Saturday, 21 January 2017

The kind of day I love - and hate

I've decided to take a few months off writing Kongomato 4. It's not that I've fallen out out with it, but the words just aren't flowing, and as it will be the final (this time) book in the series I want it to be suitably cataclysmic.
    To that end I've begun, or rather will begin later this afternoon, my new novel. It's been playing about what passes for my brain for months. And like the others that went before it, I have no idea what's going to happen other than lots of spookiness, blood, and perhaps torn body parts.
    But what if the words won't flow? What if I've lost my touch? I've written seventeen, and published thirteen novels. What if my rancid imagination has finally rotted?
    I'll only know when I've begun, and hope that as I begin pounding the keyboard (and with me it really is pounding, which Is why I buy my keyboards wholesale) that I'll know. I'm looking forward to it and also dreading the prospect.

    Here's the first paragraph - maybe.
The man’s face was ancient as time. Deep crevasses lined his forehead and shrunken cheeks, barely interrupting their flow at his battered, misshapen nose. Yet his eyes were bright blue and crystal clear like those of a child. 

This has nothing to do with the book It's just that Ellie always makes me smile. She's a ragged little temptress to the other three horses.
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Saturday, 7 January 2017

My year off has ended.

Finally my year off writing has ended and I've begun writing again. And as the carnage that was Christmas lunch is still fresh in my mind I started where I left off, the part where America learns of what is to come in Kongomato 4.
Lying over about half an acre were the remains of about twenty cows although it might have been more but was difficult to tell with the absolute state of carnage. Legs strewn haphazardly here, heads and frozen entrails there, while stacked in the centre of the field, almost like some macabre joke, three of the unfortunate animals lay side by side as if placed there for consumption later. Not even the frigid air was enough to mask the revolting stench of offal and faeces.
    Messenger retched until he collapsed to his knees exhausted. Finally he rose and tottered over to Hendry who had not copied him only with extreme self control. He’d seen this before both with animals and people but knew he’d never become hardened to such things.
    With reluctance he examined the carcasses as best he could. Everything he remembered was there. Bodies smashed and torn open, entrails torn out and missing with internal organs chewed and littering the ground. Yet something was not right, if anything about this grizzly scene was right. For several more minutes he scanned the carnage before finally realising what it was.
    ‘Look.’ He pointed a quivering finger at the nearest corpse. With reluctance Messenger came over but not too near.
    ‘Animals dead and torn apart, and the most repulsive sight I’ve ever seen. Did your cryptids do this?’ Hendry resisted the impulse to remind him forcibly that they were not his animals but the hideous sight surrounding them would not let him.
    ‘They do all this, but there’s something wrong.’ He pointed to the nearest animal. ‘They don’t usually, in fact I’ve never seen them leave such perfect holes in the bodies. They do this,’ he pointed to the dismembered remains, ‘but they don’t do this.’ Next he pointed to the long strip of skin peeled away from another body as if cut with a scalpel. ‘I just don’t know. And look at the eyes.’ Messenger cringed but did so.
    ‘What?’
    The eyes of every animal stared dully, or grimacing in a rictus of frozen agony.
    ‘These eyes. None of these eyes were burnt out. Do you know what I think?’ Messenger nodded.
    ‘Yes I really would, since that’s why we’re here.’
    ‘It’s possible that some passing cryptids did the tearing apart of the corpses, but I don’t think they killed them.’
    ‘So we’re no nearer finding out where they are, or are going?’ Messenger kicked the ground in fury before beckoning the second soldier over. ‘How long has it been since his animals were last checked?’ The soldier unearthed a blood smeared notebook.
    ‘About a week.’
    'About? What kind of farmer leaves animals out in this kind of weather?’
    ‘He likes to drink, a lot,’
    ‘Very well, pay him, bribe him with a thousand gallons of his favourite tipple, or put him in isolation but not a word of this gets out. Refer the local police to the number you were given earlier. Then burn the lot. Not a trace is to be left. Do you understand?’ The soldier nodded obediently then turned reluctantly to the awful task ahead. ‘So what do you think?’ Messenger blew onto his fingers while Hendry turned away.

    Of course some or all of the above might not make it to the final cut, but in the meantime I'm going to have fun.

Thursday, 29 December 2016

After forty hours without sleep...

I don't like coffee and never drink it.
    But yesterday I had to take a gorgeous Bentley to the south of France. Not this one but another just like it.
    In order to keep myself awake and not bend it, because the boss wouldn't be impressed, I drank a lot of coffee - a lot of coffee.
    When I eventually finished the 1440 km run I was exhausted, but so much coffee was still spinning around my head that I couldn't sleep.
    I'm back home now and after forty hours the coffee has finally gone, so I finally will be, too. 
    See you in a few days, or weeks. I'm so tired I don't even......

Monday, 26 December 2016

I didn't get socks

Finally I didn't get socks for Christmas.
    I got underwear!!!!
    I also got something else. Perhaps my whinging was a little over the top.


    Message received.

Tuesday, 20 December 2016

This is what I want for Christmas.

In no particular order I want: a new computer with windows 11, or at least something better than 10, a new Harley, a new 911 Porsche, a big, but really massive win on the lottery because in England, at least, it's paid in full immediately and is not subject to tax. I would also like a google pixel phone, or at least a phone that works. All it has to do is make a noise when someone wants me and lasts for more than twenty minutes without recharging. What I would really like is a cruise around the Caribbean islands, and my own boat, a cigarette preferably. I would like to go back and live in Monaco, but this time as a rich layabout. 
    I'd love a private helicopter - that went mach two - and bills that paid themselves. Talking of tax, I'd like to be made the boss of the Inland Revenue so I could fire them all and never pay tax ever again.

    But what I'll get this year, just like every, every other year, is socks. Has anyone ever, in the history of the world ever uttered the phrase "Oooh, great, socks?" 
    Every year it gets harder and harder to put real sincerity in my voice.

    I've been painting again.

    Oh, yes; there's another thing I'd like. I know I'd have to sell all the above presents just to afford it, but I'd like to have Photoshop - and a little bit of actual painting ability.

Saturday, 17 December 2016

Oodles of noodles

I was eating dinner tonight; something, my wife assured me, was both healthy and morally commendable.
    But I wonder if anyone can tell me what free range noodles actually are.

    I haven't been as confused since my wife made me buy Kosher baked beans. Am I going mad, or just being left behind?

Saturday, 10 December 2016

Snow joke.

I know that death is nature's little way of telling you to slow down, but this time I think it's out to do the job itself.
    
     Being the good law abiding citizen that I am I was not speeding the other night on the way home, even though the urge to go warp three after an extra specially long day pressed me to do so. Thus I was tooling along at a steady 50 mph when an enormous truck hurtled past me at about seventy five and in in it's wake dropped something that whizzed past my head close enough that I could hear the whine of impending death.

    Then yesterday, as always when it rains, just like every other motorcyclist, I was keeping at least one eye on the road for those pretty but lethal puddles of luminescence that indicates a leaking diesel tank. After successfully dodging one of them I was hit in the eye by a wandering horsefly. I thought nature's creatures were supposed to know when summer's over and die decently. This one almost took both of us out.

    If it's not my daughter (allegedly) running my wallet dry, the roads doing their best to do me in, or other motorists too busy texting to keep their minds on something as mundane as actually driving in a straight line now even the wildlife is out to get me. It could just be paranoia but after a giant, and I mean huge deep sea gull; a colossal Herring gull I believe, either got blown of course or just decided to come in shore for a little fun and and get me, I'm beginning to believe the opposite. It will take weeks to get his calling card off my new jacket.

    Christmas...bah humbug.

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