Road Trip

Been looking at trips to London. Hopefully it'll be a chance to seek out the sights and smells of older part of the city, parts that will allow the creative juices to flow once again.

Before I go next month I'll need to make a list of the areas which are still 17th 18th C in appearance. Bet the wife can't wait!

Other than that I think Hampton Court Palace and the Cabinet War Rooms will be on top of the agenda.

Can't Sleep

Been writing most of the evening - head full of ideas - pen can't keep up. Gonna take a break listen to some music to relax. It'll all make sense tomorrow....

A True Story - Part Two

Many months passed and the day began to loom upon which the man would leave his desk to begin his work as a fireman. His co-workers had never really believed it would happen and their reaction was one of total admiration.

"Yes he's leaving to become a fireman."

"Really! Why?"

The first co-worker smiled at the seconds surprise it was the same shock that he himself had felt many months before. "Because its what he wants to do," he said smiling as just for a moment he experienced that minute glimmer of surety within him.

"That must be nice," said the second co-worker, "you know, to do something that you really like. I mean I don't mind this job but you know to do something because you really want to do it."

"Well, what would you like to do?" asked the first co-worker to the second who shook their head unsure of how to answer.

For a moment a silence befell the group until a third person who had been listening to the conversation spoke up, seizing the moment to share their dreams by simply adding, "I'd like to be an author."

The stunned silence was shattered by a snigger and the dream died...






It seems in this cruel world some dreams are more real than others.

So is it a dream? Of course it is.
Is it dead? Of course it isn't.

What did all this mean? I'm not sure I know. I spend 8 hours a day staring at a PC and get paid for it. Do I enjoy it in the best possible sense? No. Yet at home I will choose to do the same and yet this time I am satisfied. I do not plough on through writer's block and research problems, frustrated and annoyed in the vain hope that one day I will finish my story to a fanfare of happiness and satisfaction. If I did I would not wish to write anymore. I enjoy the journey of writing itself and surely it is the enjoyment of this journey rather than the end which should bring me such pleasures. And that is how I know I want to write. And write I shall!

A True Story - Part One

"I've decided to leave my job and become a fireman," the man said suddenly.

"Really?" asked his bemused co-worker, for he knew that being a fireman would be completely different to the current desk job.

"Yes."

The co-worker thought for a moment, pensively considering whether the next question was appropriate. Eventually, curiosity overcame him and he spoke again, "Is it more money?"

"No," replied the first man, "Actually it is a bit less."

Now this is curious, thought the co-worker, why would someone leave a job that is secure and pays reasonably well to take on a lesser paid role that has unsociable hours.

"It will be a long time until I leave," continued the first man, "I need to undertake training and pass medicals and even then I might not get in."

The co-worker shook his head, "I just don't get it," he moaned with an air of despair, "why would you leave this job and take a pay cut to do that?"

The first man smiled, his eyes bright and alive, "I want to, thats why..."

Job satisfaction is an amazing thing. It cannot be measured in any conceivable way. It is not earned, it is as unique to every individual as every individual is unique to it. I cannot imagine going to an interview and asking "How much will this job satisfy me?" Rather than "How much will I get paid?"

And yet this thing, this unquantifiable thing means everything, for if I feel unsatisfied, then there is something missing from life and if that is the case can I be happy?

That is where my writing comes in. My ramblings and pretend authorings bring me little more than a personal fulfillment of happiness and satisfaction. But what more do I really need?

Now I'm thinking too hard. Time for a beer, a bet and some food in preparation for the footie. I will continue my musings another time.

Meet Nathaniel Cross

I wanted to write something that summed up the vision of Nathaniel Cross. Whilst he isn't necessarily a good man, he is the main character of the novel living life on the edge and surviving against the odds. He can have no mercy as he knows it is mercy that gets you killed.

It isn't what I thought I'd write as I started but it came out and though it isn't directly from the novel I thought I'd put it up here.

The shadowed form loomed menacingly above him as a bolt of lightning stitched the midnight sky, the sudden flash of light revealing little more than a silhouette. Its head was covered by a wide brimmed hat, angled low over the face. The nose and jaw were concealed behind the high collar of a fully buttoned long dark coat, the hem of which ended below the knees. The hands were buried inside a pair of dark black gloves and held a pistol threateningly towards him, its barrel glinting in the moonlight. Silently, the shape moved upon him as though it were an apparition of death itself and as it leveled the barrel of the pistol, a gloved finger began to tighten slowly on the trigger. Only the eyes were visible and these offered no compassion as a sudden flare from the pan and a crack from the weapon split the air with a brutal finality. And as life faded from him he could see only the savage eyes burning back, beholding their moment of revenge through the grey smoke which danced heavenward from the barrel of the spent pistol as high above them both the rolling boom of thunder echoed warlike across the heavens.

Communications Disruption Can Mean Only One Thing...

Fortunately in my case, unlike Sio Bibble in the Phantom Menace, it did not mean invasion.

However, it did mean no internet for 3 days which is almost as bad. "Aliens stole my broadband!" screamed the front page of the local rag. I have never needed to look at a google map, buy something online so much in my life than for those 3 days.

I even had the desire to compare car insurance prices just because I knew that I couldn't.

Turns out that Virgin Media had done something their end which had effectively killed a large number of cable modems. Do they know they delayed my research into 17th and 18th Century weapons? Do they care?

Actually looking at my bookmarks in Chrome is kind of scary. There's a few too many weaponry sites along with pages relating to vice, gentleman clubs and Victorian Crime. If the wife sees that lot she'll probably wish it had been porn.

I also applied for a promotion at work and am ecstatic to have been successful. Hopefully this means more money, a cushier role and more time to do the work I love which is pretending to write. Somehow though I doubt it.

Its just another piece of life that threatens to stop the release of our graphic novel. My good mate Chris Taylor who is preparing the artwork for the graphic novel has also just changed jobs so its a busy and successful time for both of us.

So with everything wonderful I will return to the novelisation of our project. It's such a shame that the Thief Taker's London conjours up a desperate vision of crime and corruption, with cobbled streets awash with rivers of blood. I'm in too much of a good mood for that I think a re-write is in order and I shall change the setting to a village fete. Chapter One - The Case of the Missing Marrow. Sounds like a new hit for Sunday evening tv.

Back to Work - Nooooooooooooooo!

Curses of real life. How can you concentrate writing when you being told to do mundane jobs by your boss. I know I have to pay the bills but its just not fair. My mind is a prisoner to capitalism and it needs to break free.

Against all odds I'm still buggering on. Must go shouted for dinner. I need to eat...unfortunately...