Where My Book?

bookworm so hungry

digesting suspense thriller

chew page, eat fine word

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little bastard munch

literature connoisseur

chomping slurping, belch!

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wondering the hell

where the fuck did my book go?

left it here last night

Edit Me

Editing. I’ve learnt that editing is not only necessary, it is also fun. It can also become a problem; a curse. No matter how many times I proof-read, there is nearly always at least one embarrassing and blatantly obvious grammar mistake in every post I make. I clean those up as soon as I notice them. The worst of it though, is reading my older posts. It’s not that there is anything wrong with them, it’s just that I want to tear them to shreds and re-assemble them, because I can see how much better they would be if I just changed this sentence and used this word instead of that one and put in the bit about the trans-galactic, trans-sexual dentist who…

Where to stop?

Nothing will ever be perfect – I know that. But how good is good enough? As I get better at writing, I expect to view my earlier work through an ever-more-critical lens. Do I leave my earlier work intact so I can see how far I’ve come. Do I slap it into better shape, remove it from public display or simply burn it in disgust? I imagine that burning a WordPress blog would be somewhat problematic.

I’m sure there is a space between professionalism and obsessive perfectionism, I just haven’t found it yet.

Have you found yours?

Toast! – A short Horror Story

After years of bread, the toaster hungers for human flesh. No longer content with the burnt crumbs of wholegrains, the toaster wants meat.

There are three potential victims in this quiet suburban household: Bernard, Linda, and their daughter – Sally. Bernard would make a good-size meal but will not be easy. Wily to the ways of appliances, and not overly partial to toast, he is a long shot at best. Linda, on the other hand, makes toast every morning, but she is no fool. There are no flies on her in the morning and, being the smartest of the household, she will be the hardest to seduce and subdue. Then there is Sally; Sally, at 7 years of age is healthy, innocent and, through the eyes of a blood-thirsty toaster, positively drool-worthy. Yes, it will be the girl – and it will be all too easy. Simple appliances make simple plans. Success favours simplicity. Now it’s only a matter of time.

It happens one Saturday morning. Cartoons are on the TV so Sally is up bright and early while her parents doze. Sally wants toast. Perfect. Alone in the kitchen, she is vulnerable… and the toaster knows it. Sally approaches the toaster clutching a slice of heart-healthy wholegrain in each paw. The toaster can hardly bear the suspense but restraint is needed. Patience. Play it cool. Things will heat up soon enough. The toaster gracefully accepts Sally’s offering and settles into the familiar routine. The filament heats up and begins to work it’s magic on the bread as Sally sets the jug boiling and roots around in the cupboard for the Milo. After a few short minutes, Sally is watching the toaster in anticipation of the “kerchung!”, holding the butter-knife loosely in her young fingers, unaware that she is not the only one hungry.

The toaster tightens its grip on the bread and the first grey tendrils of smoke shoot towards the ceiling. The jug rumbles into its roaring steamy climax with immaculate timing, as if sounding a prescient warning. Black smoke now. The piercing shriek of the smoke-alarm splits the air. Sally panics and, still holding the butter-knife, shakes the toaster hard. YES. She’s fallen for it. Time to strike! The waiting has paid off. It’s all or nothing and the toaster is insane in its carnivorous desire. Come on Sally, come get your toast Sally. There’s a good girl, use your knife. I want meat Sally. Human-meat. Stick your knife in. Come in and get your toast. I’ve got 240 volts just for you Sally. I’ll fry your flesh. Meat, meat, yummy-yummy. I’ll sizzle your sausages. MEAT! Use the knife, Come on, use your knife you little bitch. MEAT! Do it.
NO! – not the power-swi…
click!

The Writing Space

Everyone has a favourite place to write.  I have several.  One of my favourites is a pub that’s only 15 min drive from my house.  I go there for the food, and because it’s quiet on a Saturday afternoon.  This afternoon was a good a time as any to head there.  I was having one of those awful writing fuckalump moments where I can’t quite find any topic remotely interesting despite living in a world of endless possibilities.  Since I was hungry to boot, the best course of action was obvious.

Having ordered my usual insulin-tickling mochaccino and plate of hot chips, I took my favourite spot outside and made ready to pen my next award-winning post in peace and quiet. It was quiet until three motorcycle gangs turned up, including the Hells Angels.

The gang-members themselves weren’t particularly loud, but close to one hundred roaring motorcycles arriving in the space of 10 minutes is hard not to notice. It must have been a convention.  As space in the outside courtyard was rapidly diminishing, I decided to head back inside, where it would be quieter.  Once inside, I realised my mistake and headed back outside, where it was quieter.  I finished my meal, decided against tracing the interesting smoke back to its source and headed home with something to write about.

Have you ever played dominoes?  It’s a game where you pick the first of a line of 100 parked motorcycles and … collect your Darwin Award.

The Most Important Meal

We’ve all heard that “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day”. We hear it often enough that it must be true. Those who feel homicidal prior to the morning meal must understand. I once gave a friend a stern talking-to when he admitted to routinely skipping breakfast.

I usually don’t eat breakfast now.

There are several reasons. Fristly, I can’t spell, and Firstly, I often don’t have time. Next, I don’t eat cereal anymore (which is partially why I don’t have time). Additionally, I often just don’t feel like eating, though I always have my morning coffee.

Sometimes, I try to have breakfast. I tried to have breakfast not too long ago, but the strangest thing happened. You see, I had a female friend visiting, who… Oh, – you think you know where this is going? You don’t! So, as I was saying, I had a female friend visiting, who likes to play the ukulele. I was just about to crack open a can of whoop-ass! tuna, when ukulele-girl took music into her own hands, strumming the opening chord of one of our favourite songs, … and a sing-along broke out!

I did try.

Bad Day?

“It’s Been A Bad Day” – Michael Stipe

Except that it hasn’t been really, not for me, I just feel like I’ve had a bad day. Sitting down to blog about it has somehow put it into perspective.  I feel like I’ve had a bad day.  I haven’t.  Compared to what other people have been through and are going through right now – I’ve had a fantastic day. I have food, clothing, shelter – that’s more than a lot of other people have. There are no bombs dropping on the house.  No floodwaters approaching. I wasn’t sure that I would blog about personal things – but hey! – I thought that I had a bad day and maybe I should have a grizzle. Now I think that maybe I shouldn’t.  I logged into WordPress and see that I have followers. I see that my last post was Liked.

“It’s Been A Good Day” – Grumpy Axolotl.

Thank-you to all those that read, like and follow.  Knowing that someone has enjoyed reading something I’ve written gives me motivation to carry on what I’ve started.  I have enrolled in the creative-writing class.  In a few months, I’m sure to be reading my earlier posts and cringing with horror.  I hope so – It will mean the class was well worth it!

We had another earthquake today but it was just a small wobble, not a tantrum like yesterday.  I was a little bit sad to hear that a beautiful bird figurine that I’d given to my mother as a birthday-present was smashed in yesterday’s shake.  Still, shit happens.  Some people will never have the means to give their mother a present.  No earthquake is strong enough to smash love. 

I don’t like usually like music videos but R.E.M.s “Bad Day” is one I enjoy. It hasn’t been a bad day after all. Every day above ground is a good day.  Thanks again for reading.

Sleep, Dogs and Rock ‘n’ Roll

It’s raining. I love the sound of rain on the roof when I’m inside. Who doesn’t? Rain is just what we need in this part of the world right now. It’s Summer and we tend to get droughts here – Last year’s was particularly bad. We also get floods, and the occasional volcanic eruption. This is New Zealand. I’ve seen snow on Christmas Day here – how bizzare!

I was trying to sleep this afternoon. I didn’t sleep well last night: A dog in the hallway started practicing fire-engine imitations in the small hours and I was awoken again later by another pooch sticking a nose in my ear (That tickles).
Anyway, this afternoon. I had been asleep for maybe fifteen minutes, but was tossing and turning, and then the rumbling started. It’s a low rumble similar to a heavy train close by or even a high wind giving the trees hell. But still different, and when you hear that rumble – you know what’s coming…

Earthquake!

Earthquakes are not uncommon here, but they can be scary. The worst thing is, once it starts – there is no way of knowing how long it’s going to last or how bad it’s going to get. This one wasn’t too long or too short (is there an optimal length?) but rocked and rolled a fair bit and it was one of the stronger ones I’ve felt. It was felt the entire length of the country and caused some minor damage – though we’ve had worse in the last 6 months. The two dogs staying at my house – I thought they would go nuts but they were calmer than I was and didn’t seem fussed at all.

The dust and the day are now settled, and a gentle evening rain cools the earth.

Wire Me a KettleNet

I’m reluctant to speculate too much about the new-fangled Internet-Of-Things. It’s such a huge and ever-changing topic – Books have been written about it, books are being written about it, and more books will be written about it. Technology is evolving so rapidly now that even the books which have not yet been written are hopelessly out-of-date.

I like to hear the jug boiling. It’s not necessarily the most pleasant sound, but it means the coffee will soon be ready. I like coffee. All these years I have listened to the jug, never suspecting that one day the jug would be listening to me. Well, maybe that’s a good thing – I often feel that no-one is listening to me, but in the future I will be able to sit down with the jug after a tense day at the office and we can let off steam together. Maybe it won’t ever be like that. Perhaps the biggest change will be that the next time the pot wishes to call the kettle black, it will do so using voice-over-IP.

Steam-Punk Railway-Ties

At first, Rodger had thought that his girlfriend was into steam-punk, no – not quite,  it was steam-trains.  But not just steam-trains, trains in general: diesel, electric, hand-powered jiggers.  Of course, the steam locomotives would always remain a favourite, as they do for many enthusiasts.  It would only be polite to introduce you to Rodger’s girlfriend now – Her name is Cynthia.  Cynthia has always had a keen interest in bondage, and it seemed that Rodger was picking up on the subtle, (and not so-subtle) hints that Cynthia had been dropping.  Indeed, he had, and Rodger was always eager to please.  So on the day that the local steam-engine society held their excursion, Rodger tied Cynthia to the railway track.  She was chuffed to pieces.