Sleep Christmas Sale!

 

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Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 180

This week's prompt is by Nasser Osman, an Egyptian Photographer/Artist. He call this Egrets Land. He has some wonderful creations, worth checking out. 

This story has been stuck in my head for a few days. Nice to finally get it down. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Feeding Time

‘Did you see it, George?’

‘I did, Ron.’

‘It took longer than I thought.’

‘Yeah, that thrashing about was the first mistake I think.’

‘Yeah, caught far too much attention; and then hanging off that log.’

‘Dangling is never a good idea that far out.’ George shook his head.

‘It wasn’t long before he realised that, although dragging that stump out onto what was left of the starboard side wasn’t pretty.’

‘Baking it in the sun; spreading the scent about. That’s when it started to really get crowded.’

‘Yep, up until then it had just been you, me, Ralf, Davy and a couple of the shark brothers.’

‘When did you turn up, Petunia?’ George looked past Ron to where Petunia had just landed on the end of the boat wreck.

‘Not until it was all over, really; when the black and white boys showed up to clean away the last of it.’

‘So you didn’t get any pickings, then?’ asked Ron.

‘Nope. I missed out this time, maybe next.’

‘You never know, something might wash up in a day or two,’ George suggested.

‘But then it’ll be on the turn. I’ve never been one for matured flesh.’

‘Not for my palate either,’ said Ron in agreement.

‘Some days you can’t be fussy.’ George puffed out his chest. ‘Got to make do or starve.’

The other two nodded.

‘It was just the one guy, on his own then?’ asked Petunia.

‘Yeah, think he’d lost his way, drifted maybe, and then a squall must have hit him,’ replied Ron.

‘Shame, a crew gives everyone a chance to have a feed.’

‘Remember that cruise liner that went down last year? That had been a real feast that!’ George looked out to sea, his eyes growing misty in reminiscence.

‘Oh that was exceptional. Didn’t have to hunt for food for weeks after that,’ Petunia said, staring out in the same direction.

‘Nobody did, not even the black and white boys. There’d been plenty for everyone.’ Ron joined them looking out across the ocean.

They all wondered when the next bounty would come.

Editing Process in Publishing Houses - Pheobe Morgan articles

To round up the Editing Processes in Publishing House Q&A, here are a couple of articles by author Phoebe Morgan, which I thought were interesting and relevant to how the editing process works in Publishing Houses. Phoebe Morgan is Editorial Director of HarpersCollins UK and an author.

The first is how the editing process works seen from both sides - that of the editor and that of the author (in this article, Poebe Morgan and Abigail Dean)

 (click on the picture to go to the article)

And this gives an insight into what being an editor of a big five publishing house is like: A day in the life of an editor.

(click on the picture to go to the article)

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 179

This week's picture prompt was taken in the Orpheum Auditorium, New Bedford, Massachusetts, US. This Auditorium opened on the same day the Titanic sunk, April 15th, 1912. A supermarket now occupies some of the building, but the rest remains beautifully deserted. This image was taken by Frank Grace, and he names it The Haunting New Bedford Orphuem.  He takes some incredible pictures, definitely worth a browse. 

I wrote this and couldn't find an ending so turned it into this. I think it works. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

The Show Must Go On. 

She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen this way, it just couldn’t! His dreams dashed in such a public way. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.

She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.

‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’

She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.

‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered.

The lights faded and the wood under her knees creaked; her arms falling empty.

He was not there - no one was. The stage was empty as was the theatre. The only fool was her – Phyllis, believing that wishing him back would be enough. It would never be. He’d never be back. The theatre was closed and disused now.

She slumped back onto her behind and brought her legs round, crossing them under the rags that were once her best dress and looked round the auditorium. Like the faded theatre walls her memories were becoming colourless and fragmented. This last moment seemed to be the final one and it kept playing on a loop.

She hadn’t been able to bring Hugo back anymore than she could bring herself back. She was locked in purgatory, forever reliving this traumatic event; the death of her beloved Hugo.

She spotted movement at the back of the theatre.

‘Who’s there?’ she called.

She stood up, but it was dark under the dress circle and she couldn’t make out if it was a person or a shadow. She went down the steps and walked back down the aisle, trying to make out if someone was there.

When she reached the back she found nothing. Her shoulders slumped. She’d hoped for something or someone to break the monotony. Then she heard his voice again and looked to the stage. There he was!

She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen again, it just couldn’t! She had to stop it. His dreams dashed so publicly. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.

She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.

‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’

She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.

‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 178

This week's picture prompt is a photo, as best I can confirm it, of a Bergdorf Goodman Window display. @maiasylba on Pinterest pinned it, saying she saw it in the window, and where there are many photos of Bergdorf Goodman windows uploaded on her Pinterest board. She is the founder of Musetouch Visual Arts Magazine. It definitely looks like a window display. 

I struggled a little with this one. Sometimes I am not sure what story I want to write, but then deadlines approach and I have to go with what comes out the fastest. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Mannequin

Larissa stood in front of the mirror trying on different pieces of jewellery; she didn’t like any of them. Then she tried to pick out a dress for the evening too – maybe try and match it to the jewellery, but she couldn’t decide on it.

All that went round her head is what others would think – not what she thought, or she liked, but what they might like. She hated living like this, but it’s how life had evolved since she’d become famous. It wasn’t about what she said, or what she did, only about what she wore and who had made what she wore – unless she did something outrageous or said something controversial, which she did from time to time just to mix it up. She laughed at the storm it created, and even at the fallout, but at the end of the day it was all pointless.

They’d painted her as some sort of angel and put her on a pedestal but it only made her feel isolated and unreachable. And even though they claimed she had sought out this lifestyle, the truth was all she had sought to do was express her art. They treated her like royalty, but it was only a matter of time before they cut off her head.

Larissa was acutely aware of the tightrope actors like herself walked. It was all about what was fashionable and hip now, and staying in that place. The second she did or said something wrong, she would tumble and fall, crashing to the ground and become a has-been. A part of her longed for that moment, because then it would all be over and she could end the charade – it was really what fuelled her outrageous moments. But another part of her was terrified because nothing was ever as you imagined and she didn’t want to be exiled from a world she had grown to love.

So here she was trying to dress herself in something provocative yet enchanting that would wow the people, when really all she felt like was a mannequin in shop window on display for people to gawk at and critique.

She found herself a nice little cream number, with a smattering of beads and sequins and some outrageous costume jewellery which would sparkle nicely for the cameras. She’d make up the names of the designers as she often did, just to baffle them all, and get them googling it. They wouldn’t dare say she had made it up for fear of insulting a famed name they didn’t know about. It would be a laugh.

And she’d get through the photo shoot on the way into the event by imagining all of the press as zombies clamouring for her brain. That would keep a smile on her face.  

She took one last check in the mirror before she left for the event and smiled at herself. Did she do it for her or did she do it for them? She didn’t know, but either way, it kept both sides fed and happy. 

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 177

This week's photo was taken by Walter Arnold an American fine art photographer. He has a wealth of incredible pictures, worth a look if you need inspiration. 

This particular photo is from a selection he did called The Art of Abandonment, all taken in this incredible abandoned house called The Mason's Castle, or what was Craig-E-Clair Lodge in the late 1800s, and then remodelled into Dundas Castle in 1921, but Dundas died before it was completed. It passed through hands into that of the Masons (as in masonic), and has never been restored. It is in Roscoe New York and you can find more about it HERE.

This is when I wish I had millions and could buy it off them and give it the love it so desperately needs! 

After having posted about Tricky the last three weeks, I have written something new, and a little spooky. I hope you enjoy it.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there

Hidden

Peter hid in the corner of the room wondering if it was over yet. He hoped it was, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d run all the way up to the top of the house and into rooms he’d never seen before. They were empty and the paint was peeling, but there was something magical about them.

He sat fantasising about living up here; his own little world, away from everyone, the angry adults and all the shouting. He imagined friends and adventures and even how he would decorate it.

He got up and acted it out, playing kings and queens, and sword fights about who could enter his domain. He imagined doors that led to faraway places over oceans.

When the light started to fade, Peter wondered if it was safe to return downstairs. He opened the door a crack and listened. Nothing. All was quiet.

He tiptoed down the stairs to his room, but when he got there, all the furnishings were different. His small bed was now a huge double and his cars wallpaper had been replaced with some fancy lilac stuff. There was a dressing table and mirrored wardrobes.

He wondered if he’d gone down the wrong stairs and come out in a different part of the house, one he hadn’t seen before – it was so big, with so many rooms. He kept to his part, his bedroom and bathroom, and downstairs where the kitchen and lounge were. They didn’t really let him venture further. For some reason his dad didn’t want him exploring. He wasn’t sure why.

There were lots of bottles on the dresser and he took a closer look, opening each one and having a sniff. After a while he felt woozy and took a step back. That was when he saw movement in the mirror. When he looked he let out a short scream.

In the reflection he saw a lady standing behind the door watching him. She was dressed in a floaty, glistening dressing gown and fluffy slippers, in a mauve that matched the walls, and her hair stuck out all over her head like she’d had a nasty fright. Her eyes were painted with what looked like black rings round them, and were wide and staring at Peter. He was terrified. He didn’t want to turn round, but he had to if he wanted to leave the room.

He slowly turned. She was still there.

‘Hello,’ he said in a small voice.

She blinked. ‘Hello,’ she replied in a croaky voice.

‘Who are you?’

The woman laughed, a husky, chesty sound, which led into a cough.

‘I’m your grandmother.’

‘Oh.’ Peter’s eyes widened. ‘How come I haven’t met you before?’

‘You’re father thinks I’m crazy.’

‘Are you?’ he asked tentatively.

She laughed again, more gently this time and moved to the bed and sat on the side of it. ‘Maybe a little.’

She patted the bed and he cautiously walked over and perched on the corner.

‘You don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you. In fact I’m overjoyed to finally meet you. It’s John, isn’t it?’

‘No, I’m Peter. John’s all grown up and left home.’

‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry, I lose track of time being shut up here.’

‘I’ve not been up here before. Dad won’t let me.’ Peter suddenly realised why. ‘Oh, because you’re up here!’

‘Yes, probably.’

‘That’s silly of him.’

‘Yes, it is. And a little mean.’

‘Why is he like that?’

‘Because he thinks I was mean to him when he was your age.’

‘Were you?’

She sighed. ‘Maybe. I don’t really remember anymore.’

Peter heard someone calling his name. He looked round, fear in his eyes. ‘That’s dad, I’d better go before he finds me here otherwise he will be angry.’

‘I’m sorry he’s like that.’

‘I’ll come and visit you again, I promise.’

‘I’d like that.’

He rushed out of the room, closing the door gently behind him, and ran to the closest stairs, which led back to the empty attic rooms. He ran the length of the corridor up there and found another staircase down the other side, and returned to his bedroom moments before his dad walked in.

‘It’s dinner time. Come down and eat.’

‘Okay.’

They went down the stairs together.

‘Dad, why don’t you visit your mum anymore?’

‘What? Don’t be silly!’

‘I’m not being silly; she’d love to see you.’                

His dad frowned at him. ‘What are you talking about, my mum died eight years ago, before you were born.’

NaNoWriMo Winner! 🎉

I did it! I managed to complete 50K words in 30 days! 😃

National Novel Writing Month happens every November. This is my 3rd time of 'Winning', but this one was extra special, cuz I fell behind and didn't think I could pull it off, but yesterday I managed to pull just over 8,000 words out of myself and by the skin of my teeth managed it in the 11th hour - with only 5 minutes to go! 

This is the first of Tricky's Tales (still need to find a title ... and a genre), and it came out FAR better than I could have imagined, a tad funnier and not quite as dark. Being a panster (meaning I don't plan it all out, I just have a collection of scenes in my head, a rough story idea or thread that pulls through it and that's it), it can be tough going knowing where to go next, as you need time to gestate, and at several points I didn't think there would be enough story to reach 50K, but each time something new came up that I kept it going and to be honest, I still have at least one more chapter to write. I am hoping for a sort of twist that will indicate another book from her, cuz I really feel there is a series in this. 

It is the first draft and does need work and a lot of tweaking and polishing, but it is down, which is the main thing and the point of NaNoWriMo. 

I just wanted to come here and brag about it! 😉😄