Tracey Alley's Blog, page 3
November 12, 2010
Good fences makes good neighbours? Only if they're 6ft thick
I've lived in my little house for 19 years next April and I love it and yes I have six foot fences all around except for the front yard. I moved in here with my Mum when she was getting sick and the neighbourhood was peaceful and quiet yet still close to shops and everything we needed. Bliss.
Then about two years ago a family moved in next door. They're loud, rude, aggressive, often violent and that's on their good days. I hate to come across sounding like a snob but I've seriously never met a more feral group of people.
Last New Years Eve they tried to attack my husband in the front lawn - fortunately he's in the security business and can easily take care of himself but still! They've let down our tyres, kicked in panels in our cars and there is near constant verbal harassment.
Nor are we their only victims, many of the neighbours have suffered at their hands, some of whom are quite elderly. They're like a single family wrecking machine turning a formally quiet neighbourhood into a war zone with constant police visits and yet the police, beyond booking them then set them free doing little more than placing them on probation or bonds. In other words, nothing.
I've had people suggest that we move but why should I uproot my whole life for this one family? And as I say I am not the only one and not everyone is financially in a position to move.
I'm only having a little rant because they had one of their in-house brawls in the front yard this morning at 4AM so I'm a little tired and a lot fed up. I shall just have to keep reminding myself that nothing lasts forever and there are too many other things in my life to be grateful for to allow these people to get under my skin... it just might take a bit more coffee to get to that stage.
Rant over and thanks for listening,
Cheers
Trace
Then about two years ago a family moved in next door. They're loud, rude, aggressive, often violent and that's on their good days. I hate to come across sounding like a snob but I've seriously never met a more feral group of people.
Last New Years Eve they tried to attack my husband in the front lawn - fortunately he's in the security business and can easily take care of himself but still! They've let down our tyres, kicked in panels in our cars and there is near constant verbal harassment.
Nor are we their only victims, many of the neighbours have suffered at their hands, some of whom are quite elderly. They're like a single family wrecking machine turning a formally quiet neighbourhood into a war zone with constant police visits and yet the police, beyond booking them then set them free doing little more than placing them on probation or bonds. In other words, nothing.
I've had people suggest that we move but why should I uproot my whole life for this one family? And as I say I am not the only one and not everyone is financially in a position to move.
I'm only having a little rant because they had one of their in-house brawls in the front yard this morning at 4AM so I'm a little tired and a lot fed up. I shall just have to keep reminding myself that nothing lasts forever and there are too many other things in my life to be grateful for to allow these people to get under my skin... it just might take a bit more coffee to get to that stage.
Rant over and thanks for listening,
Cheers
Trace
November 9, 2010
Rest and Relaxation? Not Quite
I was recently admitted to hospital for close to a week. I am severely anaemic and, in the doctor's words, needed a few pints of blood along with plenty of rest and relaxation. So off to hospital I go. Bag all packed, like a school camp or something, expecting new blood and plenty of rest.
Now, I'm not in any way, shape or form knocking the medical profession and especially not the nursing staff. They are a dedicated, genuinely caring group of people who work very hard. Particularly at the moment as there's been a computer glitch meaning that the majority of our nursing staff, in Queensland, are getting paid nothing or mere fractions of what they should be getting paid. The government says 'they're onto the problem and it will be fixed as soon as possible' but we all know what that means - it's the same as saying 'the cheque's in the mail'. But our nurses keep working on regardless - so I cannot fault them.
What I do find a little hard to understand though is how is a person supposed to get 'rest and relaxation' when every hour they come around and take your temperature, your blood pressure, your pulse, ask you a bunch of questions you've already answered what feels like a hundred times before - and then they tell you that 'you look a little peaky, you should get some rest'. Well, I'm trying but you make it a little difficult.
Then I have so little red blood cells and they can't even get an iron reading in my blood tests which is why I'm in hospital in the first place - so what do they do? Yup, three times a day they come and take six vials of blood for more testing. Of course it doesn't help that I have bad veins, skinny, deep and wriggling around like spaghetti so every single time they try to get some blood is an effort which usually takes three or four goes. Then they ask me why my arms and hands are covered in bruises?
Rest and relaxation? I think I'll book a week in Fiji instead :)
Cheers,
Trace
Now, I'm not in any way, shape or form knocking the medical profession and especially not the nursing staff. They are a dedicated, genuinely caring group of people who work very hard. Particularly at the moment as there's been a computer glitch meaning that the majority of our nursing staff, in Queensland, are getting paid nothing or mere fractions of what they should be getting paid. The government says 'they're onto the problem and it will be fixed as soon as possible' but we all know what that means - it's the same as saying 'the cheque's in the mail'. But our nurses keep working on regardless - so I cannot fault them.
What I do find a little hard to understand though is how is a person supposed to get 'rest and relaxation' when every hour they come around and take your temperature, your blood pressure, your pulse, ask you a bunch of questions you've already answered what feels like a hundred times before - and then they tell you that 'you look a little peaky, you should get some rest'. Well, I'm trying but you make it a little difficult.
Then I have so little red blood cells and they can't even get an iron reading in my blood tests which is why I'm in hospital in the first place - so what do they do? Yup, three times a day they come and take six vials of blood for more testing. Of course it doesn't help that I have bad veins, skinny, deep and wriggling around like spaghetti so every single time they try to get some blood is an effort which usually takes three or four goes. Then they ask me why my arms and hands are covered in bruises?
Rest and relaxation? I think I'll book a week in Fiji instead :)
Cheers,
Trace
October 30, 2010
Manners Please!
Lately I've been hearing horror stories about the general view of what constitutes good manners in society. I'll admit that I had pretty strict parents, manners were compulsory. I just can't understand why simple good manners seem to be going out the window - are we too lazy, too self-centred, not brought up right [dodges stones being thrown]? I just don't get it.
How much effort does it really take to smile, say please and thank you or excuse me? Are you really that busy that you can't send a simple RSVP - and I'm talking serious events here involving catering like weddings and engagement parties? Is it really so hard to write a simple 'thank you' note when someone's gone to the trouble of finding you a gift? Heck even a phone call would be nice.
I realise that our society is speeding up and everyone of us struggles each day to get everything done but we're talking simple five minute exercises here, some even less. Do we as a society really have that little time?
Personally I think we're all starting to just plain get lazy and the internet offers so many opportunities for laziness. Offering a blanket 'thanks' on your Facebook website is not very personal and, in my opinion, not really very well mannered.
Rant over - I guess I just needed to vent.
How much effort does it really take to smile, say please and thank you or excuse me? Are you really that busy that you can't send a simple RSVP - and I'm talking serious events here involving catering like weddings and engagement parties? Is it really so hard to write a simple 'thank you' note when someone's gone to the trouble of finding you a gift? Heck even a phone call would be nice.
I realise that our society is speeding up and everyone of us struggles each day to get everything done but we're talking simple five minute exercises here, some even less. Do we as a society really have that little time?
Personally I think we're all starting to just plain get lazy and the internet offers so many opportunities for laziness. Offering a blanket 'thanks' on your Facebook website is not very personal and, in my opinion, not really very well mannered.
Rant over - I guess I just needed to vent.
October 27, 2010
New Attempt at Flash Fiction
I'm trying to switch genres for a while at least and want to write a thriller/mystery/crime kind of thing - the stories in my head so I figured I may as well write it but... being such a different style I thought I'd play around with some flash fiction to see if I can develop the necessary tension. So here's my latest attempt:
PAYBACK
For almost a year he had stalked her. Terrorized her with phone calls, notes, threats of incredible, extreme violence all interspersed with his declarations of undying love. She didn’t know who he was but it seemed he knew everything about her. She’d changed her phone number countless times, he always somehow found out the new one. She had even moved apartments but nothing, nothing she had done had stopped his continual harassment.
She had called the police only to be told that without a suspect there was nothing she or they could do; it was maddening, terrifying and driving her to the brink of insanity.
Now, in spite of all her precautions, in spite of everything she had done to try and keep herself safe, now he had her in his clutches. Under the cover of a violent thunderstorm on her very own doorstep he had taken her from behind; she’d been gagged, blindfolded and shoved into the back of a van and driven somewhere. Now he could do what he liked with her. From what little she could tell from her own body she seemed to be in a cabin, somewhere, tied to a bed that smelt filthy with body odour and other nameless smells. She could hear him moving around but he hadn’t spoken a word since he had captured her and she was utterly sightless from the blindfold.
Outside the thunderstorm still raged; the thunder louder than any sound she had ever heard in her life and the brilliant flashes of lightning doing nothing more than leaving spots before her eyes. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing. In TV shows they always told you to remain calm but how could she possibly remain calm with this man, this monster in the very same room. She could hear his ragged breathing whenever he came close to her; usually to run the razor sharp knife along some part of her body. The same knife he had used to cut her clothes from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
Then his foul body was on top of her, violating her, his disgustingly bad breath so close to her face she thought she would vomit. Thankfully it was over quickly but she knew this was only the beginning of her torment. He would not stop; nothing would stop him from abusing her in every possible way until he eventually decided to kill her. She knew this to be true, knew it in her very soul. Somehow she would have to find the strength to break his hold on her but how? She could not talk, could not try to make him see her as a human being, she could barely even move.
The rape and abuse went on for seemed to be a lifetime and then he decided she needed a bath. The irony of it almost made her laugh aloud, even if she could have gagged as she was, he so disgusting yet deciding that she needed a bath. It was the first time she had heard his voice and something about it seemed frighteningly recognizable but in her terror she could not identify what it was that struck her as familiar. Then she heard the sounds of the running water. When the bath was full he came back, untied her and guided her into the warm water.
His hands were everywhere as he washed her body clean, gentle hands that felt almost like a lover’s touch instead of the violent rapist of the past few hours. As he washed her he talked to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he only wanted to care for her. The abrupt change of persona was chilling but the more he talked the more convinced she became that she knew this man, knew him well. Fighting down her terror and the near overwhelming rage that was growing within her she tried to concentrate. Concentrate on his voice, tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.
Suddenly it came to her; it was her supervisor at work. He had been promoted to their department a little over a year ago and very quickly asked her on a date. She’d politely refused. This small man with the perpetually bad breath and glasses held absolutely no appeal to her; he had seemed to take her rejection with good grace but now she knew better. She also knew that she could overcome this man; he stood only a little taller than she was and was a skinny, ineffectual man. He had obviously relied on her not recognizing him and using her terror to prevent her fighting back.
She stood so abruptly she almost slipped in the soapy water but within seconds she had torn off the blindfold and removed the gag. Her actions had been so unexpected that he had simply sat there for a few seconds staring at her, his face a comic mixture of anger and dismay. Those few seconds though were more than enough. She ran to the bedroom and grabbed the long, sharp hunting knife. Now he was in her clutches. He came running to her to attempt to regain control. Her terror, her horrible feelings of violation, even her nakedness and shame drove her to a blinding rage. As he raced toward her she brought up the knife and thrust it deep into his chest; a feeling of almost intense satisfaction running through her as she felt his still warm blood from his dying heart flooding over her hand. As he lay dead at her feet she felt no guilt. It was payback for what he had done to her and he would now never be able to do it to anyone ever again.
Please let me know what you think - am I on the right track or should I just stick to what I know and do reasonably well at?
PAYBACK
For almost a year he had stalked her. Terrorized her with phone calls, notes, threats of incredible, extreme violence all interspersed with his declarations of undying love. She didn’t know who he was but it seemed he knew everything about her. She’d changed her phone number countless times, he always somehow found out the new one. She had even moved apartments but nothing, nothing she had done had stopped his continual harassment.
She had called the police only to be told that without a suspect there was nothing she or they could do; it was maddening, terrifying and driving her to the brink of insanity.
Now, in spite of all her precautions, in spite of everything she had done to try and keep herself safe, now he had her in his clutches. Under the cover of a violent thunderstorm on her very own doorstep he had taken her from behind; she’d been gagged, blindfolded and shoved into the back of a van and driven somewhere. Now he could do what he liked with her. From what little she could tell from her own body she seemed to be in a cabin, somewhere, tied to a bed that smelt filthy with body odour and other nameless smells. She could hear him moving around but he hadn’t spoken a word since he had captured her and she was utterly sightless from the blindfold.
Outside the thunderstorm still raged; the thunder louder than any sound she had ever heard in her life and the brilliant flashes of lightning doing nothing more than leaving spots before her eyes. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts racing. In TV shows they always told you to remain calm but how could she possibly remain calm with this man, this monster in the very same room. She could hear his ragged breathing whenever he came close to her; usually to run the razor sharp knife along some part of her body. The same knife he had used to cut her clothes from her, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
Then his foul body was on top of her, violating her, his disgustingly bad breath so close to her face she thought she would vomit. Thankfully it was over quickly but she knew this was only the beginning of her torment. He would not stop; nothing would stop him from abusing her in every possible way until he eventually decided to kill her. She knew this to be true, knew it in her very soul. Somehow she would have to find the strength to break his hold on her but how? She could not talk, could not try to make him see her as a human being, she could barely even move.
The rape and abuse went on for seemed to be a lifetime and then he decided she needed a bath. The irony of it almost made her laugh aloud, even if she could have gagged as she was, he so disgusting yet deciding that she needed a bath. It was the first time she had heard his voice and something about it seemed frighteningly recognizable but in her terror she could not identify what it was that struck her as familiar. Then she heard the sounds of the running water. When the bath was full he came back, untied her and guided her into the warm water.
His hands were everywhere as he washed her body clean, gentle hands that felt almost like a lover’s touch instead of the violent rapist of the past few hours. As he washed her he talked to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her, how he only wanted to care for her. The abrupt change of persona was chilling but the more he talked the more convinced she became that she knew this man, knew him well. Fighting down her terror and the near overwhelming rage that was growing within her she tried to concentrate. Concentrate on his voice, tried to think of a way out of this nightmare.
Suddenly it came to her; it was her supervisor at work. He had been promoted to their department a little over a year ago and very quickly asked her on a date. She’d politely refused. This small man with the perpetually bad breath and glasses held absolutely no appeal to her; he had seemed to take her rejection with good grace but now she knew better. She also knew that she could overcome this man; he stood only a little taller than she was and was a skinny, ineffectual man. He had obviously relied on her not recognizing him and using her terror to prevent her fighting back.
She stood so abruptly she almost slipped in the soapy water but within seconds she had torn off the blindfold and removed the gag. Her actions had been so unexpected that he had simply sat there for a few seconds staring at her, his face a comic mixture of anger and dismay. Those few seconds though were more than enough. She ran to the bedroom and grabbed the long, sharp hunting knife. Now he was in her clutches. He came running to her to attempt to regain control. Her terror, her horrible feelings of violation, even her nakedness and shame drove her to a blinding rage. As he raced toward her she brought up the knife and thrust it deep into his chest; a feeling of almost intense satisfaction running through her as she felt his still warm blood from his dying heart flooding over her hand. As he lay dead at her feet she felt no guilt. It was payback for what he had done to her and he would now never be able to do it to anyone ever again.
Please let me know what you think - am I on the right track or should I just stick to what I know and do reasonably well at?
October 25, 2010
Well, I just became a grandma - sort of.....
I'm not really a grandma, have to have kids yourself to do that, but my cat Jazz had a litter of kittens this weekend and it got me thinking. This is Jazz's first, and only, litter and I was pretty amazed at the way she just instinctively knew what to do, how to care for them, everything just came so naturally. Yes, I know that's nature's way but I wondered why?
Why is it that humans, complex creatures though I know we are, but why do we seem to make everything so complicated? We get pregnant and go to birthing classes and read books and join groups. Why can't we just instinctively know what to do and how to do it at the right time?
I realise there's a whole world of difference between humans and animals but it seems to me that maybe humans deliberately make things difficult. We certainly know how to destroy things and ourselves and maybe even the planet itself in the process. I don't have any answers, I'm just asking the questions and it seems odd to me that for a species that is so supposedly advanced we make so many stupid mistakes.
We have stupid laws, complicated beaurocratic [sp?] systems that chew up time, money and effort that could surely be better spent elsewhere. We make wars that so often, after the fact, seem to have had little or no point. We ignore the really important things, like making sure all humans are fed, clothed and housed.
I know this has meandered a long way from a litter of kittens but the process just made me think so I thought I'd share my thoughts with you. Some days I really just wish I could be a cat or a dog and not have to worry about the intricacies of civilization :)
Why is it that humans, complex creatures though I know we are, but why do we seem to make everything so complicated? We get pregnant and go to birthing classes and read books and join groups. Why can't we just instinctively know what to do and how to do it at the right time?
I realise there's a whole world of difference between humans and animals but it seems to me that maybe humans deliberately make things difficult. We certainly know how to destroy things and ourselves and maybe even the planet itself in the process. I don't have any answers, I'm just asking the questions and it seems odd to me that for a species that is so supposedly advanced we make so many stupid mistakes.
We have stupid laws, complicated beaurocratic [sp?] systems that chew up time, money and effort that could surely be better spent elsewhere. We make wars that so often, after the fact, seem to have had little or no point. We ignore the really important things, like making sure all humans are fed, clothed and housed.
I know this has meandered a long way from a litter of kittens but the process just made me think so I thought I'd share my thoughts with you. Some days I really just wish I could be a cat or a dog and not have to worry about the intricacies of civilization :)
October 20, 2010
Should A Writer Also Be A Reviewer?
I've read quite a few comments lately about whether or not writers should review other writers work; particularly in the Indie industry. Obviously there's no cheap yes or no answer to this question because some people, writers or otherwise, just don't write reviews - ever.
If, however, you are the kind of person who will write a review for a book then I don't believe your profession should enter into the equation. Writers, or at least in my opinion good writers, should be first and foremost readers. That means that it's perfectly ok to write a review, good or bad.
Some people have said they couldn't write a review just because the book wasn't to their personal taste but my question is why did you read it in the first place? I've bought and borrowed many books that I thought would appeal to me only to find that aspects of the book weren't to my liking. If I review that book, even if I give it a 1 star review I should be able to tell people what I personally didn't like about the book and why.
I've only really started reviewing books since my own novels were published - because I know how much they mean to the author but that doesn't mean I should sugar coat it. A book may be very well written technically but have aspects to it that I personally didn't like - if I say that in a review another potential reader might just think 'wow I'd really enjoy that'.
If you're a reader than you're already a reviewer whether or not you make those reviews public. How many of us have ever discussed a book with friends or family and NOT commented on the things we liked or disliked? Probably none of us. Just becoming an author yourself doesn't change the fact that you have opinions, valid opinions and you have the right to share. Even if the book was so bad you couldn't finish it don't be afraid to say that - potential readers want to know and writers simply have to learn to take criticism, deserved or otherwise.
So readers of the world write your reviews without fear just be honest.
If, however, you are the kind of person who will write a review for a book then I don't believe your profession should enter into the equation. Writers, or at least in my opinion good writers, should be first and foremost readers. That means that it's perfectly ok to write a review, good or bad.
Some people have said they couldn't write a review just because the book wasn't to their personal taste but my question is why did you read it in the first place? I've bought and borrowed many books that I thought would appeal to me only to find that aspects of the book weren't to my liking. If I review that book, even if I give it a 1 star review I should be able to tell people what I personally didn't like about the book and why.
I've only really started reviewing books since my own novels were published - because I know how much they mean to the author but that doesn't mean I should sugar coat it. A book may be very well written technically but have aspects to it that I personally didn't like - if I say that in a review another potential reader might just think 'wow I'd really enjoy that'.
If you're a reader than you're already a reviewer whether or not you make those reviews public. How many of us have ever discussed a book with friends or family and NOT commented on the things we liked or disliked? Probably none of us. Just becoming an author yourself doesn't change the fact that you have opinions, valid opinions and you have the right to share. Even if the book was so bad you couldn't finish it don't be afraid to say that - potential readers want to know and writers simply have to learn to take criticism, deserved or otherwise.
So readers of the world write your reviews without fear just be honest.
October 12, 2010
How far can you stretch yourself as a writer?
I've never wanted, as an author, to be pigeon-holed. I've always wanted to be able to experiment with different genre's and even different styles within the same genre. I already write poetry, children's books, non-fiction work as well as fantasy and my latest experiment with flash fiction was very, very different to anything I'd written before.
The beauty of Amazon and self-publishing is that you have the freedom to do these kinds of experiments but I'm beginning to wonder if that's a 'smart' thing to do career wise. Mention the name Stephen King and people automatically think 'horror', so much so that when he wanted to branch out a little he had to write under a pen name. The same is true of Terry Pratchett - he's famous for his Discworld series and very few people even know that he actually does write other books. So does that mean that to have a truly successful writing career you have to pick a genre and stick with it?
Don't get me wrong, I love writing fantasy. I've cherished every moment I've spent in the land of Kaynos. I just don't want to be stuck there forever. Perhaps my imagination is limited but I think there are only so many good stories that I can write in that mythical land before it would become boring - for me, at least. But I can't help but wonder if I'm doing my overall writing career a disservice by wandering off into other genre's.
Or is this perhaps the new direction that writers and publishers will start to take? Is it possible that those of us who are riding the Indie train will set a new trend? Will we start to see Romance novelists writing Horror, or Mystery writers penning Westerns? And if that should become the accepted norm in writing and publishing how will readers react to that? As a reader, if you grabbed the latest Stephen King and it turned out to be a comedy - no matter how well written - would you be disappointed?
These are just a few thoughts and maybe it's just me and my own desire to try my hand at so many different things - I guess I just want to be able to tell ALL the stories in my head, not just the fantasy ones. :)
The beauty of Amazon and self-publishing is that you have the freedom to do these kinds of experiments but I'm beginning to wonder if that's a 'smart' thing to do career wise. Mention the name Stephen King and people automatically think 'horror', so much so that when he wanted to branch out a little he had to write under a pen name. The same is true of Terry Pratchett - he's famous for his Discworld series and very few people even know that he actually does write other books. So does that mean that to have a truly successful writing career you have to pick a genre and stick with it?
Don't get me wrong, I love writing fantasy. I've cherished every moment I've spent in the land of Kaynos. I just don't want to be stuck there forever. Perhaps my imagination is limited but I think there are only so many good stories that I can write in that mythical land before it would become boring - for me, at least. But I can't help but wonder if I'm doing my overall writing career a disservice by wandering off into other genre's.
Or is this perhaps the new direction that writers and publishers will start to take? Is it possible that those of us who are riding the Indie train will set a new trend? Will we start to see Romance novelists writing Horror, or Mystery writers penning Westerns? And if that should become the accepted norm in writing and publishing how will readers react to that? As a reader, if you grabbed the latest Stephen King and it turned out to be a comedy - no matter how well written - would you be disappointed?
These are just a few thoughts and maybe it's just me and my own desire to try my hand at so many different things - I guess I just want to be able to tell ALL the stories in my head, not just the fantasy ones. :)
October 10, 2010
Flash Fiction - An Experiment
Hi all,
Pinched this idea from Karen but I thought I'd try my hand at flash fiction - something I've never done before - so would appreciate all comments and opinions on both content and idea.
Here Tis
Sins of the Father
Becky’s heart pounded heavily in her chest as she watched the neat suburban house across the street from her car. Was it from fear or excitement, she wondered. For ten years she had thought about and planned for this moment; it had taken her that long to find him. He had moved around so much, hiding the monster within behind a mask of normality. Only Becky it seemed knew him for what he truly was, human filth.
He lay beyond the so-called justice system of the courts. The woman he had so brutally raped, Becky’s mother, had chosen to end her own life rather than live with what he had done to her. Then Becky’s sister, her twin, had made the same choice; unable to live with the knowledge of what they were, products of incest. For those sins alone Becky had felt that her father, her uncle, the sperm donor whose lusts had given her life, should die as a fitting punishment. Yet that had not been the trigger for her actions today.
Becky had tried to live a normal life, tried to overcome the feelings of guilt over sins that were not her burden to carry. It had not been easy. She had married, he was probably a good man, yet she had always found it difficult to fully trust him or fully commit to their marriage. Her now ex-husband had been, for many years, surprisingly tolerant and understanding. Until her son Tim's suicide. A stupid class project tracing their family tree had been given to Tim's class; eventually the truth had come out. Tim had been thirteen, he had not been able to cope, could not even begin to see past the sins of his beginnings.
That had destroyed Becky’s marriage and formed the seed of her plan. It was then she had begun looking for the man that fate had decreed would be her father. Strangely she had given no thought in all those years to the consequences of her actions, she still did not care about the consequences. This man, this monster, had caused three deaths and he would pay for them. Beyond that Becky really did not care about what might happen to her; she had already lost everyone of value to her because of his actions. She was only forty-five but she could no longer see any future for her, there was no point.
Taking a deep breath Becky exited the car and carefully crossed the street. She knew he was home, his near new car stood proudly in the driveway. She also knew he was married but that knowledge did not cause her to falter in her intentions; her only hope was that it would be he who answered her knock and not his wife. Becky was not prepared to deal with anyone but him. Fortunately it was he who answered the door, his face changing subtly from one of gentle welcoming to one of a flickering of fear. Not fear of Becky, they had not seen each other in so long she doubted he would even recognize her, but fear of the gun she held steadily in her hand.
When planning this Becky had imagined the speech she would give before she pulled the trigger and exacted the justice that had been denied. At the sight of him, however, her prepared speech flew out of her mind. In his late fifties he looked strong, healthy, at the peak of his life. He even looked handsome, was obviously successful; life had not punished his sins, now it was only Becky who could make him pay once and for all.
Not a trace of guilt, not a hint of remorse; perhaps he did not and never had even thought of those things that had haunted Becky’s existence. Mere seconds passed as these thoughts flashed through her mind. Without a word she pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun until she was certain he was dead. Calmly, ignoring the screams she could hear coming from within the house, Becky walked back to her car and drove away. The police would almost certainly catch up with her but in the meantime she intended to put the flowers she had already purchased on her son’s grave.
The End
Pinched this idea from Karen but I thought I'd try my hand at flash fiction - something I've never done before - so would appreciate all comments and opinions on both content and idea.
Here Tis
Sins of the Father
Becky’s heart pounded heavily in her chest as she watched the neat suburban house across the street from her car. Was it from fear or excitement, she wondered. For ten years she had thought about and planned for this moment; it had taken her that long to find him. He had moved around so much, hiding the monster within behind a mask of normality. Only Becky it seemed knew him for what he truly was, human filth.
He lay beyond the so-called justice system of the courts. The woman he had so brutally raped, Becky’s mother, had chosen to end her own life rather than live with what he had done to her. Then Becky’s sister, her twin, had made the same choice; unable to live with the knowledge of what they were, products of incest. For those sins alone Becky had felt that her father, her uncle, the sperm donor whose lusts had given her life, should die as a fitting punishment. Yet that had not been the trigger for her actions today.
Becky had tried to live a normal life, tried to overcome the feelings of guilt over sins that were not her burden to carry. It had not been easy. She had married, he was probably a good man, yet she had always found it difficult to fully trust him or fully commit to their marriage. Her now ex-husband had been, for many years, surprisingly tolerant and understanding. Until her son Tim's suicide. A stupid class project tracing their family tree had been given to Tim's class; eventually the truth had come out. Tim had been thirteen, he had not been able to cope, could not even begin to see past the sins of his beginnings.
That had destroyed Becky’s marriage and formed the seed of her plan. It was then she had begun looking for the man that fate had decreed would be her father. Strangely she had given no thought in all those years to the consequences of her actions, she still did not care about the consequences. This man, this monster, had caused three deaths and he would pay for them. Beyond that Becky really did not care about what might happen to her; she had already lost everyone of value to her because of his actions. She was only forty-five but she could no longer see any future for her, there was no point.
Taking a deep breath Becky exited the car and carefully crossed the street. She knew he was home, his near new car stood proudly in the driveway. She also knew he was married but that knowledge did not cause her to falter in her intentions; her only hope was that it would be he who answered her knock and not his wife. Becky was not prepared to deal with anyone but him. Fortunately it was he who answered the door, his face changing subtly from one of gentle welcoming to one of a flickering of fear. Not fear of Becky, they had not seen each other in so long she doubted he would even recognize her, but fear of the gun she held steadily in her hand.
When planning this Becky had imagined the speech she would give before she pulled the trigger and exacted the justice that had been denied. At the sight of him, however, her prepared speech flew out of her mind. In his late fifties he looked strong, healthy, at the peak of his life. He even looked handsome, was obviously successful; life had not punished his sins, now it was only Becky who could make him pay once and for all.
Not a trace of guilt, not a hint of remorse; perhaps he did not and never had even thought of those things that had haunted Becky’s existence. Mere seconds passed as these thoughts flashed through her mind. Without a word she pulled the trigger, again and again, emptying the gun until she was certain he was dead. Calmly, ignoring the screams she could hear coming from within the house, Becky walked back to her car and drove away. The police would almost certainly catch up with her but in the meantime she intended to put the flowers she had already purchased on her son’s grave.
The End
October 4, 2010
Internet Manners and Etiquette
I'll be honest - prior to publishing my books online I'd never spent any time in internet forums or chat rooms and really knew nothing about the electronic world. The internet, to me, was basically Google, Internet banking and email. However, when I published my books that all began to change. I joined a few forums, got a Facebook page and Twitter account and at first it was all very exciting. I'd had no idea this world existed.
Now, however, I'm becoming a little saddened and jaded by some of the behaviour I'm seeing in different internet forums. I had a couple of friends who used internet dating sites and would tell me horror stories about people's rude and bad behaviour on those sites and I tended to think they were exaggerating. Now I know better.
While there's a vast majority of people who participate in internet sites that show manners, decorum and class there is also, unfortunately, a small minority who seem to have no idea or do not care about how they behave. Rudeness and bad manners are still unacceptable behaviour even if it is done in the privacy of your own home. Think for a second - would you really speak that way to someone you met on the street or to someone who invited you into their home?
The anonymity of the internet does not give anyone a license to engage in aggressive, rude or poor behaviour. Obviously there are people in the 'real world' who do behave badly. Yet I cannot help but think it appears that the internet offers a kind of security blanket to people who would, perhaps, otherwise know and behave better.
There are still many forums, Goodreads among them, that I would highly recommend but sadly there is a growing list of those that I would not. Perhaps it's just a sad indictment on the society we find ourselves living in.
Now, however, I'm becoming a little saddened and jaded by some of the behaviour I'm seeing in different internet forums. I had a couple of friends who used internet dating sites and would tell me horror stories about people's rude and bad behaviour on those sites and I tended to think they were exaggerating. Now I know better.
While there's a vast majority of people who participate in internet sites that show manners, decorum and class there is also, unfortunately, a small minority who seem to have no idea or do not care about how they behave. Rudeness and bad manners are still unacceptable behaviour even if it is done in the privacy of your own home. Think for a second - would you really speak that way to someone you met on the street or to someone who invited you into their home?
The anonymity of the internet does not give anyone a license to engage in aggressive, rude or poor behaviour. Obviously there are people in the 'real world' who do behave badly. Yet I cannot help but think it appears that the internet offers a kind of security blanket to people who would, perhaps, otherwise know and behave better.
There are still many forums, Goodreads among them, that I would highly recommend but sadly there is a growing list of those that I would not. Perhaps it's just a sad indictment on the society we find ourselves living in.
October 1, 2010
To Review or not to Review - that is the question
I've been reading through a thread on another forum where a reviewer was scathingly attacked by the author who felt they'd received a bad review. Unfortunately this is not the first time I have seen this type of behaviour.
As authors we need to develop a fairly thick skin - no matter how good your book is and it may even be a masterpiece there will always be someone who doesn't like it. This happens to EVERY author. A bad review, for an author, might sting a little, might even bring you down for a while but it's actually NOT the end of the world. Even a bad review from a 'professional' reviewer shouldn't be the end of the world either.
When an author reacts badly, especially in a public forum, to a negative review it simply gives all authors a bad reputation. Most reviewers today, on the internet at least, are doing their reviews in their own time, out of their own love of books. So what if they didn't like your book? It's just possible that the reviewer made some very valid comments - in that case a good author should learn from them, they'll probably write an even better book next time.
As a writer I love getting glowing reviews but I'm also not so egotistical [yes I'm using that word] to believe that I've written the greatest novel ever in the history of publishing. Personally I think my books are good, I think a lot of people would enjoy them but I cannot demand that they do, any more than I can vilify someone who didn't like it.
We, as authors, need to remember that reviewers are putting themselves out there just as much as we are by publishing our novels. Reviews, to readers, are extremely important and serve a vital function - I know many people who buy books by previously unknown or unfamiliar authors solely based on the reviews written about them.
I don't write reviews of every book I read - there's only 24 hours in a day - but when I do write a review I try to be honest and fair and if that means I didn't like it or noticed some plot errors or whatever the case may be I will point them out. Because I'm pretty busy I usually only write reviews if I either really liked the book or if I wasn't that impressed.
So to the more dedicated and braver reviewers out there than I am - I take my hat off to you and offer you a very big thank you.
To the author's whose books receive negative reviews I suggest, respectfully, that you take a long, hard look at the review - you might learn something from it or it might just be one person's opinion but try and remember we're supposed to be professionals - not kids in the school yard.
Cheers,
Trace
As authors we need to develop a fairly thick skin - no matter how good your book is and it may even be a masterpiece there will always be someone who doesn't like it. This happens to EVERY author. A bad review, for an author, might sting a little, might even bring you down for a while but it's actually NOT the end of the world. Even a bad review from a 'professional' reviewer shouldn't be the end of the world either.
When an author reacts badly, especially in a public forum, to a negative review it simply gives all authors a bad reputation. Most reviewers today, on the internet at least, are doing their reviews in their own time, out of their own love of books. So what if they didn't like your book? It's just possible that the reviewer made some very valid comments - in that case a good author should learn from them, they'll probably write an even better book next time.
As a writer I love getting glowing reviews but I'm also not so egotistical [yes I'm using that word] to believe that I've written the greatest novel ever in the history of publishing. Personally I think my books are good, I think a lot of people would enjoy them but I cannot demand that they do, any more than I can vilify someone who didn't like it.
We, as authors, need to remember that reviewers are putting themselves out there just as much as we are by publishing our novels. Reviews, to readers, are extremely important and serve a vital function - I know many people who buy books by previously unknown or unfamiliar authors solely based on the reviews written about them.
I don't write reviews of every book I read - there's only 24 hours in a day - but when I do write a review I try to be honest and fair and if that means I didn't like it or noticed some plot errors or whatever the case may be I will point them out. Because I'm pretty busy I usually only write reviews if I either really liked the book or if I wasn't that impressed.
So to the more dedicated and braver reviewers out there than I am - I take my hat off to you and offer you a very big thank you.
To the author's whose books receive negative reviews I suggest, respectfully, that you take a long, hard look at the review - you might learn something from it or it might just be one person's opinion but try and remember we're supposed to be professionals - not kids in the school yard.
Cheers,
Trace
