freedom costs money - the rest

Scene Changes: Bly

Sun, 10 Sep 2006 19:05:00 +0100

This is a format which I have shamelessly stolen from Osbert Lancaster's Scene Changes: Great Houses of Fiction Revisited. It's really an excellent book that's worth seeking out, though I think it may be out of print now.

Too Many People, Chloroform

Fri, 26 May 2006 19:43:18 +0100

Here is yet more of The Family Plot, which seems to be following the usual pattern of everything that I write, that is, far far too many people followed by a lack of direction from which I escape by having someone chloroform the main character. Some of it has already, I think, appeared on here, but most of it is freshly laid today.

Zombie apocalypse 3rd instalment!

Fri, 14 Apr 2006 02:06:25 +0100

(I took this in a different direction. I think it works. It's all entering the realm of cheesy anime pilot episode but I don't think that's necesasrily a bad thing.)

‘Obviously not honey,’ thought Gray grimly, closing the book. He didn’t need to look at the pages that followed to know that they would be empty. He shifted his weight awkwardly and wondered whether to call his sergeant; a secret dojo was certainly something that should be brought to his attention. If his sergeant and the others walked in now, they’d think he’d been holding out on them. He folded the sheaf of papers, stuffed them into his last empty inside pocket and blew three short blasts on his whistle.

Washed-Up

Fri, 03 Mar 2006 12:01:42 +0000

I have no idea what all this is about. It just sort of came to me. It's like an amalgam of lots of different bits of ideas and God only knows if it'll ever go anywhere. Still, here it is, for your viewing pleasure.

Cluedo

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 18:44:51 +0000

Oh my God there's more. When will it end? Where is it all going? Does anyone know what I've done with the car keys? These questions and more I put to you, dear reader, although really it's only the car key one I'm bothered about.

Interview 1: Fitzpatrick Zloty - Supervillain

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 15:03:18 +0000

The tape of the only remaining interview with evil supervillain Fitzpatrick Zloty; taken just before his cell roof collapsed on him with the aid of some strategic door slamming around the prison complex.

Bathtime

Fri, 17 Feb 2006 16:57:37 +0000

Here's the third chapter (probably) of The Family Plot. It's all gone a bit wierd and I can't really say whether it's alright or not. I seem to have got a bit wrapped up in my own dreams and it's not entirely unautobiographical. Comments would be most welcome because it's a new style for me and I'm not at all sure about it. Cash donations also welcome, as usual.

Midnight Breakfast

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 13:34:25 +0000

Yet more from The Family Plot to tantalise you. Can you bear it? Can you? Oh. Right. Here it is anyway.

Breakfast in the middle of the solar night in an empty dining room over a nightclub would take some getting used to, thought Alistair as he blearily stirred his egg and eyed the sagging Christmas decorations – Christmas was another problem. He had begun, heretically, to long for the time when the cycle of decimal daytime once again coincided with solar daytime: he was tired of going to bed during the day and going about his business during the night. He had begun, just very recently, to imagine that some system of decimal time geared around natural daylight, with time-zones like the present system, might be a wiser idea than a worldwide system that ignored it. Certainly, a worldwide system would prevent the London businessman from losing minutes wondering whether or not his associate in Shanghai was awake or not, but if the man in Shanghai was awake in the darkness and thoroughly baffled by it all then surely more minutes would be lost to yawning and staring into space than would be lost to wondering whether people on the other side of the world were awake or asleep. He made a note of the problem on his little pad to think about it later (calling it the Yawn Factor), and also of another problem that had occurred to him: the Artificial Light Factor. The Artificial Light Factor dealt with the problem that if a system of International Decimal Time was devised that put the entire world in one time zone (which, in Alistair’s opinion, was the only sensible way to do it) then half the world would be awake when there wasn’t any sunlight. That would mean that energy consumption would almost certainly (well, pretty damn certainly, but Alistair didn’t want to face it) rise dramatically, which was a pain considering the whole plan was supposed to improve efficiency. He speculated very briefly on the feasibility of some sort of system of mirrors in space and then ate his sausages.

Four Men, One Face

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 20:12:21 +0000

Here we have skeleton of the first attack at the first chapter of my new unputdownable international superselling Booker prize-winning wonder-novel, The Family Plot. Oh yes, here it is. This is only the begininng. The begininng of a horrible and terrifying journey through my head (as if there would be any other kind). Yes! This, now I'm on the Creative Writng thing, can also be classed as Useful Work Towards My Degree. See those two little avian corpses there? Yes. Two birds with one stone, mateys. I'm going to have some wine, now.

Tea with God

Wed, 01 Feb 2006 16:55:46 +0000

This is supposed to help me to fathom the plot of The Family Plot, but now that I look at it it seems only to make things even more confusing. Comments, questions, cash donations are all welcome.

Hotel Atlantis

Fri, 02 Dec 2005 18:36:23 +0000

Here's a steaming lump of Dateline: Whorlton. It ought to make you all feel better about your writing. Watch that fan-heater, I'm feeling the urge to electrocute my main character.

Somebody stop me.

Taki's thoughts on the countryside

Mon, 28 Nov 2005 15:57:34 +0000

Spent a fabulous weekend, reminding myself that I'm a child of the Dales and not a city slicker. It was nice to be back in my wee village, where my unshaven legs are seen as a sign of prudent heat-conservation and not as a feminist statement (which they ain't, I'm a-scared of those feminists!). They also take to my dress sense a little better; rather like the S/M community, the more layers u add, the sexier u look! And I average out at 5 layers.... u know it makes sense!

Political Correctness

Thu, 24 Nov 2005 10:50:43 +0000

Its that time of year again....impending visits from obscure relations to whom you do not exactly wish harm, but certainly do not wish well.

Weapons such as tact, consideration, silence and political correctness are taken out of the hatstand, dusted off and polished to a high shine.

Arrival

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 20:18:27 +0000

More Dateline: Whorlton nonsense.

Galadriel Sheer drove from Crakethorne unsure of herself. She had seen a lot of things in the course of her short but eventful life – she had seen, or thought she had seen, nature in all its terrible glory and humanity in all its basest depravity. She reflected, as she pointed the shield and the flag toward Whorlton Lido, that perhaps she might have been wrong to think so.

Urns

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 20:16:28 +0000

Also from Dateline: Whorlton. Don't think anyone's seen this - if you have, sorry for inflicting it on you twice. Any suggestions, questions, comments are welcome.

Gregory Andrews crouched behind his plate-glass and scanned the street from beneath a furrowed brow with dark-circled eyes, his lips pursed unconsciously with worry, trying not to consider the hearses that filled the forecourt. His teeth ached from the long periods that they had been clenched together, he had no appetite, he started at sudden sounds, he shunned the dark and lonely streets, he feared being followed. He did not look at the blank headstones that lined the walls – whenever he did that he saw his name carved into each and every one, followed by a short line about his violent and untimely death. He looked from the wet empty street to the urn on his dry empty desk. It was only a small urn, but it was heavily decorated with enamelled rhomboid patterns being terrorised by dragons. He toyed with his walking-cane and licked his lips. The urn did not move. It was inscrutable. He moved it back into the safe and snapped the door shut.