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Cross Culture Mojination

A friend and I have been experimenting a bit. He’s a musician and a jolly good one at that, and I thought wouldn’t it be interesting to try to have a conversation!!!

…. And they said it couldn’t be done!!

A conversation with a difference. A conversation where we communicate using only our respective art forms….

Soo he wrote a short piece of music – which if you use the magic power of… finger and press play above, you can hear – and I responded with the first thing that came to my mind…

It’s quite abstract, but what random thoughts aren’t?

Now he must read this and get composing…

I hope you enjoy. As always all comments and thoughts welcome

TTFN x

 

Breathe

 

“Grit” He looked at her and laughed

“Come on bitch you can do it.”

She snarled at him and took more air in her lungs than he thought was available in the room.

“Selfish cow, I paid for that” he joked. “Lucky for you you’re breathing for two.”

She sat on the dining table, brown beads of sweat falling from every pore and orifice, sticking what little nightgown she was wearing close to her body.

He leered at her, perverted, as her breathing deepened and became more laboured.

“You stink luv” he said “Open your legs then, I’ve got a buyer waiting if you can push this out in time”

Taking a hold of her knees he used what little strength the dissipating air in the room allowed him and prized her legs open.

Her scream was piercing, the loudest yet by his reckoning.

“Oh baby, do that again I might not be able to wait if you do.

She shook her head rapidly and took in a big consignment of air.

“Steady on luv, there’s not enough oxygen to…” He fell to his knees struggling to remain conscious.

His eyes turned a pretty beetroot red.

She wasn’t far behind, taking what remaining air there was in the room she pushed whilst outstretching her hand for him to hold.

He reached up and grabbed her arm, just one more push and it would be over.

That night a baby cried on the dinner table.

… Then it died.

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The Reason

A little nostalgia today, I was scanning my library the other day and  happened upon the first poem I had ever written, at the age of 14. It was  pressed neatly between the pages of a book. I hope you enjoy x

 

The Reason

 

There once was a man

Who became very ill,

 

He passed a virus

To a palace messenger

 

The messenger

Carried out his daily duties

 

He passed to the virus to an emperor

Who became too sick

To initiate war

 

Millions of lives were saved.

 

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The Trouble With Time Travel

ImageLast week I shared some free form that led to the creation of a lead character in my latest novel The trouble with Time Travel. Today a section from the book itself. At this point Arran and Molly two children and friend to the brilliant professor Fidget are playing in a strange device they believe to be a futuristic hover craft, this is the moment they discover they are in fact sitting in a Time Machine…

As always comments and thoughts welcome x

……….

 

But wait, something was different.

The professor was sitting at her desk reading a book. ‘We’re in trouble now’ said Arran. ‘Sorry professor’ he said, ‘It was Mollys fault, I told her I wanted to go to bed but then she hit me with a teddy and so I switched on the light and now we’re in your hovercraft’.

The professor didn’t even look up from her book. ‘see what you’ve done?’ said Arran ‘the professor cant even look at us, I’ve never seen her this angry’.

The basement door opened and in walked John their father. ‘Dad’s here’ shouted Molly ‘shh’ replied Arran, he paused. ‘Wait a minute, he’s ignoring us too’.

John walked across the room, without so much as a glance toward the children and slammed his briefcase down on the professors desk, she put her book down and began speaking with their father.

‘He cant of not noticed us’ said Arran. ‘He’ll notice if we stand right between them’ snapped Molly who refused to spend too long in any situation she didn’t understand, with that she turned round and attempted to get out of the time machine ‘Ouch!’ she yelled as her head started to throb, there was an invisible wall surrounding the whole machine, soundproof and inescapable. ‘I cant get out’ Molly shouted.

Arran wasn’t paying any attention he was much more concerned with what was in the machine itself, ‘Molly look’ said Arran pointing at the dashboard. Directly under the picture was a digital display it read DESTINATION 8 HOURS 32 MINUTES INTO THE PAST HOVER MODE ENGAGED.

‘Oh my goodness’ said Arran it’s a time machine, Professor Fidget has invented a time machine!’ Molly turned to look at the display in disbelief, then turned to face her brother. ‘I mean I’d have preferred a blue police box that was bigger on the inside, but still, a time machine’. MATERIALIZATION IN 20 SECONDS appeared. ‘Twenty seconds?’ shouted Arran ‘Its counting down’

19,18

‘what do we do?’ Molly’s attention was firmly fixed on her father who was now looking right at her from the other side of the room ‘dads stretching out his arms, he’s walking this way. Arran he knows we’re here!’ Arran was still looking at the display.

13, 12

‘Molly do something’ ‘Oh yea. I’m quite the time traveller, I know exactly how these things work’ Molly shouted sarcastically as her father drew closer.

6, 5,

‘Molly now!’ Shouted Arran. Molly began randomly pressing a series of buttons.

4, 3,

‘If we end up landing in Jurassic Park your getting eaten before me!’ snapped molly as she finally came to press the same green button that had transported them there in the first place. The display changed, FLIGHT MODE, the time machine began to vibrate and the laboratory disappeared from view. Almost immediately they found themselves back where they started from.

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My Other Novel not based around murder death and all things gruesome

ImageHi, Thought I’d share some free form writing that inspired my other Novel, ‘The Trouble With Time Travel’.

The book will be aimed at a slightly younger audience, think JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyer (Not that I’m comparing myself with them…. yet).

Anyway what follows is a little free form writing that inspired the creation of the main character hope you enjoy.

As always comments and views welcome x

………….

You are here now on this rainy evening in the centre of Grainger street amidst the hustle and bustle of a Friday night, simply watching.

Observe the elderly couple running toward the Theatre Royal twenty minutes after the show has begun, the wife clearly the more energetic of the two, the husband if he makes it there alive will be gad of a sit down.

Across the road a group of girls emerge from a club laughing, each dressed as a French maid and all looking identical well, except from the rather ill looking lady in the front who seems to be wearing what can only be described as a giant cardboard penis on her head, I’m guessing from a cardboard man with no inferiority complex.

Look still further past them at old George standing on the street corner desperately hoping to sell the last 4 copies of his Big Issue magazine so he can afford to get drunk and moan to random strangers about being homeless.

Now close your eyes, breathe slowly and wait, if you listen closely enough you can hear the far away sound of a grandfather clock ticking. Follow the pulse, as you focus further the clock seems to gain prominence as all other sounds start to fade and become a distant memory.

Now, open your eyes.

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