Not All Tarts Are Raspberry – Dead Deer

Not All Tarts Are Raspberry

When all the tarts, all the pies, all the cakes were brought out a gasp when around the room. It was an intriguing idea, even if it risked the ire of many a guest. The pies were all open top, the cakes heavily iced. But every single one was red in colour. Cherry pies, strawberry cakes, raspberry tarts. Not all the tarts were raspberry, of course. Every red fruit imaginable was represented. Cranberries, pomegranates, even red grapes and red apples.

It was an incredibly striking effect. The shades of red glowing and glistening in the bright lights, a hundred diners gasping and laughing. Well, ninety-nine. The sight of all these beautiful desserts did nothing for one old duffer, parked away in the corner, but with a foghorn voice.

“What the devil?” he barked, “I like apricots.”

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Today I wrote  between 23:07 and 23:17.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here

The Secret Life of Trees – Lotta the Otter

The Secret Life of Trees

When you are walking in the forest you think that it’s not good to cut trees down because  it’s bad for nature. That is not true, ok, it is but not just that. Also because it hurts the tree and the noise of the chainsaw is actually the sound of the tree screaming .

Also after the tree is dead all of it’s friends are sad.

That’s why NEVER EVER cut a tree.

 

 

Today I wrote  between 12:43 and 12:53.  I was prompted by an idea here.

The Secret Life of Trees – Dead Deer

The Secret Life of Trees

The lush verdant blanket, from above, has a gently fizzing appearance, and more shades of green than you can possibly dream of. Your dreams are increasingly filled with this forest, once from a distance, across rich rolling hills, now in more detail. Each night your restless brain conjures images, ever closer, moving in and above, and finally, moving ever closer with each moonrise.

Slipping into sleep beckons with yet more anticipation, for now your dreams have taken you close onto a single tree. An honest and open tree, its wide branches sitting broadly and comfortably. I am here, this tree says to you, I am here.

The closing sensation never ceases, and tonight you see a leaf as if it were a continent, it fills your mind, and the details magnify and multiple with a heavy inevitability that is welcome, the pressing feel of a woollen blanket on a cold winter’s night.

Insects, caterpillars, of course. But these are not the details you crave, these are the giants of the scene, barely comprehensible in their enormity. We see every minute grain of the leaf, the drops of water like oceans, and what life even these contain!

A week further, the nights have shifted and elongated, and the comforting dreamscapes have become unsettling. The constitute parts of the atoms may well be awe-inspiring, beautiful even. Yet your rested brain is becoming restless, worried – what lies next?

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Today I wrote  between 12:43 and 12:53.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here

A Long History of Nearly Nothing – Dead Deer

A Long History of Nearly Nothing

Have you read my book?* Whilst not in itself very long, it is a long cry into the darkness. A long (long) history of nothing. Well, nearly nothing. A self obsession, the pages ought to not be rectangular, but me shaped. Like a book for babies. Mine is no book for minors, however, although it reads like a man-baby squalling in frustration.

Well, I was frustrated. I am frustrated. Just one in a long list of emotions I am experiencing, none of them very nice. The next book – oh yes, dear reader, that threat looms – should at least be a story of something and of an equalish length. In fact it will be the same, a seemingly never ending series of these short …. dare I? …. vignettes. This time, I promise, with more coherence, less misery and fewer – HOORAY! – poems.

But here again; frustrated. I’m ready to start work on it. Everything is written, it just needs editing, selecting and organising. The cover art (N.B. this time the cover art is good. I didn’t do it) is done, it just needs making up into a cover.

Yet I do neither. And these things, what I write. I’ve had some excellent advice, about characterisations, voice, story, hooks, all sorts of things. Draw the reader in. Keep them interested with show-not-tell. Humour always reads well**. Describe evocatively, put them there, in it.

Yet I don’t do any of this. I am, I suppose, unable. Unwilling to do the hard slog. This time, I promise myself, I promise you. Yet this is the drivel, unaltered, unfettered, that is splurged uncaringly onto the page. Why? To what end? A self indulgent cry into the nothingness. I AM HERE I scream I AM HERE. How can one be so self obsessed and yet feel no sense of self. I sit, here. That cannot be avoided. Pessoa was wrong, I am not nothing. I am here. I am nothing except a presence.

I am worse than nothing.

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Today I wrote  between 19:22 and 19:32.  I was prompted by an idea here.

*If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site. Part 2 coming Summer 2019, sadly. 

**Can you believe that I am funny? Or was. In real life. Wasn’t I? Aren’t I?

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here

The Brat in the Hat – Dead Deer

The Brat in the Hat

Wants, want, wanting. Where does this desire come from? If some is good, more must be better, right? Is having worse than getting? Is wanting worse than having? The glutton, the greedy, these are the great enemies, no? To have, it is immoral, of course it is. On the other hand, we must have something, food, clothes, we must have enough. Where is a line, does anyone need a hat that big? Does anyone need that many hats? When is enough too much, when is desire greed? When you have more than I? I guess.

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Today I wrote  between 20:56 and 23:04.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here

Cloudy with a Chance of Grumbles – Dead Deer

Cloudy with a Chance of Grumbles

The Head of the diplomatic service was cautiously optimistic. So far everything had gone very well for the new administration. When the young president had been elected, shortly after the small country had gained independence, there was lots of concern about security, stability and consensus. Stark charisma is, of course, wonderful at building a crushing electoral victory, but only goes so far in building a new country.

At home things had gone quite well, he mused. Rather than unsightly triumphalism the new president had strived for consensus, trying to bring all parties, all people, with him in his vision. The new constitution had been debated and written across the political and, in a stroke of genius, non-political spectrum. This gave it a strength of acceptance, the entire nation having ownership of it, believing in it.

However, it was overseas that President Silme Salaski really scored. In attempting to find a role for his tiny country in the modern global world, he had gone out into it. He had been an instant success, and now his arrival on new shores was eagerly sought and keenly awaited. Approachable, warm, funny and wise he was feted wherever he went. They were on the map, so to speak.

Tonight, though, the ambassador thought, tonight? This is too much. A loss of dignity would be unthinkable for the position of president, and for his country. And thus it was that this country fell to a violent coup. It is possible to say the ambassador operated on good intentions, he just wanted to save his country from ridicule. His was an awful plan, though, and the country is forever remembered as the one that fell apart, as its president was assassinated by his own people, moments before appearing on the Morecambe & Wise Christmas Special TV Show.

 

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Today I wrote  between 23:12 and 23:22.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here

The Da Vinci Road – Dead Deer

The Da Vinci Road

In common with most roads, the Da Vinci road was a dead end. No possible way to be found at the end of it. Turn around and try again. How many roads? How many times can you pick yourself up again, turn and continue, when certain of disappointment, of failure. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing that helps. Even a small glimpse of a new road, you know. The painful momentary frisson of hope. That beastly feeling, the cruellest of emotions. Hope one cannot help but feel that Da Vinci was an optimist. He looked to the future, he dusted himself off, he continued to more and better things. Da Vinci was, of course, a genius. I am a twat.

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Today I wrote  between 13:00 and 13:10.  I was prompted by an idea here.

If you enjoyed this short writing, a whole load more are available in paperback, and kindle editions in your local Amazon site

My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and buy my book here.

Presumed Guilty – The Writeycorn

Presumed Guilty

Peck peck peck life as a chicken is soooooooo  boring the most interesting thing that happens in a chicken’s “life”  is when they die because you have to go through the test. The test tells you if, in the after-life you can carry on being the pet you are now, or basically be wild. I’m still my owner’s pet now in the after-life. If you are wondering if your owners are still alive, you spend your time in massive fields with endless amounts of food then, when they die if they go to the good place you teleport to them in their dream house. If they don’t have a garden, a garden will materialise. If your owner goes to the bad place you get put up for sale. When I went through the test I was guilty of killing a fox, but I was found not guilty.

Today I wrote  between 14:10 and 14:20.  I was prompted by an idea here.