KICKSTART

As I mentioned in my previous post, just recently I have not felt like writing. I had no idea what the cause was, I just know I didn’t have the urge. Perhaps it is the imminent holiday, or even the house move that is on the cards as soon as we return.  I was still reading, and I managed to knock out a small piece for the Bahrain Writers Circle workshop. But in the main, writing was the furthest thing from my mind. Maybe I should have parked my backside in front of a computer (with the internet disconnected of course) and waited for something to happen.  But then, this morning I saw this on Amazon, the latest review for Fishing for Stones.

***** An outstanding debut effort
ByThomas E. Perry on June 20, 2015
Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase

Fishing for Stones....well, the stones being diamonds. That's all that I'm going to give away about it. The author did his homework. He knows aircraft, flying, and most of all how to weave a darn good plot that includes everything that a good crime yarn should have leaving the reader wondering when it will all tie in together. Not to worry, it does and with flourish. The characters are well developed. You're sweating in the pilot's seat of the chopper looking for a place to land. And you're hunkered down in the bush in Africa.

Ninety-five words someone else wrote, that may well have kick-started the next sixty thousand for Harry, my next novel. Now I can’t say the reviews are coming thick and fast, because they aren’t but

Waiting for reviews!

every single one of them has been positive. When you read this sort of review, it gives you a warm feeling, a sense of having achieved something. It might be the thoughts of only one person, but you have connected with them, you have entertained them, you have been a part of their life, even if only for a brief time. To be able to have that sort of connection is an amazing thing for an author to have and is the main reason I want to write.

Of course, if someone would like to pay me vast amounts of money to do so, I will take it, be rude not to.

WEE BLIGHTERS TO THE FORE

Tonight I should be attending the monthly workshop at the Bahrain writers Circle. The workshop recently took on a new format where we each have to bring a piece of work, approximately 300 words long. We hand them in and they are then distributed randomly amongst the members to read out. A group critique then follows, discussing the merits and the downfalls of each piece.

It does sound a bit gladiatorial to have your precious pieces thrown to the lions to dissect and chew over, but it can be rewarding if your piece is looked on favourably, and you can retain your anonymity if you don’t want to own up to writing something disastrous.

Anyway, as usual I digress. Recently I haven’t been in the mood for any writing, not even wanting to think about books other than to read them. So rather than write something for the workshop, I was going to extract a few hundred words from something I’d already written. It’s not cheating and well within the remit for the exercise.

What actually happened was the ‘Wee Blighters’, obviously bored from not doing any work on my novel ‘Harry’, decided they would leap in and give a hand. Unbeknown to me, they were eagerly beavering away inside my hide to produce something for tonight.

Last night, on my way up to bed, one of them popped into my mind to hand in their handiwork.  So rather than settle down in bed for a short read, followed by some much needed sleep, I was diverted to my computer to get this masterpiece down and printed,  ready to take.

I am pleased they have come up with something.  The annoying part is that they have had a month to do that. Why couldn’t they have done it last week, or even over the weekend? Of course, they are my ‘Wee Blighters’, and as such they have seen me leave everything to the last minute, so maybe I shouldn’t complain too much. Job done.

WHEN A HOUSE IS A HOME

Well that’s another weekend over (our weekend starts Friday and we go back to work Sunday) and we made a big decision. It looks like we are on the move again, no, not from Bahrain but to a different house here.

Nothing unusual there, you might be thinking, and you would be right. People move all the time. I have moved many times, usuallythrough work, but sometimes by choice. What is remarkable about this move is the location of the house.

We had been looking for somewhere closer to the town and where my wife works. Somewhere we didn’t have to draw maps for the taxi driver to find us, somewhere where we could walk to the shops (well, my wife can walk; walking to the car is enough exercise for me). So did we find all of these in this house? No.

This house is two miles further from the nearest shops than our old one; it is two miles further from her work, (and mine if it comes to that). We will have to give taxi drivers gps co-ordinates or a grid reference to find it, never mind a map. It is nowhere near where we want to be.

So what happened?  Some of you may have experienced this, some of you may have never moved, I don’t know. What happened to both of us is that we went along to a house that an agent wanted to show us. Neither of us thought it would be suitable because of its location, and it was to be the first of several houses we were to look at. The drive to it was like following directions in Hampton Court maze, but eventually we arrived and were immediately struck by the look of the compound. (Now for you chemists we are not talking about a combination of chemicals here, and for those of you thinking barbed wire and watch towers, it isn’t like that either. The first thing to note was the gardens with flowers and grass, a rare commodity in a country that is hot and dry (most of the time). Not only were there gardens but they were immaculately kept, and the beauty of that is the tenants don’t tend to them, there is a gardener, as part of the rent.

Then we stepped inside. There was nothing outstanding, no amazing features, but something about the house said to both of us, ‘this is home.’ For one to get that feeling when you walk into a place is  good, but for both to get it straight away is a rare occurrence, and that is before we had seen the swimming pool. Okay, by swimming pool standards it is pretty small, more of an extra-large bath tub. I certainly won’t be practising my Olympic swimming in there (I am in excellent shape by the way – round), but I can see us sitting around it in the evening, with a glass or two of something nice.

So all we have to do now is wait and see if the owner wants us as tenants, and no one else has got there before us. Fingers crossed.

STATUE OVER THERE?

Some time ago I lived in the Channel Islands. Now for those of you who are geographically challenged, the Channel Islands are an archipelago of British Crown Dependencies which lie off the coast of Normandy, in the English Channel. I used to live on the Island of Jersey. Yes, you New Jersey folks, guess where your place got its name from.

A beautiful little island it is too, stunning beaches, and for somewhere so close to the UK it has a pretty good climate too (Jersey Tourist Board, please forward the cheque to my usual address).

The peculiarity of this island is in its police force. There is the States Police, who are island wide and are full time police officers, and then there is the Honorary Police, who are employed by the parish, and are all volunteers. At this point I should explain that the island is divided into twelve parishes, each with its own representative in the States Parliament, and responsible for its own police force. Now, I was never sure that if it was a good idea to have the political representative of the parish in charge of the police force too, but it seemed to work in the main.

Anyway, I digress. I thought it would be a good idea to put something back into the community and become a Constable’s Officer for the Parish of St Brelade.

After swearing in at the Royal Court (all done in Jersey French, so I have no idea what I agreed to), I was issued with a warrant card, and there I was a bona fide police officer.

There were many things that happened in my time as a Constable’s Officer, some amusing, some not so, but one of the amusing things I remember was the embarrassment of a young lady in St Brelade’s Bay.

We were on a routine patrol in the late evening, after dark, when we approached the war memorial in St Brelade’s Bay. I was driving the police car and something caught my eye straight away. One of the concrete bollards in front of the memorial had become a statue. As we approached, it became obvious that a young lady was on top of the bollard, standing on one leg, and striking a pose remarkably similar to that of Eros in Piccadilly Circus, London. She wasstudiously ignoring the car as we pulled up alongside her. After several seconds she slowly turned her gaze towards us and nearly fell off the bollard when she realised it was a police car. Even in the dark it was obvious she had turned a shade of red almost equal to that of the nearby post box. She hastily explained she thought it was her friend’s car which by now had pulled up behind us. We couldn’t answer for laughing as she hastily ran to join her friend and hide her embarrassment.

ASSES FOR COURSES

Yesterday I was on that well known news site, you know, the one run by the Broken Biscuit Company.

What I saw on the front page got me thinking (yes I do manage that sometimes!) about our priorities in the world.

So, what were the headlines yesterday that prompted me to spout forth again?

Apparently, that pillar of the community, and much maligned president of soccer’s ruling body, FIFA, has finally realised there is no mileage in him swimming against the tide, and has resigned.

On the same day up to 450 people may have lost their lives in a boat disaster in China, a young girl was missing in the UK, Boston Police shot dead a suspected terrorist, and a much liked, thoroughly nice MP (not often I can use that combination of words in the same sentence), passed away.

Admittedly, all of these were on the front page but at the very top in bold as brass print were the headlines, Fifa scandal: President Sepp Blatter resigns.

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t sport meant to be a form of entertainment? Yes I know it’s a multi-billion dollar/pound/whatever your currency is, industry, but when it really boils down to it, sport isn’t a life or death thing (Bill Shankly once famously said it was much, much more important than that), but the fact remains it is an entertainment. Yet for the past few weeks this embarrassment to the world has dominated the headlines.

What has happened to our priorities? When did we stop caring about human life, or did we ever care?

Yes, it is news, but it isn’t world dominating, oh my god the aliens have invaded news.

Perhaps it’s our own fault. We clamour to read the latest gossip, see the latest scandal, and revel in someone’s downfall. We rarely have an interest in human tragedy, or indeed human triumph. Or maybe the press are at fault because they feed us these stories all the time. Who knows which came first, the demand or the supply?

All I know is if an alien invasion were ever to take place, we just have to hope it isn’t on a day that Kim Kardashian has a botox booty boost, or we may never hear about it. (But that is another type of ass entirely, of course.)