A Memory: Terracotta Turtle

Siena, Italy

As part of World Book Day yesterday, the authors over at The Edge are doing a book giveaway. Each author is giving away one of their books. Now, I'll be straight up and say that I want to win, but it would seem a bit strange if I had no competition, so go over to this post over at The Edge and follow the instructions to have a chance of winning books by Miriam Halahmy, Keren David, Bryony Pearce, Paula Rawsthorne, Sarah Grant, Savita Kalhan, Katie Dale and Dave Cousins (more about him at a later date to be announced).

A Memory: Red sky at night

My view

If you can tear your eyes away from my red sky, voting for Rach Harrie's second challenge goes on until the 14th October. You can read my entry here and you can vote for me here. See you Monday when I shall be getting to know Rosalind Adams who writes in the rain

The 2nd Challenge

Right, well last week Rach Harrie (she of the 3rd Writers Platform-Building Platform Campaign) posted her second challenge. I didn't win the last one (did you notice?), but I did get through to the second round. Because of that I was determined to give this second challenge a try. Humph, but did she make it easier? To say this challenge is a stinker is understating things. See what you think: 


The Challenge is:

Write a blog post in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, whether flash fiction, non-fiction, humorous blog musings, poem, etc. The blog post should:

• include the word "imago" in the title
• include the following 4 random words: "miasma," "lacuna," "oscitate," "synchronicity,"

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional and included in the word count), make reference to a mirror in your post.

For those who want an even greater challenge (optional), make your post 200 words EXACTLY!

(taken from Rach Harrie's blog)


So after scratching my head for a few days. This is what I came up with. What do you think? If you like it  I am number #153 on the linky list. 


Changing Imago


They sit in silence on either side of the desk.

“No, too many letters.” His eyes scan the next clue. “You bore me beyond the Latin word?

“Latin for yawn.” He taps his forehead. “Oscitare, no, because that word is definitely synchronicity. But wait, it’s beyond latin, so in English, yes, that’s it, it’s oscitate.” He looks up, his eyes sparkling. “Am I right?”

“Absolutely.” She yawns.

“OK.” He squeezes his hands. “Los Angeles gap in the United Nations ABC. Lacuna, yes? Am I right?”

She nods and yawns again.

“Right, last one. A smelly foreboding of something unpleasant to come.”

She takes out a packet of cigarettes and lights one, inhales deeply and exhales. He looks into the smoke confused, then a smile cracks across his face.

“Of course! Miasma.” He slaps the paper down on the table. “Yes! I did it again. I am the king. Say it, I am the king of the killer crossword.”

“You are.”

“Aren’t you going to say it?” He frowns. “Since when did you smoke?”

“I’ve always smoked.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“I know.” She nods. “One across?”

“Imago.”

She picks up her handbag and flicks ash on the floor. “You aren’t mine.”

Who Started Your Dream? The winners

So about 15 days ago a bunch of bloggers got together and divulged all about WHO STARTED THEIR DREAM. As well as sharing with you the writers and books that encouraged us to first put pen to paper, we also offered a range of prizes. In total 161 of you commented and below you will find out the who the lucky winners were.

Zoe Rose commented on nine of the eleven posts. Unfortunately we couldn't find any contact info for her, but if she contacts Cat at katharina at katharinagerlach dot com (replace at with @ and dot with .) she will get an special prize.

Next up is Blueeyedadri who gets a signed copy of "Across the Universe" by Beth Revis.

J.A. Bennet gets a  signed copy of "Supernaturally"by Kiersten White.

Mina Burrows gets a  copy of "Crash Into Me" by Albert Borris.

Joanne Fritz wins a coupon for William L. Hahn’s heroic fantasy "Fencing Reputation".

Small Town Shelly Brown wins the eBook "The Witches of Greenwitch".

Michael Di Gesu gets an eBook-excerpt "Chasing the Grimm Reaper".

Rusty Webb gets a 30 page critique.

Kim gets a  25 pg critique.

Tina Moss gets a 20 page critique.

Alex J. Cavanaugh gets the first 500 words intensive critique.

It was really interesting to see who got us all started and especially to read your comments and find out who you guys discovered, or where you agreed with us.

The campaign continues until the end of August and there are lots of things going on. Check out Rach Harrie's friday post for a round up of Campaign events. Currently Rach is running the 2nd Challenge, a 200 word post that includes five specific words.

Lastly, if you would like to get to know some more campaigners, join me tomorrow to get to know Michelle Flick from Oh! For the the love of books.

Right, I'm going to have a crack at the challenge now. 

A Book Review: The Road

Title: The Road
Author: Cormac McCarthy
Published: Picador, 2009


Synopsis: A father and his son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. It is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls it is gray. The sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don't know what, if anything, awaits them there. They have nothing; just a pistol to defend themselves against the lawless bands that stalk the road, the clothes they are wearing, a cart of scavenged food-—and each other.
from Amazon.com

Star parts:  I bought this book because it was recommended to me by three people. Two of them tried to tell me about the book without telling me too much, but explained that they had been profoundly moved by the book.

The story unfolds in a post apocalyptic world. I think one of the things that was so horrifying in the book is that it was all so plausible. Nothing rang false, the sights McCarthy described, the sounds, the smells, it just all seemed so plausible. The boy is experiencing a world lacking in innocence and it makes the readers heart bleed. All the boy and the father have is each other, they are each others hope, they are what makes it bearable to keep reading. 

The road is horrific while not being a horror book. It's a beautiful and tender love story between father and son. The descriptions are haunting and throughout it all there is the grey ash that covers everything. It is a moving book for many reasons, not just because I wept all through the final pages and had to go back and read it. The final paragraph is hauntingly beautiful, but after having read the book to me it was actually a chilling lesson.

Black clouds: It's not bedtime reading, which is unfortunately when I do the bulk of my reading. Still that's a personal gripe and thankfully a loooong drive to Italy provided me with all the time I needed to finish the book.  

 Do I recommend it: Totally, it will make your heart break and sing at the same time. 

A different kind of review: ABBA lit fest

I've never been to a literary festival before, although I suppose they're rather like teaching conferences where you go to meet people, charge your batteries and get re-inspired. I imagine that there are those at festivals who take copious notes, and those who doodle a lot in the margin, giggle and make comments to the person sitting next to them and write key words down, which leaves them scratching their heads when they get home. ABBA lit fest wasn't like that. For a start it was online (and still is if any of you somehow managed to miss it or have ignored its existence).

After going through the programme, I dutifully went to my google calendar and created alerts based on writers that I have connected with in some way through Twitter, blogs or Litopia, but in the end I read/watched ALL the posts. And despite not getting to meet other people or doodle (yep folks that's me I was describing) I do feel re-inspired and there was so much to learn.

So without further ado these are my highlights, purely subjective and whatnot.

1. Leila Rasheed's 300 words post takes us on a step by step journey through what makes a good opening. Fantastic.
2. All but one of the competitions is open until 20th July, you have nine days, so go for it. 
3. Anne Rooney and Mary Hoffman. They do spend half the video looking for a multi-millionaire, but watch it because it's really funny. 
4. Wendy Meddour's tale of how she did not become an actress is hysterical and there is a cute little drawing to go with it. 
5. John Dougherty - it may seem just like a competition but scroll down to the video.
6. Linda Strachan and Cathy MacPhail's reflection on Arvon - I would love to go to one.
7. I've learnt my lesson about research (maybe), but Jane Eagland's post will help you along the way if you are still battling. 
8. Then there's the little boy who interviews Emma Barnes, he, his curls, his pile of books and his questions are priceless. 
9. Katherine Langrish's post on Magical Rooms gives you plenty to think about and I'm definitely looking at my MC's room differently. 

This is my SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE moment. You know how all but one of those competitions are open to the 20th July. Well, if you've peeked at the posts that I really wanted to read, Michelle Lovric's was one that I was particularly interested in. If I tell you that in my 'to be read' pile is Helen Dunmore's Ingo maybe you'll understand where I'm coming from with this one. Anyway, this competition was for the first three people who answered. And *hee hee* I was one of the first three, SQUEE.

Finally, I'd just like to say THANK YOU to all those people at ABBA who gave up their time and organised this for us aspiring/wannabe/gonnabe writers. I've had a great weekend (well it was a bit of a long weekend if we include this morning's more leisurely perusal) and I'm now going to go and have a good hard look at my first three hundred words. 

Stand up for your right to Camp

That’s right, me who hates camping says, 'Stand up for your right to CAMP!'

The Camp for Climate Change is going to be somewhere in the vicinity of Heathrow Airport on the 14^th – 21^st August 2007. The Camp for Climate Change is an awareness raising activity which aims to make customers flying out of Britain this summer aware of the damage CO₂ is causing to the environment and the part that air traffic has to play in that. I’m not sure how much awareness will be raised at the airport when little Jimmy has run off with his brother’s PS2 and the lady with the highlights in front is having a hissy fit because she can’t take the ten litres of gunk she spreads all over her face in her hand luggage, but that’s not my point. My point is that BAA tried to stop the whole thing. BAA, a huge airport authority making mega wonga took on three individuals and took them to court under some ‘harassment’ law and said they would disrupt the running of the airport. The harassment law that BAA’s many lawyers spent many hours discovering to stop this planned bedevilment taking place on their hallowed grounds is intended to be used to stop ‘stalkers’ and the likes. Seeing as BAA is not strictly speaking ‘a person’ but a huge corporation I do not entirely understand who John Stewart (of the Heathrow Campaign Against Aircraft Noise) and Josh Garman and Leo Murray (of the anti-aviation group Plane Stupid) were supposed to be stalking. Unfortunately, they will now not be taking part in The Camp for Climate Change, but many others will be. George Monbiot’s article is far more eloquent than mine, but I agree when he says that this isn’t only about protecting the planet we live on, but protecting our democratic voice. If we allow big businesses to deny us of our freedom of speech we might as well accept that the battle to drastically lower CO₂ emissions is lost. If on the other hand you remember the Poll Tax and you live near Heathrow, maybe you’ll join Monbiot and the others to make the people’s voice heard.

Also the results of The Clarity of Night 'Halo' contest came out. I should have mentioned it yesterday but was suffering a bad case of ‘Can’t string a sentence together’ due to insomnia! Congratulations to all of you who entered and especially those who won prizes and honourable mentions. There was a huge amount of entries this time and there was a moment there when I thought I wasn’t going to get through all the stories, but I did. And off the top of my head two of the entries I voted for were placed.

A quick update.

This is a very very quick post to say that my entry for the Halo short fiction contest is up. My entry is no. 31. I like the fact that it's 31, because tomorrow is the 31st and tomorrow is my birthday.

Right back to chapter 15, it's getting exciting if I say so myself, so I better finish writing it.

Dent in the Armour

Last night I lay on my sofa whacked out from my mammoth walk yesterday and had a few moments of self doubt. Not having the courage to tackle Parisian summer traffic had knocked a little dent in me. For a few moments I just wished I was this different person. Not too different you know, just one who was a little better co-ordinated, who didn’t trip over her own feet, who could signal she was turning left without the whole bike lurching left as well, who knew her left from right, who was a little ... Hang on I then thought, I’m not that bad, I chuck myself of high things every year, I’ve done a parachute jump, I enjoy all things watery. The difference is that I do the things I do because I know I’m safe, tackling the streets of Paris when you don’t even know the Highway Code is just stupid. But (the dent hadn’t quite popped out yet), I wish I could do a cartwheel. The little moth fluttering around the room searching for light heaved its wings in a shrug and rolled its antennae.

Then this morning I trawled through the news. I considered subscribing to the Guardian Weekly, but I think they need to do their maths. You get the four first issues free, yet a year’s subscription is still more expensive then buying it from them at their weekly rate of 2.45€!

Next up was the fact that Rasmussen the current yellow jersey holder of the Tour de France, had been chucked out by his team for suspected doping and that the whole team were thinking of pulling out too. Now I know this may not interest you, but hang on in there a second. I am not a huge sports fan, I watch big football competitions and I admire the stamina and endurance that goes into the Tour de France (and the scenery). Although I have very very little in common with these sports people, the one thing we do share is determination; we all want to do well in what we do. The big difference though is that writers can’t cheat, there isn’t a magic drug that will suddenly make their writing immensely better, we have to work at it. I shook my head as I read about the doping scandals that have plagued this years Tour. I’m wondering whether to even bother to go to the last stage on Sunday. The barriers are already being put in place, but it just seems silly, I’ve been routing for Chicken man (Rasmussen) and now it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

So I guess it was kind of cheering to read about 33 year old Luke Bream who is cycling the Tour de France on his own. He is doing each stage a day ahead of the main tour. His mum keeps him going from her camper van, feeding him Jam butties and Coca-cola! He seems to have the crappiest diet of any rider on the tour, but he’s giving it a go. Maybe I’ll look out for Luke on Saturday when he is due in Paris. In the meantime, I’m going to keep persevering; at the writing, I’ll save the bike riding for the Bois de Boulogne or Vincennes where there is no traffic.

Oh and if you need to persevere with your writing don’t forget that Jason Evans is running his 6^th Short Fiction Contest over at The Clarity of Night and that Maht at Moon Topples will open his 3^rd Contest next Wednesday (the day after a very important day). Oh and on the same day the First issue of Blagger by Opening Chapter (aka Skint writer) will be coming out.

Wheels Keep Turning

I’m alive!

And why shouldn’t I be? You may be asking. Did she have a near death experience?

Well the answer is no, although I could be accused of having suicidal tendencies.

See it started like this. In my neglected blog inbox I found a series of e mails which started very politely and dare I say complimentary and ended up somewhere along the lines of: ‘Are you reading my bloody e mails or what?’ I decided that truth was the best answer and replied that I had actually forgotten that I had the blog email, but I would put everything else aside and get on with the proposed task. Part I of the task did not involve a great deal of effort as I was sitting in the right place to do it. Part II involved taking pictures in 5 different locations around the city. Now normally this would not be a problem to one equipped with a navigo pass (like an oyster pass in the UK apart from one small difference) except it’s the holidays and it’s not charged up. Also, after my last venture on the metro these holidays I was a wee bit frightened. Before even getting on the metro the pongiest guy ever sat down next to me. I loitered as the train pulled in then rushed into the next carriage. BAM! It was like walking into a furnace. Mopping my brow, I happily got off to change metros and was pleasantly surprised when the next train was neither packed nor stifling. At the next stop I felt all the hairs in my nostrils curl up and try to retreat backwards as the cheesiest smell ever attacked me. As I turned to my right I spotted the offending feet in a pair of cheap rubber sandals. If it had been a French guy or English speaking tourist, I was so offended I may have told them the best thing they could do with those sandals was throw them away.

Anyway back to the point, so five locations, no charged up metro card, what could I do? And then in a flash of madness it came to me: Velib. Like I say it was a flash of madness, by the time I met Colleen yesterday evening for an aperitif after my afternoon constitutional I was already having second thoughts. I started: “I’ve been thinking about this Velib thing, I’ve looked at the map and to get from Concorde to St. Paul you have to go along the Quai (three lanes of traffic to you), there’s no other direct route.” The thing is there was a mad kind of zeal in Colleen’s eyes and I knew there was no way I was convincing her otherwise, she was going to do Velib tomorrow even if it killed me.

After many hours on spent on Mappy and staring at my Paris Pratique I realised that it’s absolutely impossible to drive around Paris (according to Mappy a bicycle is not a vehicle). I realised I didn’t know the road code (or whatever it’s called) and I remembered very clearly the terror of the last time I had ridden a bike.

When my alarm went off this morning (I was already awake), I sent Colleen a text telling her I was too young to die (even if Adrian Mole has decided that I am middle aged – bastard!) Unfortunately Colleen didn’t get it until she was already on the metro with the bike helmet attached to her bag.

I took the first set of pictures and the dreaded moment arrived. I decided to go first up seeing as to be honest I didn’t even know if I could still ride a bike, but in the end it turns out it’s like sex, you don’t forget. One of the waiters in the restaurant by the bike stand even came out and said I looked charming on the bicycle. So I made damn sure that after I had cycled round the block he didn’t see me slamming the bloody hulk of a thing back into its holder.

There is no way I am ever going to cycle around Paris. Colleen met me at Odeon after I had walked a bit then got over my temporary fear of metros. She said cycling was fine and the biggest danger was pedestrians. I think I tripped over at that point.

Anyway, I’ve done it, I’ve tried it. The bikes are easy to hire, easy to ride, but ... I’m a pedestrian and proud of it.

So other news on the bloggernet is that I can’t leave comments because Blogger is playing up and Jason Evans over at The Clarity of Night has just opened his 6^th Short Fiction Contest. Right, where’s the wine?

A wee announcement or so

Hey all, I've cut and pasted this from The Shameless Lions Writing Circle:

The judging of the lions and poems/prose pieces commences this Wednesday, June 27.

There are Jury AND Writers' Choice Awards, so YOUR vote is needed!

A jury of five independent people chosen by Seamus will pick their favourites and award the following Jury Prizes on Friday, July 13:

Best poems/prose pieces: (winners receive book vouchers and special prize badges to place on their blogs).

Jury Prize 1st Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €20.
Jury Prize 2nd Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €15.
Jury prize 3rd Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €10.
Jury Prize 4th Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €5.
Jury Prize 5th Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €5.

Best looking lions: (winners will have their lions highlighted in a sidebar on this blog and they will be provided with special prize badges to display on their own blogs).

Jury Prize 1st Place: Badge for winning blog.
Jury Prize 2nd Place: Badge for winning blog.
Jury Prize 3rd Place: Badge for winning blog.
Jury Prize 4th Place: Badge for winning blog.
Jury Prize 5th Place: Badge for winning blog.

There will also be Members' Choice Awards announced on July 13.

Best poems/prose pieces: (winners receive an Amazon book voucher and special prize badges for their blogs).

Members' Choice Award 1st Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €10.
Members' Choice Award 2nd Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €5.
Members' Choice Award 3rd Place: Amazon gift voucher worth €5

Best looking lions: (winners will have their lions highlighted in a sidebar on this blog and they will be provided with special prize badges to display on their own blogs).

Members' Choice Award 1st Place: Badge for winning blog.
Members' Choice Award 2nd Place: Badge for winning blog.
Members' Choice Award 3rd Place: Badge for winning blog.

RULES:

1. Members can cast their votes in the Members' Choice categories between June 27 and July 11 . Please choose your top TEN favourite pieces/lions (excluding your own and mine - Seamus at Shameless Words!) and rank them in order of preference, with the first line of your list (first choice) being your top choice. Please do not vote for your own pieces/lions! Also, please do not vote for my (Seamus Kearney) lion or poem!

Please write voting papers like this, not forgetting to Seamus who you are:

First poem/prose choice: name of blog (ie top choice, overall favourite)
Second poem/prose choice: name of blog
Third poem/prose choice: name of blog
(etc)
Tenth poem/prose choice: name of blog (ie 10th on list of favourites)

First lion choice: name of blog (ie top choice, overall favourite)
Second lion choice: name of blog
(etc)

2. Votes must be sent only by email to seak@caramail.com AFTER June 27 and BEFORE July 11.

3. The same member can win in one or more categories. A member who gets a jury prize may also win a members' choice award.

4. Please only consider the short poem/piece of prose (48 words or under) that appears in each member's individual listing. Do not take into account any longer pieces that have been added to the listings.

5. Book vouchers will be ordered on the Amazon site of the country you live in. Where there is no Amazon site, cash may be sent in the post. The vouchers will be organised in the week starting July 23. You will be sent the voucher via email with a code to use on Amazon.

6. The jury's decision is final and no correspondence will be entered into about the list of winners.

7. Please do spread the word on your blogs about the contest, to get people visiting and commenting on all of the individual poems/prose pieces.

Do you think I've spread the word?

As well as commenting on the poems/prose pieces over at the circle, I've added a button called 'Endelyn's Mates'. If you click on that you will be taken at random to the blog of one of the other 47 members of the circle.

And while we are talking about Circles and writing and what not, pop over to Minx's. She's got a great idea and wants to know what we think about it.

Right, now I have to go and force out a bunch of words. I'm being paid to do it, but boy I don't want to...

five hundred and twenty five thousand and six hundred minutes

May

The Cow Parade came to town, I started blogging and I met Shameless, Minx, Marie, Debi and Skint for the first time.

June

I completely fucked up booking my ticket to Bali and decided that this was my favourite Eiffel Tower pic. Funny that’s not the one that’s printed and put on my wall.

July

I found a new flat, got attacked by moths, washing powder and various other things. France got to the final of the World Cup and lost (I didn't post about that) and I tootled off on holiday.

August

I returned from holiday with fantastic toes and discovered as I moved that I had a lot of STUFF.

September

I reminisced about KECAK.

October

I fell in love with Julian Barnes and was cruelly silenced.

November

I remained cruelly silenced as my modem lights continued to NOT blink, my phone continued to NOT have a dial tone and France Telecom tried to lead me to an early grave.

December

The Fifty Word Challenge was issued. Glad it wasn't a competition because I still can't decide on my favourite

January

I came 4th in The Clarity of Night's Silent Grey short fiction competition. How many times did I mention that one?

February

I went to Berlin and fell in love with this little guy below. And THIS post is the one that draws more new visitors to my site than any other. I won't write the title again because frankly I'm in shock at the amount of people searching for this and I don't want to repeat the incident again!

March

Matt at Turbo Art interpreted me and that little Minx in Cornwall outed me. Bloody cheesy photo.

April

I went to Lyon and saw Shameless's play (well the one he did the music for) and Tacky Rover where I belly danced (not) and got mad at tourists and Sego and Sarko got through to 2nd round of the presidential elections (see below)^.

May 1^st

122 posts later A Wanderer in Paris celebrates one year today.

In the past year I’ve made some bloggy mates, learnt not to do the horrendously long posts I did at the beginning, written poetry again (I’m not saying it’s any good, but I’m gonna keep on doing it), written loads and seem to have cut down on swearing in the blog posts (so I thought I'd catch up today!). It’s been great. Hope to carry on seeing you guys

Happy ONEIVERSARY to me!

And the winners are...

So woke up, checked excitedly and … nope I didn’t win The Clarity of Night short Fiction Contest, but click on the link in the side bar and find out who did. I also visited quite a few other blogs this morning who also didn’t win, but hey ho.

But what is it that makes a winner?

If it was up to me it would be something that was completely different, original. It would be something that spoke to the bottom of my heart, a voice in my head. It would be outstanding writing; sentences that flowed and sang through careful crafting rather than being crippled by punctuation.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? When I started writing again seriously (goddamn is it already almost two years!) a friend of mine kept telling me to check the judges out when I entered competitions; find out what the the judges were looking for. In the end it’s all perspective. It’s what makes me pick that book up from the shelf and you turn around and say: ‘No, not my cup of tea really.’

So do you know what I think? I think we’re all winners really because at least we are putting ourselves out there and having a go.

Tomorrow the GBA(s)FC#2 over at Moon Topples starts. Skint Writer is also running a competition that closes on the 30^th June. And here is a link for a bunch more competitions if competition be your thing.

Right I’m going to go and have breakfast. The only problem with sustained writing periods is that I forget to eat and ended up swaying all over the place last night and having to watch TV instead of write and take one of those awful turbofart tablets.

Tong!

Today I bought some new sandals. I tend to go straight from boots to sandals with a short interlude via a well worn much loved pair of trainers. Anyway, I knew I really wanted a pair of Birkenstocks because I bought a fake pair last year and they are dying a death and they are so very comfortable. So after a false start, I found a suitably varied selection and bought a pair. I was kind of excited and wanted to show you all, so I searched for a picture on the internet. Instead I found an online store: millions of them, and all more gorgeous than the last, and all so much cheaper than in the shops.

You see the moral of this story is that if I hadn’t been so impatient to get it done, I would have done so much better. Grrr.

My entry is up for the Endless hour competition here.

Where's Verilion in Travel Land?

Well folks I'm off again. I'm going somewhere in Turkey where I hope to spend most of the week in a horizontal position and to come back with nothing more than some extra kilos. To keep you amused while I'm gone I have prepared a wee slide show, dating from 1998 to now! Actually there's only one photo from 1998, but never mind. The idea is match the photos with the place and to come first place find ME in all the photos. I will be providing a wee prize to whoever gets all the answers right. It will either be your very own note book from the sexy range I've discovered up the road or a book voucher of roughly the same value (in case you have discovered your own sexy range of notebooks and are as anal as me at choosing notebooks). I may offer a second prize if you match all the places. Oh all right, I will, but it might just be a mouldy old bit of cheese!
I'm back next Thursday so the competition ends then. And Minx if you're going to party then clear up after yourself!

Ok the places in alphabetical order are:

• Near Bourges - France
  
• Dublin - Ireland
  
• Greenwich, London - England
• Fountainbleu - France
  
• Lyon - France
  
• Nicaragua
  
• Nearish to Osmington Bay - England
  
• Plaza Mayor - Spain
  
• Port Louis - Mauritius
  
• Sahara Desert - Tunisia
• Sanur - Bali
  
• Tate Modern - London

Oh and by the way I assure you that YES my bum does look enormous in some of these but thankfully it seems to have reached it's peak and gone down somewhat.

Ta da daa ta da da da da daaaaa

(That's the sound of the heralds blowing their trumpets by the way.) The computer is downstairs being stripped and fixed so I'm posting for work. Apologies for formatting and if the side bar has gone nuts. But anyway, get on with the post...

Yes, why are heralds blowing their trumpets? Is that what you're asking? Well tootle over to The Clarity of Night, because the results for the Silent Grey competition are posted and I came 4th. Yes, little old me. OK, I know it's not first, or second, or even third, but hey I'm used to not winning anything, so 4th is great for me.

Shameless got an honorable mention and I'd also like to thank Minx for pointing out the competition in the first place.

A Wee Bit of Trumpet Blowing

Well, I finally did it, I finally entered one of these bloggy competitions, you can read me here. You can also read me here. To kick start the challenge here are my five hundred words.

She had nothing more than luck and good timing on her side the day she locked me away. But one day I would be free, I just hope that she didn’t kill herself before I could. On my timescale fifteen years was nothing, but she had achieved what lesser demons only dreamed of and that PISSED-ME-OFF. And believe me, I am not someone you want to piss off; not when you’ve let me into your deepest fears.

Her hold had been diminishing for some time now and one day my world shook and a crack appeared, just a slither of light seeped through into my prison, but it was enough for me to slip through and there she lay. In fifteen years the Crystal lady had eaten away at her nostrils and flesh leaving a skin covered sack of bones. No make up could cover up the fact that this mistress had tried to forget me; it almost made me smile.

When she woke up she turned the place upside down looking for the powder for her nose. I heard her crying and moaning, she knew it was somewhere and I knew exactly where it was and finally she saw me. “Fuck!” She exhaled. “You! It can’t...” She trembled and her red-rimmed eyes brimmed over and spilled salt.

“Now don’t tell me you didn’t realise this day would come.”

“I, I, I...” She staggered around the room until her eyes fell on the box in my hand. “Fuck!”

“It’s in here. What you’re looking for.” I opened the box and the sweet poppy smell filled the room.

She fell onto her bony knees, grappling at my legs. “I’m sorry, you scared me. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“When did you not know what you were doing? The day you sold me your soul or the day you locked me away?” Dribble oozed from the side of her mouth as her eyes begged forgiveness. “It’s in here Lara,” I waved the box in front of her again. “Take it.” I waved the box before her.

“What is it?” Her feral nose wrinkled at the end.

“What you desire.”

“You tricked me before.” She curled up onto her haunches. I raised an eyebrow. “Just tell me?” She begged.

“Are you scared to look?” I took her by the wrist. “You were scared that day weren’t you? The day you held on and couldn’t look.”

“I couldn’t look. All that water, all those bodies.” Her body quivered as I laid her on the bed.

“And I took that away for you didn’t I?” I stroked her feverish forehead and opened the box a crack.

“What is it? It’s so blue?” She craned forward.

“It’s the sea my darling.” I cooed as I pushed her in and kept her under.

In the end the coroner wrote ‘drug overdose’ on her death certificate. He couldn’t bring himself to write drowning on an official document when she lived two thousand metres above sea level.

Copyright, 2007, Verilion

The Wrong Picture

The other day I saw a link on Minx's blog for a writing competition: 'Silent Grey' Short Fiction Competition. I'm quite into short short fiction at the mo, so I thought I'd have a go, but my computer was playing up pretty badly that day and I only got a wee smidgen of a look before I was distracted by other stuff and then the computer crashed and then I got started and then I got finished and then I looked at the site again and then I realised that what I thought I had seen was not actually what I had seen. But seeing as I've written it anyway...

The last time I saw him if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in myself maybe I would have noticed that for a bloke of his size he wasn’t supposed to be that size.

“Do you remember that nutty woman who used to stalk you in the cemetery?

I laughed remembering how my pubescence had hidden her black cloak and wild hair, I had seen breasts, a pretty face and my imagination ran wild until the day I had mistakenly tried to engage her in conversation and found myself momentarily locked into her insanity by her wild eyes. “Where is he? They put him here.” She scared the shit out of me and until today I hadn’t set foot in this cemetery again.

“Adam fancied the local crackpot, looking for her dead husband’s grave.” Christy burst into a lung spilling cough that he called laughter. “She said he’d died of influenza.” Christy’s red face could barely spit out the last words. “In 1875!” I should have noticed the way Caroline was looking at him.

Through grey drizzle I found a splash of floral colour, it had to be him: the grave was fresh and no headstone marked his spot. Plastic covered cards bid Christy Whelan farewell and I sank to my knees to do the same. “Sorry I was late,” I mumbled.

Behind me a voice I remembered sang out: “Christy Whelan. He died of influenza.”

Turning to see her face I said: “I thought you were her.”

Copyright, 2007, Verilion