Thursday, 7 April 2011


Billy was the last person to clamber onto the army lorry and then the tailgate was snapped into place. The tired Women’s Institute volunteers waved the lorry off and the journey began. Billy was excited, if a little frightened and clung to his sister and his mother – his dad had already been ‘volunteered’ to join the WISPERS.
Billy could tell that his mum was worried – he knew her well enough to record her moods instinctively but he didn’t know why which made it even more scary. His sister Sarah – two years older than him – was more excited and saw this ride in the lorry as a bit of a lark.
Soon they reached the tents hastily erected on the outskirts of the city and they then queued for food – a rather watery but sweet tasting soup and some rather hard WI bread.
That evening there was some communal singing, not just some old hymns that many people did not really know the words to, or even the tune of, but also some Beatles songs from the 1960s.

Poem for Eva Cassidy

Poem for Eva Cassidy

When we see
The bright light from a star
It’s already dead.

When it’s dying
It shines more brightly.

You shown like a bright star
And now I can only see you
Half hidden
In the darkness
On Youtube.

Some day I’ll wish upon a star
And find myself over the rainbow.

Monday, 4 April 2011

mystic decision point

Some of my regular readers will hopefully(!) be wondering what is happening with the mystic detective. Well he got to California and eventually met up with Jonathan Walters the head of OM for a showdown that resulted in OM being closed down but its head cut a deal with the US authorities and got off. I want to reflect on these more recent mystic bits before putting them up here. Having reached this conclusion tot eh story I then downloaded all of it into a file (backed up also) and then arranged it into chapters roughly sequenced with when they were first written. I had in a few lines to connect stuff etc. And ironed out some of the lose ends.

I have about 22,000 words which is either a very long short story and a very short novel. So I am wondering what to do next with it. Thankfully I will be at Fuel on Saturday for the monthly creative writing class with Steve and Tony so maybe the muse will speak to me there.

I also wonder if any of you would be mad enough to read through what I have got so far and pass a friendly but critical comment or two. I am not sure exactly what I have got here. The mystic is a private eye figure and a vehicle for some of my own ramblings etc. He’s not a spoof and yet he is not quite the real thing but I have had immense pleasure so far in writing him and in your reactions.