The Dangers and Joy of composing a Blog a day


The writemare before christmas

This month I have been writing a blog every day as part of my WMB4X aggreement with Sudo One, except yesterday I chose not to.  And why? Well for one I was verybusy and very tired. But the piece I was writing wasn’t ready and I didn’t want to rush it out just to get a blog post out.

I think I may have rushed one or two of them in the past and looking back, im not entirly happy with them. Since the blog I was going to post yesterday was a short story, I didn’t want to put it up half cut for the sake of putting something out there.

Having said all of that, I wouldn’t have produced even half of the good blogs I have, if I hadn’t had the deadline of doing a blog a day. I’ll let you be the judge of which blogs were good.

My advise to you would be to do what ever suits you best. But always keep in mind what ever you put out there on the internet, wether it be on a blog or social media, is there for all to see, and if you say anything rude, contriversal or hurtful, you better mean what you say and have a rational reason for saying it. Because while you might be able to delete it, anybody could have taken it and re used it, given you no control over it. This is advise that a celebrity or two could take note of.

Think before you post.

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Sorry Sudo One, It’s only 29 out of 30 posts, but I think with good reason.

The New Head Writer of Doctor Who?


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Well here we are, 50 years since ‘The Doctor’ was conceived by a think tank of people who started what today has become British cultural chic geek icon. And this inception of Doctor Who called ‘An Adventure in Time and Space’ was beautifully brought to our TV screen in Britain yesterday and will show in America tonight.

Since it’s beginnings it has had many writers whose clever ideas and story telling abilities have been the foundation of what has made Dr Who so quirky, fascinating and just generally amazing. There have been to date 90 credited writers on Dr Who. But there are many more that have contributed to it than that. For one the writer David Agnew was a pen name used when the production staff had heavily contributed to the script. Read more of this post

The Flowerpot Man (a short story by Gary Shaw, aka The Resident Weebler)


Another writting challenge with Sudo One next. We have both written a begining of a stroy for one another for the other to finish. Here is my effort from what Sudo one wrote in green. Check out his effort on SudoOne.Wordpress.com

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Desert Highway

The Flowerpot Man

Hugh shouldn’t have been there, watching the heat haze shimmer off the road in front of him. He was from Oxfordshire; the closest thing you got to heat haze in Oxfordshire was when you turned the Aga up too high.  

As he walked he knew now for certain that the cowboy boots and Stetson had been a mistake. He’d been in Texas for only 5 days, not only had he discovered that everything in the Lone Star State was indeed bigger, but he now knew that cowboy boots were inclined to give one blisters and a Stetson would make an Englishman look foolish.

His feet and foolishness were the least of his worries, he was nervous the gun in the holster on his left hip would go off if he so much as looked in its general direction. One of your own bullets in the toe is not ideal when you are trying to get a job done, or indeed kill a man.

He must have been lost in his own thoughts, for when the truck pulled up beside him, he hadn’t heard it coming. Hugh looked along the length of the shining silver monster of an articulated truck it big bright red lettering on the side of the cargo hold it read ‘Big Bills Haulage’.

He walked up to the cab, the driver was looking at him from his window, and he wore a grin as Hugh approached. ‘Well howdy there partner’ said the driver. ‘D’ya get lost on the way to a fancy dress contest?’ The driver started laughing so hard at what he’d just said that he started coughing. Hugh maintained a pleasant smile until the driver had finished hacking up.

‘Thank you for stopping, Are you heading anywhere near La Plata?’ Hugh asked.

The driver’s happy demeanour shifted somewhat at the mention of this town. ‘La Plata’ the driver said. ‘That’s 50 miles from here, were thinking of walking all the way there boy?’ Hugh looked at the road again and saw that’s all there was, disappearing as it was in to the distance. ‘To tell you the truth’ Hugh said.’ I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m not even sure I want to go to La Plata any more’.

‘Well Cowboy’ the driver said. ‘It just so happens that I am heading through La Plata, so if you want a ride you are welcome’ Hugh looked at the road again and then looked back at the way he had come and saw it looked just as desolate. His decsion made, he climbed up in to the cab, thanking the driver as he did so.

The cab was air conditioned and Hugh felt such relief for coming out of the heat. It also smelt very pleasant; it had clean surfaces and not a mascot in sight. This truckers environment was very different from what Hugh had seen portrayed in the movies.

The driver himself looked more typically movie-esc. He was a rotund man with stubble you could light a match off of. He wore a red and black plaid shirt and had a light blue peaked cap on with Oilers written on the front.

The truck growled as they drove off.  The driver spoke first ‘So what’s your name Cowboy?’ Hugh wasn’t sure he wanted to tell this stranger his name given what he was considering doing. ‘It’s Michael’ Hugh said. ‘I bet I can guess yours’. The driver looked round at him with a slightly worried confused look. ‘Really’, he said. ‘It’s Bill’ Hugh said. A look of realisation came over the drivers face and he smiled and chuckled. ‘Right, I see what you’ve done there. No, my name is Ben. Big Bill is just my employer, but it’s only the two of us who do this.’

Hugh couldn’t help but smile at this ‘so what do haul?’ ‘ Read more of this post

The Orange Lemon Song


You ever find yourself in one of those situations where you pick up a piece of fruit and it resembles another piece of fruit, so you write a song about it?

Well here it is. It’s a bit silly, but when you sing it in your head (or out loud) use Chris De Burgh’s ‘Lady in Red’ as the tune.

An Orange Lemon

The Orange Lemon Song Read more of this post

Flash Fiction – Yearning


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There once was a man, who spent his days basking in the sunlight and relaxing in the park. He had no boss to push his deadlines, he had no deadlines. He had no money worries and had many friends he could share his time with. Everything was easy and fresh and oh so awful.  How he yearned to be inside a stuffy office, he would stand in the park sometimes and just stare up at an office window and try to see through its reflective glass. He thought he could make out a cubicle, with in tray full of papers. Oh the yearning.

There were days where the sun was out and he had a picnic blanket laid out on the freshly mown grass with a champagne lunch. Whilst sharing joke with a friend, he would laugh so hard his head would tip back a face the warm blue sky, but as his head came back down, his eyes would catch another office vista, this time a meeting room, with people in uncomfortable clothes, looking stressed and mutely mouthing words of anger at each other. How his heart ached to be there. Read more of this post

Fiction, The Billingham Challenge: The Gap between the Willow trees


Sudo One loves a contest, so he set a challenge. A writing challenge. He writes an opening paragraph of a story for me to complete and I write a paragraph to start him off. He named it the Billingham challenge in honour of Mark Billingham the crime writer, who did the same thing for a competition in which I came second. You can see that effort here.

So here is my Short Story with Sudo one’s opener in brown. I’ve called it ‘The Gap between the Willow trees.’ Enjoy…

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The Gap between the Willow Trees – A Short Story by Gary Shaw (AKA the Resident Weebler)

The Willow Trees (Monet)

She waited with baited breath.

With any luck the groundwork had paid off. Tonight was the night it was all going to come to fruition, the stars in the inky night sky were, she hoped, aligned. She deserved it, didn’t she?

It was time... her time, Annie’s time.

Annie had been told about the creatures by Freda Percival, a long time resident of Hillfrome, her place of work, over two years earlier. At first she disregarded the stories as flights of fantasy, even madness. But after what had happened to Freda, what she’d seen with her own eyes, they must be able to do to her what they did to Freda.

Waiting in the woods, which surrounded the Hillfrome Estate, she watched the space between the twisted misshaped willow trees.  It had been a year ago today that Freda had gone missing from the home and Annie had found her here. A year ago today that the creatures had come through the gap in the trees and she had seen those black creatures crawl over Freda.

In her fifties now, Annie had regretted how her life had turned out. She had no real family to speak of. An only child, her parents passed on, she had no children, and the man and life she had always dreamed of had never arrived. She had so much love to give, and now nearing the autumn of her own life, only had the residents of Hillfrome to pour it on.

It was Freda that Annie had warmed to the most. The two ladies would often sit on the wooden bench at the rear of Hillfrome house on warm evenings, looking down on the vast wood that lay at the foot of the hill.  They talked of older, better times and how they both wished they were younger. Annie was reminded of her mother’s kindness as they spoke. So when Freda started to speak of magical creatures in the woods that could make them young again, she felt a terrible heartache. She remembered how her mother had started saying nonsensical things before her mind decayed, and how Annie had to look on as the mother she knew slowly disappeared. Read more of this post

Book review of Horns – By The Resident Weeble and The Girl…well, mainly her


It’s Sunday evening, it’s time to snuggle up with a good book…review.  Today’s book is ‘Horns’ by Joe Hill. If you haven’t heard of Joe Hill you will have heard of his father Stephen King, but please don’t let that sway your decision on this book either way.  Joe Hill is very much a notable author in his own right with his own style and his second novel ‘Horns’ is a wonderful example of this.

Both myself and The Girl in my life, have read this book and I believe her account of it to be far more eloquent than mine, so below is and extract of her review of the book. The full book review plus others can be found at her BlogSpot ‘Books I’ve read’. Be warned a lot of her reviews may give away plot points, so only delve in if you’re not bothered by this.

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Horns is the story of the aptly named Ignatius Parrish following the brutal murder of Merrin, the love of his life. A year after her death, he gets wasted and visits the place she was killed, near an old disused foundry. He desecrates the shrine that people have made in her memory, and pees all over a plastic Virgin.  Waking up the next morning, his troubles begin having grown a fine pair of horns and apparently acquired various demonic powers. We follow him as he looks for help amongst his friends and family, and they each in turn tell him their deepest darkest desires. Eventually this leads him to find Merrin’s killer, and he goes about extracting his revenge. Read more of this post

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