Graham Parke's Blog, page 2
November 13, 2012
November 5, 2012
Leverage on Victorian Era Love
How did people survive in Victorian times?
He tries to imagine writing out a letter long hand with a quill. Perhaps running out of ink and having to wait till Monday to buy more. Then finishing the letter, sealing it, and riding off to some kind of post office in the next town over. Waiting in line. Paying up and trying not to scream when he finds out the last coach left on Saturday and his letter will sit in a sack at the back of the room until next week. After which it will finally start its 5 week journey to his beloved. Who won’t be able to get word back to him before the end of next month. And that’s assuming neither coach gets robbed.
No wonder people died so young!
He tries to imagine writing out a letter long hand with a quill. Perhaps running out of ink and having to wait till Monday to buy more. Then finishing the letter, sealing it, and riding off to some kind of post office in the next town over. Waiting in line. Paying up and trying not to scream when he finds out the last coach left on Saturday and his letter will sit in a sack at the back of the room until next week. After which it will finally start its 5 week journey to his beloved. Who won’t be able to get word back to him before the end of next month. And that’s assuming neither coach gets robbed.
No wonder people died so young!
October 25, 2012
Cool permisson slip, use wisely..
.
You have permission not to worry today
You have permission not to worry today
October 18, 2012
q
Strictly for emergencies; is it bad form to ask someone with long hair for a hair to floss with?
October 5, 2012
October 4, 2012
This is not what it looks like...
“This is not what it looks like,” he said, glancing about nervously. “And even if it was,” he added, “which it isn't, then it still wouldn't be. Understand?”
I shook my head.
“You think I don't know what I'm talking about?” He tried to move a lock of hair from his face, which was odd, as he was one of the baldest people I’d seen in a long time.
“What business would it be of yours, anyway?” He shot me a defiant look. “I mean, it’s just a pen. Am I not allowed to hold a pen? If I hold a pen, then cannot I write?”
Perspiration appeared above his brow, he dabbed at it with his sleeve. “Is it perhaps the first time you’ve seen someone holding a pen? Not that I’m holding one, of course, although I can see how it may look like I am. But, see, if I was holding a pen, then what would it be to you? It’s not even your pen. If it was a pen, which it isn’t.”
His expression grew more frantic by the minute. His eyes darted about wildly as if scanning for danger. “You may not know this,” he explained, “being a year younger than I am, but, in this universe we live in, there are, well, I’ll just come right out and say it, there are things that look like pens but which, when you get right down to it, are not. Like this thing right here.” He indicated the pen he held in his right hand. “Which is not your pen and wouldn’t be yours even if it was a pen, which it isn’t.”
I let out a slow breath of air. “Are you feeling alright, Gregory?” I tried to move closer without scaring my brother back into his room, which he’d turned into a fortress of blankets and upturned furniture.
“You seem a bit on edge.” I moved closer still, and touched his forehead with the back of my hand. At first he was weary, but he allowed it to happen. Something deep inside him still trusted me. But Gregory was in bad shape, worse than I had ever seen before. And he was burning up. “Did you eat? Did you sleep?”
Gregory nodded, his eyes still scanning the room as if he expected something very bad to happen any moment.
“Did you take your medication? Remember how we discussed with the doctor that you should take your medication every day?”
Gregory waved it away. “I’m fine,” he said, still perspiring profusely. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I have a lot on my mind. For some reason, I can’t shake his horrible feeling that dark forces are after my pen.” He smiled apologetically.
“Aha!” I said, slaying him with my broad sword. “I knew it was a pen!”
Click here for similar stories.
I shook my head.
“You think I don't know what I'm talking about?” He tried to move a lock of hair from his face, which was odd, as he was one of the baldest people I’d seen in a long time.
“What business would it be of yours, anyway?” He shot me a defiant look. “I mean, it’s just a pen. Am I not allowed to hold a pen? If I hold a pen, then cannot I write?”
Perspiration appeared above his brow, he dabbed at it with his sleeve. “Is it perhaps the first time you’ve seen someone holding a pen? Not that I’m holding one, of course, although I can see how it may look like I am. But, see, if I was holding a pen, then what would it be to you? It’s not even your pen. If it was a pen, which it isn’t.”
His expression grew more frantic by the minute. His eyes darted about wildly as if scanning for danger. “You may not know this,” he explained, “being a year younger than I am, but, in this universe we live in, there are, well, I’ll just come right out and say it, there are things that look like pens but which, when you get right down to it, are not. Like this thing right here.” He indicated the pen he held in his right hand. “Which is not your pen and wouldn’t be yours even if it was a pen, which it isn’t.”
I let out a slow breath of air. “Are you feeling alright, Gregory?” I tried to move closer without scaring my brother back into his room, which he’d turned into a fortress of blankets and upturned furniture.
“You seem a bit on edge.” I moved closer still, and touched his forehead with the back of my hand. At first he was weary, but he allowed it to happen. Something deep inside him still trusted me. But Gregory was in bad shape, worse than I had ever seen before. And he was burning up. “Did you eat? Did you sleep?”
Gregory nodded, his eyes still scanning the room as if he expected something very bad to happen any moment.
“Did you take your medication? Remember how we discussed with the doctor that you should take your medication every day?”
Gregory waved it away. “I’m fine,” he said, still perspiring profusely. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I have a lot on my mind. For some reason, I can’t shake his horrible feeling that dark forces are after my pen.” He smiled apologetically.
“Aha!” I said, slaying him with my broad sword. “I knew it was a pen!”
Click here for similar stories.
September 28, 2012
This thing about shoes – a male perspective
I believe that there is a strong possibility that women have a secret mission. Subconsciously, at least, they feel the need to obtain a single pair of shoes for each day of the year. They may not be aware of this themselves, but ask any woman who owns less than 365 pairs of shoes whether she has enough shoes, and you’ll have your answer. At least for that year.
But why is this? Ask any man to describe any pair of his girlfriend’s shoes and he’ll draw blanks. This is information we simply do not store. It isn’t useful, it’d be an inefficient use of storage resources. In fact, put a man on a beach for a week in flip-flops and ask him to describe his own shoes back home, and he’ll probably describe a pair he owned in high school. If he describes anything at all. More likely he’ll just run away to find a ball or a monster truck or something. Shoes just cannot hold our attention (barring a few weird guys with sneaker collections, of course.)
It’s a universal truth that most guys own exactly 3 pairs of shoes:
1. His normal shoes.
2. His sports shoes.
3. His previous pair of normal shoes*
*) this pair is never worn but he’s afraid to throw them out. In his mind he may need them at some point, perhaps when he has to paint the house or when he loses his current shoes in a freak shoe-related incident. They will be thrown out on the day that a new pair of shoes is finally bought, and his current pair becomes his previous pair. It will be like a changing of the guards.
So where does women’s shoe fetish come from? If you’re like me, then the whole thing seems kind of random. Why choose shoes? Why not head bands? Or gloves? Or painted twigs for that matter? It seems like a very arbitrary choice. And not even a very practical one. For one thing, shoes are always far away, all the way down there where the ground and the dirt and the dog shit is. That place where we never really look, and where things can easily get covered up by a pants leg.
Shoes are the first thing we take off when we get home because we don’t want to get the house dirty and they’re the first thing we put on when we think there’s glass on the ground. It’s the fashion equivalent of a wet dog.
Furthermore, there really isn’t much room for improvement. There is no real future from a design viewpoint. Shoes will always be either shaped roughly like a foot, or they’ll be mostly unusable. All you can really do is cover them with different colors and extra bits that have no function.
But perhaps the most baffling thing is how it appears that all women everywhere have at least a mild shoe fetish. So what happened? Did they all get together one day and make a unanimous decision to start focusing major time/and/financial resources on… shoes?
And since when do women make unanimous decisions anyway? Any why weren’t we invited? Don’t we have a say in the matter? More importantly, was there any cake?
What most men fail to understand, however, is that the ‘why’ of it doesn’t even matter. We don’t need to break our heads over it. It’s an immutable fact so it’s not our problem. No, what’s important is the following:
Women do pay attention to men’s shoes.
Yes they do.
They notice them right away.
And, even more baffling, they form an opinion of us, based on our shoes.
So men had better get with the program. Who knows what kind of message our current pair has been sending out behind our backs? It could be anything! Some decoding is needed here. We have an opportunity to send out a very precise, calculated message using just our shoes, if only we could crack the shoe-code. Clearly, men should pool their resources and get some scientists on this. In the mean time, however, it seems fair to assume that clean, expensive looking shoes are the best way to go.
September 20, 2012
This week's questions
So far, being alive is probably one of the most complicated things I’ve attempted. In fact, all the other complicated things seem to stem directly from it. Even today, many years after my (alleged) birth, strange and worrying questions keep arising. Here is the list of things I could use some help with this week. If you have any answers for me, just jut them down in the comments below:
- Ever look up and feel that one of the clouds was coming for you?
- I'm not entirely sure that my belly button is in the middle.
What can that mean?
- Just before I look under my bed, I always get a little cold feeling, as if part of me expects to find something staring back at me. I've probably seen too many Hollywood movies to have any hope of ever cultivating a healthy relationship with the underside of my bed.
- I live with the constant fear that I'll suddenly become allergic to air and die.
Other than that, I'm quite an optimistic person.
- Ever look up and feel that one of the clouds was coming for you?
- I'm not entirely sure that my belly button is in the middle.
What can that mean?
- Just before I look under my bed, I always get a little cold feeling, as if part of me expects to find something staring back at me. I've probably seen too many Hollywood movies to have any hope of ever cultivating a healthy relationship with the underside of my bed.
- I live with the constant fear that I'll suddenly become allergic to air and die.
Other than that, I'm quite an optimistic person.
September 10, 2012
Free Sequel
For a limited time only, get a free sequel to the award winning No Hope for Gomez! with the purchance of any of my novels.
This sequel is not available anywhere else.
No Hope for Gomez (paperback)
Unspent Time (paperback)
Unspent Time (Kindle)
Unspent Time (other eBook formats)
Simply forward your receipt to nohopeforgomez@gmail.com to register for your free copy.
Unspent Time reviews:
‘A wonderful collection of stories taken out of the creative mind of Graham Parke. It was different, unique and a lot of fun.’ Reader’s Favorite ’Witty and sarcastic at times, and serious at others, which makes for an altogether interesting and engaging read.’ Haley, top Amazon reviewerNo Hope for Gomez! reviews:
’This book is different from any other book I have read. The way the author speaks through his characters and builds up suspense is really intriguing.’ Bridget, Top B&N reviewer.’Parke’s debut novel melds screwball comedy, hipster-style irony, and an old-fashioned unreliable narrator into a quirky whodunit that challenges our perceptions about how we think and interact with the world around us. ’ Kirkus, Best of Indie 2011.
June 6, 2012
Launch event winners
"I'm very polite by nature, even the voices in my head let each other finish their sentences." Graham Parke, Unspent Time
A big thank you to all the bloggers and readers who supported the Unspent Time launch event (especially those who bought multiple versions of the weird little novels that wrecked a thousand reasonably useful minds.)
I'd originally planned to have a monkey draw two random numbers out of a hat (then use the inverse hexadecimal value - because you cannot trust monkeys, not at the prices I'm willing to pay) but apparently there are laws against monkey labor. There are permits involved. It's a whole thing. So instead I asked a friend to think of two random numbers while dressed in a monkey suit, without telling him what the numbers were for. This seemed sufficiently random to me, although it later occurred to me how worrying it was that my friend would actually do this without ever asking why. There might be a thinly veiled cry for help in there somewhere...
Kindle Fire Winner:
Cecilia Huddleston
Kindle Touch Winner:
Kathy Habel
Anyway, here's the results, thank you all for joining in, winners will be contacted and forced to accept prizes, stay healthy and at least somewhat sane,
Graham Parke
“We played for about half an hour before I realized we were actually playing two different games. What I’d thought of as ludo was actually a game called gin rummy, and what Warren was playing seemed to be a mixture of craps and table tennis. Once we started playing by one consistent set of rules, though, the fun was really over.” Graham Parke, No Hope for Gomez!
