Stuart Aken's Blog, page 327

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Fabian

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Fabian: noun - member of the Fabian Society, or a sympathizer with its ideals: adjective - pertaining to the manner of the cautious and delaying tactics employed by Roman general, Fabius Maximus; to wear out an enemy; pertaining to a socialist society founded in 1884, which advocates a policy of cautious and gradual political change.

For this definition, I felt I could do no better than include the introduction from the Fabian Society's own website:

The Fabian Society has played a central role for more than a century in the development of political ideas and public policy on the left of centre. Analysing the key challenges facing the UK and the rest of the industrialised world in a changing society and global economy, the society's programme aims to explore the political ideas and the policy reforms which will define progressive politics in the new century.The society is unique among think-tanks in being a democratically-constituted membership organisation. It is affiliated to the Labour Party but is editorially and organisationally independent. Through its publications, seminars and conferences, the society provides an arena for open-minded public debate.All Labour Prime Ministers have been members of the Fabian Society, while the Young Fabians have been influential in creating debate and as an arena for young people with an interest in politics to both influence and learn from influential political figures.
I must tell you, though, I have no affiliation to or connection with the Fabian Society. In fact, I think party politics is the antithesis of democracy and polarises opinion in the most unhelpful way. In a distortion of Groucho Marx's words, 'I wouldn't join any political party that would have me as a member.'

One More Chapter Done in the Edit.

Image via WikipediaYesterday was a long day at the day job, followed by ballroom dance class with my wife, which is always great fun. So, I did no editing. This afternoon, I returned from work to find 91 emails awaiting responses. Those have all been answered and I've done another chapter, but only one this time. Tomorrow is another day dedicated to the day job, followed by an evening with my writing group, so I shall get no more done now until Thursday. How wonderful it would be to spend all my working time on the writing, but, in common with the vast majority of writers, I have to do other work (albeit part time) to support my family.
The edit continues to go well and I'm approaching the point where I shall have to decide whether I can break the first volume and make it shorter. I'm hoping that will be possible, as it will make the package more attractive the conservative book-buying agents and publishers (I note that readers are generally far more adventurous and often welcome longer books, but they, unfortunately, don't govern whether or not a book is published, more's the pity!)

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Eager

[image error] Image via Wikipedia
Eager:  adjective – impetuous, full of or demonstrating keen desire or appetite; impatiently longing.
'Barnaby was so eager to impress Shirley that he almost killed himself as he jumped over the wall and landed in a ditch some twelve feet down.'

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Dabble

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Dabble: verb - moisten or soil by sprinkling, splashing, or dipping into water or other liquid; move, splash Hands or feet in water, move the feet, hands, etc., in shallow water, paddle; work at something in a desultory manner; meddle, interfere.
'Under the burning sun, Georgina and Cindy dabbled their feet in the fountain to bring some relief from the heat wave that all but consumed the city.'
'David dabbled his handkerchief in the river to wash away the blood after murdering his wife's lover.'

Edit Almost Two Thirds Done

Next chapter waiting is 41 and page 390. So, done quite well today. In between chapters, I've done a few more bits and pieces of stuff for blog posts, prepared another author interview, been for a longish walk in the surrounding countryside with my wife, watched a recorded version of 'The Beauty of Books' on the old idiots' lantern, completed an application to join the Society of Authors and read a little. So, a quiet day, really.
Tomorrow I'm spending till the end of time at work, as I have to make up time I took off to take my daughter to her university interview. And, of course, tomorrow night is ballroom dancing with Valerie, so I'll not get back to the edit until after work on Tuesday.
Now, if some kind publisher could recognise my genius and pay me a large sum of money as an advance, I could just get on with the real work. Any takers?

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Cabal

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Cabal  noun – Kabbalah, a conspiracy, secret intrigue, a faction, petty plotting, secret meeting, political clique: verb - come together for a private end, intrigue against.
'The cabal of opposition senators plotted to overthrow the incumbent leadership, intent on establishing their own version of government regardless of the wishes of the people.'
'Members of the secret conspiracy caballed underground to discuss the assassination of the president.'

#SampleSunday - 1 of 10 Tales for Tomorrow for your enjoyment

This is a very short story (also known as flash fiction) from the collection of speculative fiction that is my anthology of science fiction and fantasy. Ten Tales for Tomorrow is available via Smashwords, on Amazon UK (click on the title to this post for the link) or Amazon.com  If you enjoy this sample, you might want to try more of the book. It's an eBook and can be read on most eReaders, including your PC or Mac via any .pdf reader.


A Land Despoiled
No one had been so far south for a decade. His trip of desperation was hope for those living in the north.'Nothing but GM oilseed rape, as far as the eye can see.''Your height and location?'He told them, sneezing and coughing as the pungent odour punished his nose and throat even two hundred metres up.'Any wildlife?''Bees by the billion. Some adapted birds. Millions of crickets.''Trees?''All dead or dying.''Anything green?''Even flying at three metres there's nothing but acid yellow to every horizon.''Any people?''One small camp, maybe thirty individuals. What do they live on?''You'd better return now. Storm approaching from the Atlantic. Be your location, three hours.'He scanned southwest, saw black billows pushing blue sky. Cutting power to everything but the prop gave his solar-powered microlite a chance to outstrip the weather. If it didn't, three-hundred kilometre winds would rip it, and him, to shreds.Below, unbroken brimstone slipped past at speed. Even river beds and dried up lakes sported the ubiquitous plant. Four hundred kilometres north, occasional rain allowed specially cloned goats to exist on parched pastures, rains permitting. But continuing drought seared the land below. When the flowers died, smoke from lightening fires would replace the current dust and pollen mix.West, a dark scar marked the ruin that was Birmingham, home to criminals and outcasts since the Great Starvation. He tacked east and glanced behind at building clouds.A red diode flashed in his visor and he leaked power to hear the message.'You've seventy minutes at most.''I estimate sixty-seven to the bunker.'He cut power back to the prop and hoped cloud wouldn't obscure the sun. His biofuel emergency tank held enough for just twenty minutes in fair conditions.Derby was still in flames, smoke soaring high and thick. He veered, keeping sunlight on his power cells.Wind buffeted him over the Savage Zone, where renegades took pot-shots at him with home-made weapons. Cloud patched sunlight, dropping his power and subjecting him to fitful gusts. Skill, willpower and biofuel took him down the last slopes of the hills and he reached the tidal flatlands flooding York. As the sun vanished behind black cloud, the base, with bunker doors ajar for him, hove into view two kilometres north. He stripped off and jettisoned his protective shell to lessen weight. Unclipped landing wheels and watched them fall to fighting scavengers. The cameras and recorders with their data were vital. With atmospheric interference rendering satellites all but useless, his records would be all they'd have.Skimming the high electric fence out of the Savage Zone, he felt power surging toward him as he crossed it. Brown fields passed beneath him and, ahead, uniformed figures stood by doors, urging him home. He wrestled with cameras and recorders, stuffing them inside his sweatshirt. Fitful wind lifted him thirty metres, then dropped him like trash. He swivelled the wings to break the fall, unstrapping himself as the aircraft rushed to meet the ground. A forward roll reduced impact and he stumbled the last few metres with only a dislocated shoulder as the cost for urgency. Hands dragged him through closing doors battered by the wrecked craft as the dry storm hit them. A medic relocated his shoulder, helped him into fatigues, and strapped his arm into immobility.The commander shook his hand and took the data.'Good work. Can we move back?''You know why they named that stuff rape when you look down on that desert. Thousands of hectares glowing bilious yellow. No Sir, we can never go back.'

What is #Sample Sunday?

Image via WikipediaDavid Wisehart, author, runs a blog called Kindle Author. Whether you're a writer looking for a way to let readers know about your books or a reader looking for books and wanting to sample something beforehand, this is an excellent tool. If you Tweet, have a look for the #SampleSunday tag, do a search and sample to your heart's content. To read David's piece on the project, just click on the title of this post and it will take you to his post on the blog.
Good sampling to all.

Editing Now Half Done

Half way through - next chapter will be 37 and page 350. Still going well, and have had to add only a couple of sentences. Found a couple of stray pronouns, left from an earlier edit, and one place where I'd clearly merged a couple of sentences but left an adjective in so the resulting sentence made no sense at all. It all stands out so much more clearly when you read it aloud.
I've also prepared the next author interview for the blog. Watch out for an interesting and informative discussion with Jean Fullerton, a writer of historical romance whose latest book, Perhaps Tomorrow, has just been released. That interview will appear on Thursday and it's well worth reading.
The rest of the day has been spent in some domestic tasks, a short walk with my wife, a bit of reading and feeding my face (well, a writer has to eat as well, you know.) And, once I've published this post, that's me for the night. I'm off to watch Faulks on Fiction on the idiot's lantern - so far it's been an interesting series.

Stuart's Daily Word Spot: Babble

Image via Wikipedia
Babble: noun -  foolish, or idle talk, pretentious jargon, a confused murmur, as with lots of voices heard together, noise made by a flowing stream, inarticulate speech.
'In spite of the poetry of the flowing babbling brook, Johnson was determined to babble incessantly about trivia until Jessica was driven to plunge his head into the water just to shut him up.'