I don't know what it is at the moment but there is a certain sense of apathy about me just now. I can't get into the swing of things. Since I was forced to have a break from work for a month without pay due to lack of work, I seem to have started coming apart at the seams. It all just gets to hard at the moment. I'm back at work now but it feels like the world changed in that month I was away and now I have to find my niche again. It all feels too daunting.
Life can be a cruel mother, always when you feel you have a handle on it, the handle breaks. If your lucky, you only get skinned knees but mostly of course you come off worse than that. I feel like that at the moment, it could just be that 2010 was a crap year and I'm feeling the effects of the fallout from it. I have seen the results of the GFC, we may not have had a recession here in oz but the ripple effect is present for all to see and to feel. Sometimes you know when you've had enough don't you.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Body Jump Prologue Revisited.
A couple of months back I posted the Body Jump prologue. Now I love this story and the characters in it. Since its first posting it has been worked and reworked again & again, so now I can put up the final edit, this is what you will read when it comes out in hard copy or E format. A big thanks once again to Maggie Anderson for her unwavering help and support with this, as well as her belief in Body Jump
Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming. Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the one thing she can’t get accustomed to. A uniformed Sergeant leads Susan to the apartment where Bryce is already working the scene. The cop hesitates at the open door. The putrid smell of rotting flesh wafting into the hallway is enough to turn his stomach, although he's a seasoned cop and has seen his fair share of murder victims, he doesn't want to see what’s waiting for the detective in that bedroom.
Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up the phone.
‘What have you got for me, Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she’s been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.
Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘How could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.
Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks. As if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.
Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim.’
‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’
‘Do we know that for certain?’
‘Forensics hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at the bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard the silk has embedded into her skin. I can only assume he removed her hands and feet for trophies. I’m hoping she was dead at this point. Lack of blood seems to suggest it. Could be the bindings acted as tourniquets.’
Susan looks intently. ‘It’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not.’
‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but none of the previous victims were flayed. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’
Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up. ‘Not sure, Jim, it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’
‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz. Age 32.’
Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush into his head, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood spattered walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.
Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth, and tries to dislodge the thought. All of a sudden, he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention - he can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen. And he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or a hacksaw anywhere. Both cops try to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.
‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’
Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’
‘No...I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’
‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take. I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.
‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’
Susan nodded. ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body can be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’
Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake. He concentrates on the blank eye sockets staring up at him. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, where is her soul now?
The detectives stand at the bloody bedside in silence, until Susan turns to Bryce and says, ‘Where the hell do we start?’
Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming. Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the one thing she can’t get accustomed to. A uniformed Sergeant leads Susan to the apartment where Bryce is already working the scene. The cop hesitates at the open door. The putrid smell of rotting flesh wafting into the hallway is enough to turn his stomach, although he's a seasoned cop and has seen his fair share of murder victims, he doesn't want to see what’s waiting for the detective in that bedroom.
Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up the phone.
‘What have you got for me, Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she’s been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.
Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘How could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.
Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks. As if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.
Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim.’
‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’
‘Do we know that for certain?’
‘Forensics hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at the bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard the silk has embedded into her skin. I can only assume he removed her hands and feet for trophies. I’m hoping she was dead at this point. Lack of blood seems to suggest it. Could be the bindings acted as tourniquets.’
Susan looks intently. ‘It’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not.’
‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but none of the previous victims were flayed. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’
Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up. ‘Not sure, Jim, it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’
‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz. Age 32.’
Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush into his head, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood spattered walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.
Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth, and tries to dislodge the thought. All of a sudden, he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention - he can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen. And he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or a hacksaw anywhere. Both cops try to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.
‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’
Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’
‘No...I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’
‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take. I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.
‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’
Susan nodded. ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body can be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’
Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake. He concentrates on the blank eye sockets staring up at him. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, where is her soul now?
The detectives stand at the bloody bedside in silence, until Susan turns to Bryce and says, ‘Where the hell do we start?’
Monday, November 1, 2010
Are Writers Broken? Part 2
I'm a bit melancholy at the moment and I'm not sure why. It could be the fact that I have no work for a few weeks, thanks to the GFC. It could be life or it could be the ghosts of the past haunting me again/still. I asked a few months back if all writers were broken and do we to try and mend ourselves with the soothing caress of the written word? I know from personal experience that this is true of myself. I haven't written for a couple of weeks and this could have something to do with my current state of mind.
It does seem that writing is an outlet through which I funnel my steam. Writing this blog right now is lifting the clouds. I sat down tonight not knowing what I was going to put up on my blog wall, but knew I had to write something. I must say I'm glad I have this blog here. I know that very few people read it but it is a comfort knowing it's here. So to those of you who do read this thank you, and know that I'm battling my demon's just like you are. So I guess that answers part 2 of the question. Yep still broken.
It does seem that writing is an outlet through which I funnel my steam. Writing this blog right now is lifting the clouds. I sat down tonight not knowing what I was going to put up on my blog wall, but knew I had to write something. I must say I'm glad I have this blog here. I know that very few people read it but it is a comfort knowing it's here. So to those of you who do read this thank you, and know that I'm battling my demon's just like you are. So I guess that answers part 2 of the question. Yep still broken.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Body Jump Prologue
Well here it is, the Body Jump Prologue. This is an adult story so you have been warned. This is to set the scene and lead the reader into the story and not too gently I might add. Please enjoy and feel free to comment on this Prologue. I must give a special thanks to Maggie Anderson for her wonderful support and encouragement with this prologue, thanks Maggs.
Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee 2010 ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming.
Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the thing that gives a sharp jolt and warns her of what she's about to witness. A uniformed cop leads Susan with hesitant steps to the room where Jim Bryce is waiting for her.
Bryce was still at the office when the call came in, Susan on the other hand had already left; She had a date and was ready for a night of passionless, animalistic sex.
Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up her phone.
‘What have you got for me Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she has been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.
Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘how could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.
Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks to himself, as if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.
Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim,’
‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’
‘Do we know that for certain?’
‘Forensics haven’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at her bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard that the silk has embedded into her skin. He’s removed her hands and feet for what I can only assume as trophies. I’m hoping at this point she was dead. Lack of blood seems to suggest this or it could just be that the bindings acted as tourniquets.’
Susan looks intently, ‘it’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not’
‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but there haven’t been any past victims that have been flayed before. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’
Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up when she answers. ‘Not sure, Jim it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’
‘Yeah she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’
‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz, she was 32.’
Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush at him, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood splatter around the walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.
Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it temporarily got stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth as he tries to rid himself of that thought. Then he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention. He can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen and he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or hacksaw anywhere. Both cops are trying to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.
‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’
Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’
‘No....I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’
‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take’
‘I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.
‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’
Susan nodded ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body could be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’
Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake, thinks Bryce as he surveys the annihilatory scene beneath him. The worst has to be the blank eye sockets. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then where is her soul now? Jim Bryce and Susan Claw heave a collective sigh.
Susan turns to Bryce and says. ‘Where the hell do we start?’
Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee 2010 ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming.
Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the thing that gives a sharp jolt and warns her of what she's about to witness. A uniformed cop leads Susan with hesitant steps to the room where Jim Bryce is waiting for her.
Bryce was still at the office when the call came in, Susan on the other hand had already left; She had a date and was ready for a night of passionless, animalistic sex.
Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up her phone.
‘What have you got for me Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she has been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.
Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘how could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.
Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks to himself, as if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.
Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim,’
‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’
‘Do we know that for certain?’
‘Forensics haven’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at her bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard that the silk has embedded into her skin. He’s removed her hands and feet for what I can only assume as trophies. I’m hoping at this point she was dead. Lack of blood seems to suggest this or it could just be that the bindings acted as tourniquets.’
Susan looks intently, ‘it’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not’
‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but there haven’t been any past victims that have been flayed before. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’
Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up when she answers. ‘Not sure, Jim it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’
‘Yeah she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’
‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz, she was 32.’
Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush at him, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood splatter around the walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.
Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it temporarily got stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth as he tries to rid himself of that thought. Then he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention. He can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen and he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or hacksaw anywhere. Both cops are trying to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.
‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’
Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’
‘No....I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’
‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take’
‘I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.
‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’
Susan nodded ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body could be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’
Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake, thinks Bryce as he surveys the annihilatory scene beneath him. The worst has to be the blank eye sockets. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then where is her soul now? Jim Bryce and Susan Claw heave a collective sigh.
Susan turns to Bryce and says. ‘Where the hell do we start?’
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Bloody Punctuation & Spelling
Regular followers of my blog will have noticed that I'm not the best with punctuation and spelling. Well I'm here to tell you that from this day forward, I'm not going to change.
Sorry, but to be honest, I can't promise something I just can't deliver on. My grasp of the English language is very weak and I'm painfully aware of that sad fact, it's pointed out to me on a regular bases. I'm no scholar and I've never professed to be. What I am is a trier, I try my best with everything. I excel at some things in my life but unfortunately fall short with others, punctuation and spelling are two that I fall down on.
So if after 47 yrs I have failed to understand it, I really don't think it's going to click into place anytime soon, much to the frustration of my family and friends. Now if they're frustrated then how do they think I feel about it?
What I can do is put together a great plot, with some wonderful characters thrown in the mix. So I can bake the cake but I can't do the icing, that I have to leave in the capable hands of others, thank goodness there are people in my life I can trust to do that. As for those of you I frustrate with my bad punctuation well I guess you had best not follow my blog, because it won't be changing any time soon. For those of you willing to stay, please enjoy the ride. I will be posting the edited prologue for Body Jump at my next blog post so keep a critical eye open for it.
Sorry, but to be honest, I can't promise something I just can't deliver on. My grasp of the English language is very weak and I'm painfully aware of that sad fact, it's pointed out to me on a regular bases. I'm no scholar and I've never professed to be. What I am is a trier, I try my best with everything. I excel at some things in my life but unfortunately fall short with others, punctuation and spelling are two that I fall down on.
So if after 47 yrs I have failed to understand it, I really don't think it's going to click into place anytime soon, much to the frustration of my family and friends. Now if they're frustrated then how do they think I feel about it?
What I can do is put together a great plot, with some wonderful characters thrown in the mix. So I can bake the cake but I can't do the icing, that I have to leave in the capable hands of others, thank goodness there are people in my life I can trust to do that. As for those of you I frustrate with my bad punctuation well I guess you had best not follow my blog, because it won't be changing any time soon. For those of you willing to stay, please enjoy the ride. I will be posting the edited prologue for Body Jump at my next blog post so keep a critical eye open for it.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Good News
I was mucking around on my iPad the other day when an email came in. Nothing too significant really, emails come in at all times of the day, but I don't normally hear them come in. When I looked, the email was titled, "Bad & Good." So I read on, it was from a guy I submitted three pieces of Flash Fiction to back in the early part of this year.
The email was to say that two of the three flash pieces had been selected and they were going into an anthology, along with the works of other Australian authors. I was overjoyed at this news, because as any other author will tell you, we rarely get acceptance letters. The letters we do receive are normally always rejections or just the normal bills from everyday life. I had even received conformation earlier in the year that the three pieces I'd sent were short listed and even this failed to move me towards excitement.
I guess after all this time I'm a bit jaded, because each time in the past I've gotten excited, the anti excitement police would bust down my front door and take no prisoners. Leaving me, to feel hollow once again. Ha! Not this time I can actually enjoy this moment and give myself a well deserved pat on the Back, all the while saying, it's about bloody time.
The email was to say that two of the three flash pieces had been selected and they were going into an anthology, along with the works of other Australian authors. I was overjoyed at this news, because as any other author will tell you, we rarely get acceptance letters. The letters we do receive are normally always rejections or just the normal bills from everyday life. I had even received conformation earlier in the year that the three pieces I'd sent were short listed and even this failed to move me towards excitement.
I guess after all this time I'm a bit jaded, because each time in the past I've gotten excited, the anti excitement police would bust down my front door and take no prisoners. Leaving me, to feel hollow once again. Ha! Not this time I can actually enjoy this moment and give myself a well deserved pat on the Back, all the while saying, it's about bloody time.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Three Questions
Today I'm posing three questions. I never meant too, but after putting these questions to a writing group and receiving so many varied answers, I just thought it would be interesting to post these questions on my blog.
Q1. What do you think is the colour of the wind?
Q2. What is the colour of your heart?
Q3. What is the colour of your tears?
Think about it and those of you that want to can post your answers in the comments.
Q1. What do you think is the colour of the wind?
Q2. What is the colour of your heart?
Q3. What is the colour of your tears?
Think about it and those of you that want to can post your answers in the comments.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Tax & Reflection
I have been sitting down today doing my personal taxes plus the taxes for the book; I have an appointment with the accountant tomorrow. When I did the tallying I found that as expected there were no profits and far more expenditure than I thought. I went around to visit my ailing mother after crunching the numbers and we discussed this, she said to me that I may not have banked a fortune or had broken even, but I have never seen you so happy.
God she's right! Just crunching numbers and doing the figures can be tough and depressing, but when I look back over the last year and think about the friendships I have made and the fun Anthony and I have had, the dollars spent mean nothing. What price happiness indeed. I would never have met some of the most wonderful people that are in my life now, had it not been for this book and for that, I'm truly grateful.
To Leigh, Maggie, Debbie, Kelly, Karen, Helen, Robin, Penny, & of course Anthony. Priceless!!!!
God she's right! Just crunching numbers and doing the figures can be tough and depressing, but when I look back over the last year and think about the friendships I have made and the fun Anthony and I have had, the dollars spent mean nothing. What price happiness indeed. I would never have met some of the most wonderful people that are in my life now, had it not been for this book and for that, I'm truly grateful.
To Leigh, Maggie, Debbie, Kelly, Karen, Helen, Robin, Penny, & of course Anthony. Priceless!!!!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Critique
I have recently joined a writers group. For the first 14 yrs I had done and been alone with my writing. So being around a group of writers was a daunting prospect. I was really nervous about submitting a piece for critiquing as I had this vision of people looking over the top of their glasses, all shaking their heads with extreme disapproval at what they had just read. It's what school was like for me, so that's what I was expecting when my turn came for submission.
What I did find was a group of dedicated people who really care about the other people sitting at the table. None of them were condescending, or put themselves above the others. Basically we are all the same so that's how we are all treated. I submitted a piece of flash fiction it's a piece I posted here around Christmas time, called 'Long Haul' originally titled 'Why' also posted here. I got so much helpful feedback that once I got the time, I sat down and sorted through the comments.
I felt like I was opening a Christmas present it was that good. I sorted through all the comments and tweaked the story once again pulling it tighter together. I'm lucky, the writers group I belong to is generous and caring, but I have heard horror stories about other writing groups. So thanks to Andrew,Jan,Kelly,Maggie,Deb,Robin and our group leader Karen. I'm glad to be part of the team.
What I did find was a group of dedicated people who really care about the other people sitting at the table. None of them were condescending, or put themselves above the others. Basically we are all the same so that's how we are all treated. I submitted a piece of flash fiction it's a piece I posted here around Christmas time, called 'Long Haul' originally titled 'Why' also posted here. I got so much helpful feedback that once I got the time, I sat down and sorted through the comments.
I felt like I was opening a Christmas present it was that good. I sorted through all the comments and tweaked the story once again pulling it tighter together. I'm lucky, the writers group I belong to is generous and caring, but I have heard horror stories about other writing groups. So thanks to Andrew,Jan,Kelly,Maggie,Deb,Robin and our group leader Karen. I'm glad to be part of the team.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Trials
Once again it's been a while since my last post. I try to get back here as often as possible, but life gets in the way. Since my last post I have changed jobs, my mother was taken seriously I'll and I had to train to get my forklift licence. All things that have caused me stress in one way or another. At my darkest point I found writing to be a comfort. I have used my words as a healing agent since I started writing, but while waiting for my mother to come out of her latest surgery, I used thoughts and memories of beauty to help me through the darkness.
It helped, I had something I could keep reading that helped me deal with situations out of my control. It's hard when life snatches the controls out of you hands and your flying on a wing and a prayer. I guess at times like these we all need comfort and understanding. It also shows us who we really are, I know that I went through a lot of stress and found it hard at times to deal with. But I got up every day and went to work as well as to the hospital and carried on as best as I could. Surly it's all we can do.
Everyone goes through this at one time or another, please don't be afraid to talk about it to your friends or family, they will support you and be there for you. I know this for a fact. I would like to thank everyone that has been there for me in the last two weeks, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, if you ever need me I will be there for you as well.
It helped, I had something I could keep reading that helped me deal with situations out of my control. It's hard when life snatches the controls out of you hands and your flying on a wing and a prayer. I guess at times like these we all need comfort and understanding. It also shows us who we really are, I know that I went through a lot of stress and found it hard at times to deal with. But I got up every day and went to work as well as to the hospital and carried on as best as I could. Surly it's all we can do.
Everyone goes through this at one time or another, please don't be afraid to talk about it to your friends or family, they will support you and be there for you. I know this for a fact. I would like to thank everyone that has been there for me in the last two weeks, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, if you ever need me I will be there for you as well.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Teacher
I found something today that I honestly thought had gone by way of the Dodo. It's something I wrote on the 17/6/1997 it's simply called, "Teacher." It's short and sweet and I think quite poignant. I'm not sure why I wrote it, but it was on my very first PC which died years ago. I actually found a hard copy and I'm so glad I did. Here is Teacher.
Teacher
The greatest teacher of wisdom is Pain
The finest teacher for learning is experience
The ugliest teacher is lust
The prettiest teacher is joy
The hardest teacher to understand is life
The strangest teacher is yourself.
Kev copyright 1997
Teacher
The greatest teacher of wisdom is Pain
The finest teacher for learning is experience
The ugliest teacher is lust
The prettiest teacher is joy
The hardest teacher to understand is life
The strangest teacher is yourself.
Kev copyright 1997
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Are Writers Broken?
Believe me, I'm not being flippant when I ask this, plus I will clarify the question. It's more an observation really I suppose, I know from personal experience that I heal when I write. You see I had a rough time as a kid and carried around my fair share of pain, yes I was broken and in need of repair. Writing did this for me, it allowed me to go to places in my head that I'd never been to before. It allowed me to explore areas that I would never have gone to otherwise. When you write fiction you can go where others fear to tread. You have the ability to explore the dark side of yourself and others, it's that part that is hidden away shunning the light of day.
I find it incredibly exhilarating to come up with story lines that make people say."Where the hell did that come from?" You draw on your own pain, you write from your very soul or what's left of it, and because you have been there, you know how to touch others with your words. I see it also with other writers, you only have to talk to them to know we are all coming from the same place. Most writers are extremely sensitive and wonderfully supportive, we are emotional and love music. I can't function without a tune running through my head. I especially love to write to music as do most writers I know. All the years I have been writing have also been years of healing for me. The one thing I worry about is that if I heal, will I lose my edge will my writing not be as powerful? If I suddenly start to love everything in sight will my words turn to flowers? Now that's a scary thought. I think for my own sanity I must stay a little broken, besides being normal is a little too weird, even for me.
So are writers broken? Are you a broken writer, or one that's healing like myself?
I find it incredibly exhilarating to come up with story lines that make people say."Where the hell did that come from?" You draw on your own pain, you write from your very soul or what's left of it, and because you have been there, you know how to touch others with your words. I see it also with other writers, you only have to talk to them to know we are all coming from the same place. Most writers are extremely sensitive and wonderfully supportive, we are emotional and love music. I can't function without a tune running through my head. I especially love to write to music as do most writers I know. All the years I have been writing have also been years of healing for me. The one thing I worry about is that if I heal, will I lose my edge will my writing not be as powerful? If I suddenly start to love everything in sight will my words turn to flowers? Now that's a scary thought. I think for my own sanity I must stay a little broken, besides being normal is a little too weird, even for me.
So are writers broken? Are you a broken writer, or one that's healing like myself?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Incredible Journey
When I started writing all those years ago, I had no idea of where it was truly going to take me. All I knew back then was that I had finally found the one thing in my life that had always been lacking and was completely untapped, my creativity. I had never been so happy and so busy all at once. Every day was a new adventure in research and story direction. Each new fact screamed at me and told me that it was a perfect piece for the jigsaw puzzle that is Dream Raider.
I have been on this incredible journey ever since and I don't want it to ever end. I love escaping and hiding, running through my own worlds, breathing the air of my own creation. When I write that's where I go, I am totally immersed in my own world. I experience the world through my characters eyes. When I'm in the zone, well lets just say I can't type fast enough. Dream Raider has given me far more than I ever thought possible, it has provided me with opportunities I would never have otherwise had. It has also provided more pleasure than I have ever experienced before with anything else I have achieved.
I have met some truly wonderful people through this book and can highly recommend this journey to anyone also contemplating it. "WARNING!" It is not easy and can be thankless and sometimes soul destroying. But just like every other thing in this life, you have to experience the bad to truly appreciate the good. Take it from me though the good stays while the bad fades, and the incredible journey continues.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
You can do it too.
When I started to hunt and peck on my first home pc, I had no idea what to do or how to write a novel. I was a complete novice, that's probably a good thing, I found my way in the dark by feel and by stumbling around. I started with a vision of a small story, about ten to fifteen pages and that was all. Once I started, the story started to grow as did the characters, I watched them all grow and fill out before my eyes, as did the storyline.
What started as five thousand words, turned into fifty thousand and one year later, I finished. I had no idea what I had started and how interesting the path was going to become. The best things to happen to me have all happened on this road that I discovered fourteen years ago. You don't have to be educated, you don't have to even have a complete story mapped out in your mind all you have to have is self belief. I never passed a single subject at school, my spelling and grammar give me grief to the extreme, as you are probably aware if you follow my blog.
Once again it never stopped me, but it did make it all a lot harder. Even today I suppose I do it tougher than a lot of my counterparts that have degrees or at least a better understanding of the English language. I was always the kid at the back of the class tearing his hair out just trying to grasp the basics in life. While all the others in the class were finished, I was still trying to understand the first question. But you know what, I did it, I finished my first novel at the age of thirty four. You can do it too.
What started as five thousand words, turned into fifty thousand and one year later, I finished. I had no idea what I had started and how interesting the path was going to become. The best things to happen to me have all happened on this road that I discovered fourteen years ago. You don't have to be educated, you don't have to even have a complete story mapped out in your mind all you have to have is self belief. I never passed a single subject at school, my spelling and grammar give me grief to the extreme, as you are probably aware if you follow my blog.
Once again it never stopped me, but it did make it all a lot harder. Even today I suppose I do it tougher than a lot of my counterparts that have degrees or at least a better understanding of the English language. I was always the kid at the back of the class tearing his hair out just trying to grasp the basics in life. While all the others in the class were finished, I was still trying to understand the first question. But you know what, I did it, I finished my first novel at the age of thirty four. You can do it too.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Eye's Open
I know I probably don't blog as much as I should, I struggle with this as I'm aware people like yourselves want to know and be updated regularly. Since my last blog things have really started to move. We have made significant inroads into major book chains where we are given some respect these days instead of being treated like something that is stuck to the bottom of their shoes. It's amazing isn't it how money talks, we proved ourselves in sales and the doors that were locked to us before were suddenly flung open.
The sad fact is that so many authors approach book stores today that they are tired of seeing them turn up. You are given a time and a date and expected to fail and go home, never to be seen again. Unfortunately this does happen all too often. I've been in this industry long enough now to see the train wrecks and the bodies strewn around the wreckage. I've been in a few myself, I certainly can't say I don't have any injuries or scars either.
This industry is just like every other, it's not glamorous or an easy ride. So many of us start out with stars in our eyes and blinkers on if you hang around long enough you start to realise that the stars are from the constant knocks your taking and the blinkers have been hiding the truth.
If you want your project to succeed then you have to make it happen, no one else is going to do it for you. Don't leave your work in the hands of others, they will let you down, no one will put as much effort into your work as you do. Third parties are the worst, things you can't do yourself and you trust others to do. They promise you the world and it all sounds great until they deliver, invariably late and to a sub standard. Frustrating is the word, when your heart and soul is there and others just trample all over it not caring.
On the other side of the coin you can also be lucky and find a few that are as considerate as you are. Hang on to these they are worth their weight in gold. We do have a couple like this and are grateful of it, but they are few and far between.
It's not all doom and gloom but I want you to be aware that it is important to go in with your eyes wide and your mind alert. Don't be fooled by someone shining you on, take everything said with a grain of salt. I don't want to see another train wreck.
The sad fact is that so many authors approach book stores today that they are tired of seeing them turn up. You are given a time and a date and expected to fail and go home, never to be seen again. Unfortunately this does happen all too often. I've been in this industry long enough now to see the train wrecks and the bodies strewn around the wreckage. I've been in a few myself, I certainly can't say I don't have any injuries or scars either.
This industry is just like every other, it's not glamorous or an easy ride. So many of us start out with stars in our eyes and blinkers on if you hang around long enough you start to realise that the stars are from the constant knocks your taking and the blinkers have been hiding the truth.
If you want your project to succeed then you have to make it happen, no one else is going to do it for you. Don't leave your work in the hands of others, they will let you down, no one will put as much effort into your work as you do. Third parties are the worst, things you can't do yourself and you trust others to do. They promise you the world and it all sounds great until they deliver, invariably late and to a sub standard. Frustrating is the word, when your heart and soul is there and others just trample all over it not caring.
On the other side of the coin you can also be lucky and find a few that are as considerate as you are. Hang on to these they are worth their weight in gold. We do have a couple like this and are grateful of it, but they are few and far between.
It's not all doom and gloom but I want you to be aware that it is important to go in with your eyes wide and your mind alert. Don't be fooled by someone shining you on, take everything said with a grain of salt. I don't want to see another train wreck.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Six months on.
It's been six months since releasing Dream Raider to the open market. As you will know if you have been following my blog. It's like everything else in life there's no such thing as an easy ride. My life is a testament to that, so the last six months although exciting have also been up and down. We have contacted various book shops, media outlets, and radio stations, without much success or recognition.
While in the meantime our Facebook site and our website have been steadily growing in followers. We get numerous comments to both sites regularly, from enthusiastic readers which is great. The power of facebook and twitter are not to be underestimated, use all these tools they are great to spread the word about your books or whatever.
On a whim I sent two copies of Dream Raider to the ABC Radio station where the breakfast team mentioned it on air, a week later they did a review of it also live. The same week we had three newspaper interviews. Another week later we had our first book signing at a book store which was a huge success. Perseverance is the key to all of this, yes we had some media exposure but where do you think that all came from? Of course it was us and our perseverance we contacted the media outlets no one else did it for us. We had plenty of knock backs and received the book back a number of times, with the obligatory thanks but no thanks.
Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns, when you get the opportunity pull out all the stops, and show them just what you do have and are capable of. We did and now more doors are open to us. Don't forget to enjoy the ride. Don't do what others do and close your eyes, take in everything around you and remember it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it makes all our lives what they are. Oh and I'm also aware that it can suck.
While in the meantime our Facebook site and our website have been steadily growing in followers. We get numerous comments to both sites regularly, from enthusiastic readers which is great. The power of facebook and twitter are not to be underestimated, use all these tools they are great to spread the word about your books or whatever.
On a whim I sent two copies of Dream Raider to the ABC Radio station where the breakfast team mentioned it on air, a week later they did a review of it also live. The same week we had three newspaper interviews. Another week later we had our first book signing at a book store which was a huge success. Perseverance is the key to all of this, yes we had some media exposure but where do you think that all came from? Of course it was us and our perseverance we contacted the media outlets no one else did it for us. We had plenty of knock backs and received the book back a number of times, with the obligatory thanks but no thanks.
Sometimes you have to take the bull by the horns, when you get the opportunity pull out all the stops, and show them just what you do have and are capable of. We did and now more doors are open to us. Don't forget to enjoy the ride. Don't do what others do and close your eyes, take in everything around you and remember it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it makes all our lives what they are. Oh and I'm also aware that it can suck.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Total re-write
Hi everyone it's been a little while but I've been busy with work and such. I sent the three short stories off and two are now on the short list for publication, and you read them here first. Anyway The third was sent back with a request for a re-write. I thought about it and I decided to give it a go. This is what I came up, with let me know which version you like better. The original, or the re-write. Oh it even has a new title as "Why" didn't seen to work anymore sorry Hayley. So here is "Long Haul."
Long Haul
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system. It sounds glamorous, but living it is a different story. It’s tough waking up after each long sleep and remembering how far we are from home.
Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she’s doing now. I think about her, lying there in that king-sized bed. On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures via the ship’s mail system. In the shots, all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? I always feel as though I’m touching one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing has ever been this beautiful, or sensual.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin rips into it with sudden impact; the touch of her fingertips forces me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as, in my mind, her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want these thoughts to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch … Just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton desire? Why is it directed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before? The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel the silky velvet of her passion as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip.
Excitement surges from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to shameless lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Oh God when will this end? When will I be able to go home to some semblance of normality?
They told us the technology was here to help. They assured us it was safe. Everything will be fine, they told us. Numerous studies into the effects of extended periods of hyper sleep dictated that a program had to be devised for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. Our minds needed constant stimulation or they would shut down. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hyper sleep sickness. They incorporated the program into the hyper sleep mode to keep us stimulated and to ensure that none of the crew went crazy from loneliness. Even though our bodies are in hyper sleep, our minds are still active.
The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy designed to keep us in the job, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been doing this run no one has quit.
Empathic neurons … artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains. Because the artificial neurons are empathic, they adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each person that is subjected to it gets the companion to match his or her needs and wants.
That’s all well and good, but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without it. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to.
Through their studies , the company found out that sexual stimulation is the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order. Each crew member is asked to pick a virtual partner when he or she signs up.
Virtual … Interactive … Extension of … Empathic … Neurons.
VIXEN.
The virtual partners may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros creating the same pleasing algorithm to sooth us all. They said Vixen would be our saviour, but instead it’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of its whims. They never told us about the addiction.
We all took this job because of the big money on offer, and Vixen, well, that was a bonus. It was comforting at first to have someone there for the long journey; we spend almost two years – ninety-nine percent of our time – in hyper sleep. So like lambs to the slaughter we go into our ‘coffins’ for extended periods of slumber. We can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen. The point is, if we go we lose the thing that has become the most precious to us all. Vixen is always there, always eager to please. Vixen never says no to anything.
Will I ever be free to think of anyone else?
I wonder what she’s doing now.
Long Haul
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system. It sounds glamorous, but living it is a different story. It’s tough waking up after each long sleep and remembering how far we are from home.
Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she’s doing now. I think about her, lying there in that king-sized bed. On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures via the ship’s mail system. In the shots, all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? I always feel as though I’m touching one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing has ever been this beautiful, or sensual.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin rips into it with sudden impact; the touch of her fingertips forces me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as, in my mind, her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want these thoughts to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch … Just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton desire? Why is it directed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before? The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel the silky velvet of her passion as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip.
Excitement surges from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to shameless lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Oh God when will this end? When will I be able to go home to some semblance of normality?
They told us the technology was here to help. They assured us it was safe. Everything will be fine, they told us. Numerous studies into the effects of extended periods of hyper sleep dictated that a program had to be devised for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. Our minds needed constant stimulation or they would shut down. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hyper sleep sickness. They incorporated the program into the hyper sleep mode to keep us stimulated and to ensure that none of the crew went crazy from loneliness. Even though our bodies are in hyper sleep, our minds are still active.
The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy designed to keep us in the job, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been doing this run no one has quit.
Empathic neurons … artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains. Because the artificial neurons are empathic, they adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each person that is subjected to it gets the companion to match his or her needs and wants.
That’s all well and good, but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without it. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to.
Through their studies , the company found out that sexual stimulation is the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order. Each crew member is asked to pick a virtual partner when he or she signs up.
Virtual … Interactive … Extension of … Empathic … Neurons.
VIXEN.
The virtual partners may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros creating the same pleasing algorithm to sooth us all. They said Vixen would be our saviour, but instead it’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of its whims. They never told us about the addiction.
We all took this job because of the big money on offer, and Vixen, well, that was a bonus. It was comforting at first to have someone there for the long journey; we spend almost two years – ninety-nine percent of our time – in hyper sleep. So like lambs to the slaughter we go into our ‘coffins’ for extended periods of slumber. We can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen. The point is, if we go we lose the thing that has become the most precious to us all. Vixen is always there, always eager to please. Vixen never says no to anything.
Will I ever be free to think of anyone else?
I wonder what she’s doing now.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Why?
Yes once again I am posting another flash fiction. I'm having a great time writing these and they are all good practice, Plus I'm getting some great ideas from them. please enjoy "Why?"
Why?
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited by Penny Springthorpe
I ask myself ‘why’ so many times each day. Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she would be doing now. I think about her, still lying in the king-sized double bed.On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures from her phone to mine. In the shots all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? To me it always feels like being able to touch one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing can be this beautiful; everything has a catch.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin hits with sudden impact, forcing me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as in my mind her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want this to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch – just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton attention? Why is this lust pointed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before?
She is Vixen.
The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
She has the right name: Vixen by name, Vixen by nature. I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel her silk and velvet as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip. Excitement bursts from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to wanton lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Virtual
Interactive
eXtensions for
Empathic
Neurons
VIXEN!
Empathic neurons…artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains.With the artificial neurons being empathic, they actually adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each man who is subjected to Vixen gets the woman to match his needs and wants. It’s pretty cool when you think about it, but living it is a different story.
They told us the technology was there to help us. They told us Vixen was safe and that various studies into the effects of hypersleep dictated that a program like this had to be instigated for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. That’s all well and good but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without her. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to. Vixen is our family. The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy to keep us here, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been here no one has quit.
The point is, if we go we lose the one thing that is the most precious to us all: Vixen. She’s always there, always eager to please, never says no, never has a headache, and always wants to be with you. Is there a woman in this universe that could compete with that? The company told us we would never get lonely on the long flights. They said they had incorporated a program into the hypersleep mode that would ensure none of the crew would go crazy from the extra-long periods of loneliness during the extended sleep.
Even though our bodies sleep the mind is still active. It needs constant stimulation or it shuts down and turns to mush. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hypersleep sickness. Then, through the studies they did, they found out that sexual stimulation was the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order.
That’s where Vixen comes in. Each man is asked to pick a virtual woman when he signs up. The virtual women may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros all creating the same algorithm. They said she was safe, they said she would be our saviour, but instead she’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of her whims.
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system, and each trek is a two-year round trip. We spend ninety-nine percent of that time in hyper sleep, so like lambs to the slaughter we go to the coffins for our extended periods of slumber and can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen.
Why?
Why?
By Kev Webb 2010 ©
Edited by Penny Springthorpe
I ask myself ‘why’ so many times each day. Every time I look at my watch I wonder what she would be doing now. I think about her, still lying in the king-sized double bed.On more than one occasion she has sent me pictures from her phone to mine. In the shots all I can see is one long, beautiful leg stretched out and resting on the bedclothes. How many times have I run my rough calloused hands over that leg? To me it always feels like being able to touch one of the things in life I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m allowed to. With the touch come the soft croons and the softer touch of her lips on my ear as she whispers for me to be bolder with my caresses. Nothing can be this beautiful; everything has a catch.
My heart jumps as a spike of adrenalin hits with sudden impact, forcing me to catch my breath. My body quivers with anticipation as in my mind her breath caresses the nape of my neck. I don’t want this to ever end. The simple joy of a soft touch – just the suggestion of tasting the forbidden fruit is enough. I don’t have to actually bite into it to taste the nectar; I taste it every time I close my eyes and think of her. It leaves its bitter sweetness on my lips; it leaves it there for me to taste and to savour.
Why do I deserve this wanton attention? Why is this lust pointed at me? Why does she look at me in a way that no one ever has before?
She is Vixen.
The kiss — the soft touch of her lips against mine, the heightened excitement of us both as our body heat rises in time with the urgency of our kisses. She’s got me again.
She has the right name: Vixen by name, Vixen by nature. I can’t resist her; I want to be a part of her. I want to feel her silk and velvet as she rises to meet me. The excitement in her low sighing moan weaves its magic as we work together to become one. I feel my heart hammering in my chest as she wraps her arms around me and pulls herself even closer. Her eyes close as she softly bites her bottom lip. Excitement bursts from her as a rapturous exaltation of breath; her eyes open and dilated pupils constrict as the light forces them to pinholes. She smiles as desire turns to wanton lust. It’s time – time to put it into overdrive, time to please her.
Virtual
Interactive
eXtensions for
Empathic
Neurons
VIXEN!
Empathic neurons…artificial empathic neurons that connect directly to our brains.With the artificial neurons being empathic, they actually adjust completely to our genetic make-up. They are locked to our code and are completely sympathetic to our personalities, meaning that each man who is subjected to Vixen gets the woman to match his needs and wants. It’s pretty cool when you think about it, but living it is a different story.
They told us the technology was there to help us. They told us Vixen was safe and that various studies into the effects of hypersleep dictated that a program like this had to be instigated for the mental well-being and stability of the crew. That’s all well and good but where does that leave us all now? We can’t live without her. None of the other crew – not one! – has a family to go home to. Vixen is our family. The more cynical crew members believe it’s a company conspiracy to keep us here, and come to think of it, in the five years I’ve been here no one has quit.
The point is, if we go we lose the one thing that is the most precious to us all: Vixen. She’s always there, always eager to please, never says no, never has a headache, and always wants to be with you. Is there a woman in this universe that could compete with that? The company told us we would never get lonely on the long flights. They said they had incorporated a program into the hypersleep mode that would ensure none of the crew would go crazy from the extra-long periods of loneliness during the extended sleep.
Even though our bodies sleep the mind is still active. It needs constant stimulation or it shuts down and turns to mush. The company had lost dozens of employees over the years to hypersleep sickness. Then, through the studies they did, they found out that sexual stimulation was the best way to keep the brain in perfect working order.
That’s where Vixen comes in. Each man is asked to pick a virtual woman when he signs up. The virtual women may look different but they are all the same, just ones and zeros all creating the same algorithm. They said she was safe, they said she would be our saviour, but instead she’s our captor and we’re willing prisoners of her whims.
We haul liquid diamonds from the gas giants in our solar system, and each trek is a two-year round trip. We spend ninety-nine percent of that time in hyper sleep, so like lambs to the slaughter we go to the coffins for our extended periods of slumber and can’t wait to have our neurons pumped full of Vixen.
Why?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Walking The Dog
I have another flash fiction to post this week I hope you like it. This time it's horror. Once again it has been edited by the wonderful Penny Springthorpe.
Walking the Dog
By Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe.
The dreamer, the unwoken fool
In dreams no pain will kiss the brow
The love of ages fills the head
The days that linger there in prey of emptiness
Of burned out dreams
The minutes calling through the years
The universal dreamer rises up above his earthly burden
Journey to the dead of night
High on a hill in Eldorado.
‘Eldorado Overture’
Electric Light Orchestra
The beads of sweat gather as the eyes flicker and dart beneath the closed lids of you, the sleeper. A dream pervades your darkness, a dream no one else sees, a dream that is life changing and terrifying. A dream that you may never wake from: you are walking the dog.
Your eyes open as if pulled by strings; your heart hammers in your chest while your eyes scream for the safety of light. Why can’t you move? It’s as if someone is sitting on your chest, holding you down; your arms and legs feel paralysed. Only your eyes move in their sockets. They flick around the room looking for any sign of danger. This is the perfect time for attack, the perfect time for the murderer waiting in the corner to step forward and slice your throat, the throat of the so-called innocent.
Feel the warmth of the blood as it escapes and sprays around the room, as the murderer oh so gently slices your skin with the stiletto blade, exposing your open throat to the world. The blade is lifted towards your failing eyes, dripping with your precious life’s blood. The only sound you hear now is the gurgle of your own breath as you draw it in through the gushing blood of the gash at your throat. Your hammering heart pumps your body dry in seconds, rendering your mind and body useless as oxygen is depleted, blood ebbs and your brain dies. Death is mercifully quick.
Or is the murderer somewhere else? Did you check under the bed before you lay down? Is there a blade poised beneath you waiting to pierce your spine, severing your spinal cord? Has this happened already? Is this why you can’t move? What’s that sound? It sounds like a shuffle of feet. Get up! Get up! Don’t just lie there. Move, scream, do something, anything, or you’re going to die.
Have you ever stopped to wonder what these dreams are all about? Why you feel so wrung out afterwards? Did you think they were just dreams with no meaning? Wrong! You are slowly being dragged down the dark road of torment by the hounds of hell. Each dream brings you another step closer to the burning gates. How many times have you woken up with fear ringing in your ears, clutching at your chest? Each dream shortens your life; each dream draws you further in, kicking and screaming, ever closer. Each quickened heartbeat is another one you won’t get back again: another one taken from you. You are born with only so many heartbeats. The more the hounds use up, the less you have to live with and the faster you are dragged to your inevitable conclusion. You don’t even realise your breaths are being stolen. Once you start walking the dog the hounds are always at your side: unseen, undead, unclean, relentless in their pursuit. They have a malevolent master that demands they perform their duties without the need for interference or overseeing.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s just one of those things. Write it off and go back to sleep. But back in the restful arms of slumber the hounds are waiting. They need you to re-enter the dark world of sleep because that’s when they can drag and pull your soul towards their goal with ease.
Be thankful that the hounds are mostly unseen. They are horribly disfigured and battle scarred. These foul, dark creatures of the underworld are ferocious and dangerous. Rotting flesh hangs from old wounds and bones are visible through tears in their flesh. Maggots drop from the wounds and writhe on the floor, lost now they no longer crawl in their own enzymatic solutions.
The hounds sense the end is near; you have been walking the dog for a long time and didn’t even know it. Now you know, but it’s far too late. You’re at the burning gates. The ground shakes and heaves as the gates are pulled open by the malignant spirits that guard them. You are dragged to your wicked fate and the massive gates swing back and close with a shudder that courses through you, mimicking your own violent shudder. The hounds release you and you struggle to your feet. You look at your surroundings: everything is on fire or smouldering, and the foetid stench of rotting corpses and sulphur fills the choking atmosphere.
The murderer is in front of you, the murderer from your waking dream. He rushes you with the slashing blade and you have no defence. He knocks your hands away and carves at your face; the blade travels cleanly through the skin of your cheek and catches your ear, then is swiftly brought down in one stroke to your jaw. The attack is relentless, you are in hell; nothing you have ever known has prepared you for this. Nothing ever could.
Eternal damnation is just that: you do not die because you are already dead, and you go on suffering the way you are now. Wounds hang open and expose raw nerves. You cannot see through all the blood, and the pain is unbearable.
Where is he? You ask yourself as you try to rise, but then you collapse and pass out with fear still clutching at your breast.
You wake to the sound of a familiar voice.
‘Hey come on, wake up. You sleep like the dead.’
‘Huh? What?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be walking the dog?’
Walking the Dog
By Kev Webb 2009 ©
Edited By Penny Springthorpe.
The dreamer, the unwoken fool
In dreams no pain will kiss the brow
The love of ages fills the head
The days that linger there in prey of emptiness
Of burned out dreams
The minutes calling through the years
The universal dreamer rises up above his earthly burden
Journey to the dead of night
High on a hill in Eldorado.
‘Eldorado Overture’
Electric Light Orchestra
The beads of sweat gather as the eyes flicker and dart beneath the closed lids of you, the sleeper. A dream pervades your darkness, a dream no one else sees, a dream that is life changing and terrifying. A dream that you may never wake from: you are walking the dog.
Your eyes open as if pulled by strings; your heart hammers in your chest while your eyes scream for the safety of light. Why can’t you move? It’s as if someone is sitting on your chest, holding you down; your arms and legs feel paralysed. Only your eyes move in their sockets. They flick around the room looking for any sign of danger. This is the perfect time for attack, the perfect time for the murderer waiting in the corner to step forward and slice your throat, the throat of the so-called innocent.
Feel the warmth of the blood as it escapes and sprays around the room, as the murderer oh so gently slices your skin with the stiletto blade, exposing your open throat to the world. The blade is lifted towards your failing eyes, dripping with your precious life’s blood. The only sound you hear now is the gurgle of your own breath as you draw it in through the gushing blood of the gash at your throat. Your hammering heart pumps your body dry in seconds, rendering your mind and body useless as oxygen is depleted, blood ebbs and your brain dies. Death is mercifully quick.
Or is the murderer somewhere else? Did you check under the bed before you lay down? Is there a blade poised beneath you waiting to pierce your spine, severing your spinal cord? Has this happened already? Is this why you can’t move? What’s that sound? It sounds like a shuffle of feet. Get up! Get up! Don’t just lie there. Move, scream, do something, anything, or you’re going to die.
Have you ever stopped to wonder what these dreams are all about? Why you feel so wrung out afterwards? Did you think they were just dreams with no meaning? Wrong! You are slowly being dragged down the dark road of torment by the hounds of hell. Each dream brings you another step closer to the burning gates. How many times have you woken up with fear ringing in your ears, clutching at your chest? Each dream shortens your life; each dream draws you further in, kicking and screaming, ever closer. Each quickened heartbeat is another one you won’t get back again: another one taken from you. You are born with only so many heartbeats. The more the hounds use up, the less you have to live with and the faster you are dragged to your inevitable conclusion. You don’t even realise your breaths are being stolen. Once you start walking the dog the hounds are always at your side: unseen, undead, unclean, relentless in their pursuit. They have a malevolent master that demands they perform their duties without the need for interference or overseeing.
You could be forgiven for thinking it’s just one of those things. Write it off and go back to sleep. But back in the restful arms of slumber the hounds are waiting. They need you to re-enter the dark world of sleep because that’s when they can drag and pull your soul towards their goal with ease.
Be thankful that the hounds are mostly unseen. They are horribly disfigured and battle scarred. These foul, dark creatures of the underworld are ferocious and dangerous. Rotting flesh hangs from old wounds and bones are visible through tears in their flesh. Maggots drop from the wounds and writhe on the floor, lost now they no longer crawl in their own enzymatic solutions.
The hounds sense the end is near; you have been walking the dog for a long time and didn’t even know it. Now you know, but it’s far too late. You’re at the burning gates. The ground shakes and heaves as the gates are pulled open by the malignant spirits that guard them. You are dragged to your wicked fate and the massive gates swing back and close with a shudder that courses through you, mimicking your own violent shudder. The hounds release you and you struggle to your feet. You look at your surroundings: everything is on fire or smouldering, and the foetid stench of rotting corpses and sulphur fills the choking atmosphere.
The murderer is in front of you, the murderer from your waking dream. He rushes you with the slashing blade and you have no defence. He knocks your hands away and carves at your face; the blade travels cleanly through the skin of your cheek and catches your ear, then is swiftly brought down in one stroke to your jaw. The attack is relentless, you are in hell; nothing you have ever known has prepared you for this. Nothing ever could.
Eternal damnation is just that: you do not die because you are already dead, and you go on suffering the way you are now. Wounds hang open and expose raw nerves. You cannot see through all the blood, and the pain is unbearable.
Where is he? You ask yourself as you try to rise, but then you collapse and pass out with fear still clutching at your breast.
You wake to the sound of a familiar voice.
‘Hey come on, wake up. You sleep like the dead.’
‘Huh? What?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be walking the dog?’
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