly squeezed himself into wakefulness he was beset with a curious sense of annoyance. Little snuffling sounds told him that his brothers Curly and Twirly were still asleep, but why this sense of irritability? Food? Maybe a sip or two of some uncapped honey would sort outContinue reading “The Three Bees – Chapter 5: Into the light”
The light was pushing in far too brightly thought Curly, as he turned away from the morning. Gentle murmuring sounds and tiny whistling snores told him that his brothers were still asleep. As he turned to shade his large eyes from the sunrise Curly was aware of a draft coming from the other side ofContinue reading “The Three Bees – Chapter 3: Three Bees and the Giant Grub”