Miranda Kate's Blog, page 23

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 196

 This week's prompt was difficult to trace, only found it in four places, two of which were twitter. I could only find it on someone called JC Music's facebook page. I assume they created it. The beach picture is a stock photo, so the guitar has been photoshoped in.

As today is the anniversary of Prince's death, (of whom I was/am a huge fan) so this piece has been influenced by him. It is afterall a guitar. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.


Magical Guitar
There weren’t many that could wield the guitar. There was a certain energy to music and this guitar enhanced it three fold. It was different. It had been forged out of a metal no one could identify. He only smiled when they tried. There was no explanation. It was not of this world, much like him.

His success here in this time and on this planet was considered exceptional. He was adored and worshipped, but he had little interest in any of that. He was only interested in one thing, the guitar, and playing it at every opportunity.

When he played the world swooned and so did he. It had a certain pitch than drew them all to him. Their energy fed the guitar, which in turn fed him. To him the sound expressed every emotion he had ever felt, and released them in ways that surpassed words. It was pure and deep and beyond anything he had ever known.

To him it became an addiction and he burned brightly with it, so brightly that it burned him out. Although his soul longed for the sound, it took its toll on his body, which wore down fast than normal. When he died, the legacy of the sound remained but it never hit the same pitch without his touch, and those that had been drawn to it and shone in its light felt something missing from their soul. 

Review: This is Going to Hurt by Adam Kay

This is Going to Hurt: Secret Diaries of a Junior Doctor by Adam Kay
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Where to begin with this brilliant book. Harrowing and Funny in equal measures, you will find yourself laughing and crying in the same chapter. It's full of black humour, but humour that is necessary to get your through it. I've read it for my bookclub and most of the times when they pick these 'award winning' books, the books are far from worthy of the awards, but this is worthy of being celebrated on all levels.

It gives an insiders view on what it is really going on in the NHS and what doctors and nurses are put through in jobs that are slowly been eroded by decades of a Tory Government. And now, just four years on since publication, more than ever the awareness of how little respect the staff get and how badly they are being treated by the government is needed. This also highlights why private healthcare won't cut it, and the true horrors that lie waiting for the public if they continue to let the government sell it off and don't take a proper collective stand.

Adam Kay worked in Obstetrics and Gynae, and rose through the levels, juggling emergency after emergency on a non-stop carrousel for his entire time working as an NHS doctor, rarely eating or sleeping. The event that brought it to a crashing halt for him was heartbreaking and left me in tears. As a woman this is a brutal view of our reality as childbearers and will give many men an insider view.

It's no holds barred, British humour at its best, but won't be for everyone, not just the language but the brutal events that can give you nightmares - trust me, don't read it before you go to sleep, it'll definitely give you insominia as you try and get your mind round how the hell the situation of such overworked and underpaid staff is allowed to continue.

But it is also a must-read if you want to have a true insight to what is really happening. I would recommend it as necessary reading for everyone living in the UK and benefitting from the NHS - but especially the government ministers. They need to read it more than ANYONE!

View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 195

This week's picture prompt is by Silena Lambertini, an italian artist from Bologne. This is actually the second time I've used one of her images, back on Week 124 (Sept 2019) I used another. She named that one, but hasn't give a name for this one.  

Another Tricky tale. She is so ready for me to brainstorm and write the next book. And I can't wait! 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Chestwick

Tricky looked at the boatman through slitted eyes. He had a mucky face and a grin that did not reassure her. She didn’t fancy having to travel across the water alone with him, but she had no choice. It’s not as though she couldn’t defend herself, oh Tricky knew how to do that alright, and she’d leave him with sore balls for a week! But she hated being in this position: vulnerable to another. It didn’t suit her, not at all.

But she needed to get over there, to the big city. She needed to speak to Tumelo. He had to hear the truth face to face, from her lips, or he’d never believe it. Never! She could still hardly believe it herself.

She settled into the tiny boat, sitting at the back in the middle to keep it balanced. Thankfully the boatman kept to the other end as he began pulling on the oars and bringing them closer to the city skyline.

Chestwick was the landmass capital – if there was such a thing; it was where the baron resided and most of the population due to having the most buildings left after the shift. Each district had its own main town, but Chestwick was the hub. Tricky viewed the skyline as it approached, it still looked majestic but much was derelict. People had neither the time or interest in clearing it away unless it was an area they wanted to use. It had been picked clean over the centuries: materials recycled to create something new. The longest standing were the religious buildings, made of sturdier stuff and still worthy of aesthetic value, even though the beliefs that upheld them were long gone. People weren’t gullible like they were back then; things had to be seen, proven and tested for societies to take them on. It’s what made Tricky’s gifts difficult at times. People that didn’t experience the same tended to speak out against it, even if the reason was jealousy or spite.

Tricky shivered, less from the cold, more from what was ahead of her. Tumelo was an affable man but suffered no fools – he couldn’t be the baron if he did. It took integrity and intelligence, as well as the ability to handle those who were working against him. She admired him for that, but still her story wasn’t going to go down easy. If she could get it out. Tricky didn’t like this kind of responsibility; it made her skittish and want to run – and if she thought it’d helped the situation, she would. But she knew she was the only one he would listen to on this topic. It wasn’t every day you learned how badly you had been duped, and it needed to come from someone who wouldn’t revel in that humiliation. Oh she hoped she was right ...

There she went again, doubting. But every fibre of her being knew it to be true. She’d gone over it so many times she thought she might go doolally. It hadn’t been easy testing it, but each time it had held true. Telling the baron wasn’t optional it had to be done. No, this was not her idea of fun. Fun would be visiting one of those special ladies spas where she could get herself serviced, something she planned on doing while here. But telling Tumelo he’d been betrayed?

She shuddered again. The boatman gave her a peculiar look and she stared back, itching for him to try anything, if only to release this pent up stress. But he had the decency to look away and leave her to her thoughts.

She could see the details of the buildings along the shoreline now. Most were occupied. The lake had grown over the years, enabling more trade. They believed an underground spring was responsible, but no one knew for certain. The landscape of their world would change naturally and no one questioned or tried to control it. Nature was not to be controlled; the shift had taught them that.

The boatman pulled his boat up to a little jetty, identical to the one they’d left. He stepped out first and took her hand to help her out. She left a gemstone in his, as way of payment, and the smile she received made her wince. Some people weren’t graced with healthy teeth, or capable of caring for them. She would find another boatman to take her back when the time came – if the time came. She hoped Tumelo wouldn’t punish her for her news.

With a sigh and a shuffle as she tightened her coat round her, Tricky prepared herself for the noise and bustle of the city as she made her way to the baron’s residence. The sooner she got this over with the better.

Review: Book Blurbs Unleashed by Robert J Ryan

Book Blurbs Unleashed: Advanced Publishing and Marketing Strategies for Indie Authors by Robert J. Ryan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Brilliant and to the point. This books gives authors everything they need to understand what they need to write a blurb, from content to how to present it on Amazon. All authors should read it, but especially Indie authors. Highly recommend. I'll be refering to this a lot in the future until it is imprinted in my brain.

View all my reviews

I need your votes! All Author Book Cover Contest

My book, The Game is entered into the All Author monthly Book Cover contest.

This consists of four rounds:

First, all the selected entries will contest for the next round. (Duration 1st - 7th)
Second, 100 top-voted covers will compete to enter the third round. (Duration 8th - 14th)Third, top 50 book covers from the previous round. (Duration 15th - 21st)Fourth, top 24 book covers will play the last round in the chase. (Duration 22nd - Month end)

I am currently into the second round, and trying to keep my book in the Top 50. 

The two positives are that with each round, everyone can vote again, so even if you have voted on the previous round, you get to vote on the next round, and all the votes that are place from the beginning stay and accumulate. 

However, I am still in need of a lot of votes, so if you have a chance, do pop over to the site and vote for my cover. I'd love to knock the romance/erotic titles off the top three slots! 

CLICK HERE TO ENTER

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 194

This week's picture prompt is by i-am-JENius on DeviantArt. They call this The Vampire Hunter. It's not the first time I have used one of her pictures, and it probably won't be the last. She does some great art - worth checking out. 

This is another picture that Tricky wanted to take ownership of. It seems she wants me to explore some of the storylines for the next couple of books. This one is definitely interesting. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.


Dapper
Dapper, that’s the word. Oh yes, he looks dapper in that hat, and sinister. Although an axe in your hand would give that appearance. And what are his plans for that axe, Tricky wondered.

She turned another hand over the glass ball in her hands, but she could still only see the back of him walking through the trees. He couldn’t be planning to chop any trees down, not in that get-up, surely. He looked like something from the old world, one of those posh do-dahs they talked about, aristo-somethings they were called. Had lots of money they liked to show off about and wore silly tall hats and coats with twin flaps because they thought it made them look better than others – or maybe it was to wipe their bums. Stupid people they were; money had been their downfall. Although it wouldn’t be his; she would be

Tricky knew who it was alright; she didn’t need to see his face. That swagger and the silly outfit were a dead giveaway. She’d been watching him for a few days, after having found him again. He’d disappeared the night her mother had died. He’d known. The others had been naive enough to think they could get away with it, but he knew people wouldn’t stand for it.

And Linley might have been the killer, but this guy had set it up. Tricky had realised that shortly after. Dimitry Stanislav had been Vincent Linley’s right hand man and orchestrated that whole night, especially the uprising of the people. Once he’d gone they’d all been shame faced. Oh yes.

And where had he gone? It surely hadn’t been Ferriston. He hadn’t been here all that time. This place was too small to hide him. And people had looked.

He stopped walking and stood in front of something on the ground. She watched as he swung the axe, hitting something in a rhythmic fashion. Then he stopped and pulled up what looked like a hatch. He started to shrink, lower and lower. Stairs, he was descending some stairs underground. He’d been living underground! But if that was the case, why had he needed an axe to break his way in?

There were clearly many facets to this tale, and Tricky needed to learn them all. Why had he appeared after all this time? Did he think people would have forgotten? Or that they weren’t still looking? But she hadn’t had to look. He’d popped up in enough places that she’d heard, especially when you knew where to listen. You didn’t wander around woods in those clothes and think you’d be invisible. People really were ignorant of the trees.

But what was more curious than all of this was how she had been led here. She would never have come to Ferriston without the nudge from Dufray. She felt like she was being manipulated and there was a bigger picture she was missing – and her feelings were rarely wrong. Maybe she should turn the glass on Dufray and follow him for a bit. Tricky thought that was a good idea, but only after she’d noted down the co-ordinates of that door in the ground. She’d need a closer look.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 193

This week's prompt was taken by an author friend of mine, Andy Baker, who lives in Amsterdam. I thought it was very moody. He takes some great pics on his walks round Amsterdam and other places - and he's a great writer too. 

I tried hard to cut this one down to size, but I was not successful! So it's 150 words over! EEK! But the story insisted on being told. Not an easy one this week - very dark. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Penance
He could feel it. He could hear it. He could almost smell it. They were up there, doing those things to her; using her, exposing her, treating her like she was a blow up doll. He could see it in his mind. He hated it. And he had no choice but to do something about it. He’d been gifted with such sights ever since he’d been sent here. It was his job; his penance; his cross to bear.

Telling the authorities proved pointless. They didn’t want to know unless there was hard evidence, so it was up to him. It wasn’t the first of these circles he’d uncovered; he’d unearthed four so far. And there was only one way he could get in and that was by pretending to be one of them.

He knocked on the door of the townhouse. It opened a crack and a gruff voice asked, ‘What do you want?’

Trevor flicked his head up, indicating the noise above. ‘Some of that.’

‘As you can hear, she’s busy.’

‘When won’t she be?’

‘Depends on how much you got.’

‘How much does she cost?’

‘Bidding starts at a couple of hundred.’

‘Bidding?’

‘You don’t think you’re the only one, do you?’

‘Is it cheaper if I share?’

The man opened the door a little bit more, interested.

‘Would you be happy to be a third?’

‘How much?’

‘We just need someone to keep her calm ... you know?’

His stomach clenched but he nodded. The guy opened the door to a dark narrow corridor which led to an almost vertical staircase. ‘Go up and someone’ll meet you up here.’

Trevor nodded and ascended the stairs. Another man appeared at the top. The girl had started screaming – and not from pleasure.

The man pointed to another flight of stairs. ‘Hurry will you!’ he shouted.

Trevor ran up them. At the top it opened out into a large open studio. There were cameras and a four man crew. Trevor hadn’t expected it, but it wouldn’t be a problem.

What he didn’t expect was that this wasn’t a normal trafficked woman; this was a minor, and a feisty one at that. Whatever they’d had her on had worn off. She was kicking and screaming in an attempt to resist the needle one of the two naked men were trying to put in her arm. He wasn’t having much luck, and no one from the crew was intervening.

‘Are you here to help?’ The one without the needle shouted at him.

‘Yep,’ Trevor said.

‘Good. Strip off and get over here.’

Trevor stripped down to his underwear. ‘I’ll take these off when we have things under control,’ he said.

The men didn’t seem to care, and Trevor approached the bed they had her pinned on. How was he going to play this? He had no intention of helping them, only her.

‘Tell you what, why don’t you hold her down and I’ll give her the needle.’

‘Be my guest,’ the man said, shoving it at him. His willingness surprised him. These weren’t professionals.

Trevor took it and waited for them to get hold of the girl’s limbs. Each man held an arm and leg. The girl started sobbing, believing it was hopeless now, and a tiny piece inside Trevor broke. He wanted all of them to pay for this.

He shushed her and stroked her hair, whispering it would be okay. He looked her in the end, then glanced at the needle and at the man’s arm and then back to the girl. He did this twice while shushing her and she quieted, picking up on his intention. Out of his left-hand peripheral vision he eyed the other man, taking in his position.

‘Now!’ he shouted. In one movement he plunged the needle into the arm of the man on his right, and brought his elbow down hard on the bridge of the nose of the man on his left. The man on the right tried to fight but the drug effect quickly. Trevor pushed them back and swept the girl up, taking the bed sheet with him, and wrapping it round her as he put her over his shoulder.

The crew were slow in responding, but by the time Trevor turned he was surrounded.

‘You can try it if you like, but I’m not alone.’

They look around them and Trevor smiled as the door downstairs slammed open and they heard a man scream. They backed away from the stairs looking at each other as they heard a rushing sound come up the first flight and a second scream as whatever it was encountered the man on the second floor.

Then it stopped.

‘Fuck!’ one of the men said, and rushed over to the sash windows, debating the possibilities of jumping. The other men joined him and they all stood there, no knowing what to do.

Trevor gently placed the girl on the ground. She didn’t want to let him go, but he reassured her he just needed to get dressed. Once clothed, he scooped her up again and descended the stairs. At the bottom was a dark shape. Trevor patted it on the head, and red eyes blinked out at them.

The girl gasped. ‘Oh don’t worry about, Bonzo; he won’t hurt you. They might be called the hounds of hell, but there’s no hell like that here on Earth.’ 

Review: Madame Monvoisin's Emporium of Extraordinary Adventures, by Michael Wombat

Madame Monvoisin's Emporium of Extraordinary Adventures: Volume 1: Rue du Pont Marie by Michael Wombat
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What a superb book!

I wasn't sure what to expect from this book. I love all the author's books, but knew this one was a little different. It IS a collection of very short, often flash fiction, stories, but another story has been written around them to encompass them, which is why the author calls it a 'framed anthology'.

The story and characters in the wrap-around story live in the late 1600s, and the author has endeavoured to provide accurate historical facts and settings. The characters themselves step right off the page and are immediately engaging. And the supernatural way in which the collection of short stories are brought into the main framing story is intriguing and captivating. It is possible to read the story without reading the short tales between, but in many cases they apply to the development of the character experiencing them, in this case Etienne Blessis.

The characters, both Etienne and Catherine Monvoisin, are people I began to care about and wanted to know better, especially how Madame Monvoisin is able to provide the adventures she sends Etienne and her other clients on. And we do get a glimpse of this, which reminded me a little of The Magician's Nephew (the first of the Lion Witch & the Wardrobe series) - in that book they were pools, but in this one they are trees. But to say more would spoil the journey.

The book ends on an excruciating cliff hanger, so I am SO pleased to hear the second volume is ready for release. I can't wait to find out what happens and to spend more time with these wonderful characters.

Get yourself a copy of this book - you won't regret it. There's something for everyone in it.

View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 192

This week's picture prompt was taken by Ralf Eisenreich, a German photographer. He calls this 'Little Green World'. He has some interesting pictures across a variety of subjects. 

Tricky wanted to own this one. It was definitely one of her stories, and as is her way, it pours out, and gives me ideas as I prepare for the second book in her series. Enjoy.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Glimpse

A flash caught her eye. Tricky spun round, but couldn’t work out where it had come from. This was a part of the forest to be wary of. The trees had decided some time ago not to play nicely with the humans that passed through.

Not that she could blame them, oh no, the history of abuse at the hands of humans was ingrained in the every atoms that made them. It might feel like a couple of millennia to humans, but to trees it felt like just last decade. It would be a while yet, and this particular group of pines had reason to be nervous; their wood was beautiful and luscious, and many desired their objects to be made from it. Lucky for them there was still plenty of waste left over from the shift that would still take decades to be used up.

There it was again! There was something here, or they were playing tricks on her. And she was the one called Tricky; tricks weren’t to be played on her, no deary, she wasn’t having any of that.

‘Stop it now, will you? Show me what you’ve got. I’m not here to do you no harm and you know it,’ she yelled out into the green.

There was a wave of susurration and the flash dazzled her, leading her to a crook in an old piece of tree stump. Either a victim of weather or of human, no one knew anymore. It had since been covered in lively moss, which found abundant living in these parts.

There jammed in a crack was a glass ball, reflecting the world around it and holding an inverted version. Now, who had left that here?

Tricky tentatively touched it and pulled it up and out, rolling it about in her hand. It was indeed glass, not crystal like those she had in her possession, and it seemed decorative rather than magical. A pretty thing, but was it a dud? Tricky didn’t trust it, as was her way – and her right.

She closed her eyes and pulled up the energy out of the ground and through her into the ball. It flashed orange. Ah hah! Not a dud, but one to dupe others no doubt.

In her mind she saw a picture of another place: a desert plain not of this world ... or at least this part of it. No deserts were known on this landmass, and it wasn’t so big to hide any before you met the unsailable oceans.

As she looked a shadow appeared to cover the lens through which she looked, and then something solid moved in front of it and an eye appeared.

Tricky cried out and dropped the ball. What was that?! Or who was that?! Her heart raced and her blood did jigs round her body. A dark sick feeling oozed its way into her stomach and every nerve in her body rang alarm bells. The trees around her rushed through another wave of leaf motion to indicate their dread too.

Was that place on this plane, or was it another in space and time? Tricky didn’t want to investigate but knew she had to; these things were down to her – they were her gift’s purpose. It was her duty, however much she liked to pretend it wasn’t.

She leant down and picked the ball up again. It had resumed its ornament status, but Tricky knew tricky things better than anyone. She pulled out a scarf from her pocket and wrapped it up tight. She didn’t want it looking through again. Not until she was ready, which she wouldn’t be until she got this back to the cabin.

She took a deep breath and sent out calming energy, grounding herself while doing so to move the awful feeling and displace it from her body. It would only hinder her investigations otherwise.

‘Thank you,’ she called. ‘I’ve got it now, and I’ll look into it.’ She chuckled and there was a rustling as though they were amused too. ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

She walked away still tittering to herself, until her hand found it again in her pocket. Her fingers retracted from it. She had a lot of preparation to do before she uncovered it again.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 191

This week's photo prompt is by French photographer, Megan Glc. She doesn't seem to have posted much recently, and her 500px page, where I believe this was originally posted, is gone. But she can be found on other social media platforms, but just not this pic, or this kind of art, which she seems to have moved away from. 

Sometimes when you can't find the end, it is finished. This turned dark. 

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.

Art

Dammit! Charlie couldn’t get it quite right; it just wouldn’t come out properly on the page. He dipped the nib of his ink pen into the water and watched it spread slowly through it. How could such beauty take place so naturally when it was so difficult to capture on paper?

He’d toiled for ages trying to get the perspective of the birds and the trees just right against the shadow of the land, until he reached a point he could no longer look at it. He pushed his chair back and rubbed his hands down his face.

He tasted something on his lips, and licked them again. Was that ink? Charlie looked at his hands and sure enough they were black with it, almost dripping.

He picked up the pen, but it didn’t appear to be from that. He even struggled to keep hold of it his hand had become so slippery. He grabbed some tissues and wiped at it, but more ink just kept coming. Then he saw something at his feet. A puddle of ink had formed there too. But how?

Charlie stood up, and noticed the window by his desk. Normally it looked out over fields, but it had gone opaque. Was it misty outside? He swiped his hand over the glass as though to clear it, but all it did was leave a smear of black ink behind. What was going on?

He went to the door, but it wouldn’t open. He thumped and shouted, but Charlie had lived alone for years, all it did was release his frustration – and fear.

He looked back at his desk and could see a shadow behind it that looked like a tree. He went over and looked at the picture he’d drawn. There was the jar of water, and the trees within it, and ink swirling through it, but ... was that a silhouette of a person just in front of the tree?

He heard a rushing sound from overhead and looked up to see a murmuration of Starlings in the sky above him. The ceiling to the room was gone, as were the walls. He could only see an opaque boundary running round him.

Then he felt something lapping at his feet. He looked down, there was water all around and it was rising. He was in his own picture.

He spun round. There was no furniture, only glass walls. But the jar was open, he would survive, he could swim up. But when he tried to lift his feet he couldn’t. He was stuck, fixed into the picture. His struggles only released more ink into the water in those pretty swirls. And eventually those slowed as his body became fixed, like the figure in the drawing.