Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 111

Friday Flash - Lost at Sea

Image is Ships on a Stormy Sea by Ludolf Bakhuizen, c1672.
A fierce wave slammed into the side of the ship, pouring a deluge of brine across the deck. Magda sat in the corner of her small cabin, whispering a prayer. She leaned forward to press her ear to the wall. The cold waters beyond the hull reached for her through the damp wood. She listened hard, and fancied she could hear the lament of those lost at sea.



The door flew open. George stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the raging sky. He stepped forward into the flickering lamplight of the cabin. Fear and panic shone in his limpid eyes. He clasped his hands to his chest.



"My darling! I could not find you!"



"Where else did you think I would be?" asked Magda. She tossed a disinterested glance over her shoulder and resumed her whispers.



"The men would not help me look for you," said George.



"I rather think they have more important concerns. I wonder that you did not think to look here first. I have hardly left the cabin at all on this voyage."



"You know that I only insist you remain inside to shield you from the prying eyes of the men. I swore to keep you safe when I found you alone on that beach, and I am determined to fulfil my oath," said George.



A wave several storeys high crashed against the starboard of the ship, sending it lurching to one side like its drunken captain. George stumbled across the cabin and pitched forward onto the narrow bed. He reached a trembling hand towards his fiancé. Her fevered whispers finally reached his ears.



"My dear! You are praying! Please, do not be alarmed, the storm shall pass."



"Storms always do," replied Magda. She wriggled aside to avoid George's outstretched fingers.



"They're in 'ere, lads!" cried a voice.



Magda broke off and turned around. Four men, as wide as they were tall, crowded around the open door. Stares full of suspicion and hatred danced across George and settled upon her. Magda glared at them. Such brutish men, consumed by lust and superstition in equal measure, she thought.



"You! This is 'cause of you, woman!" said the largest man at the front. Magda thought she remembered his name as Briggs.



"How dare you speak to my fiancé like that!" said George.



"Shut up, moneybags. It's bad luck fer a woman to be aboard. This storm is 'er doin'," said Briggs.



The men piled through the door. The smallest of the four pulled George to his feet, pinning him against the wall with one meaty forearm. The other three seized Magda, dragging her across the cabin. Her lips continued to move in a silent chant. She ducked her head to one side as the sea threw its cold spray across the threshold. The men staggered across the deck, fighting to keep their balance as the ship bucked and pitched beneath them. They shoved her up against the ship's rail, and Magda's whispers fell silent.



"Right, lads! Throw 'er overboard! The storm needs blood," said Briggs.



The men heaved Magda onto broad shoulders. The wind whipped her hair across her face, snatching George's protesting cries from the air. Magda struggled in their grasp. With a final push from the men, she found herself airborne, caught between the angry sky and tortured sea.



Magda plunged into the violent waves. The icy water closed over her head, the currents tugging at her voluminous skirt. She tore at her cumbersome clothing with her hands, her cold fingers unable to tear the fabric free.



Skinny fingers glistening with scales wrapped around her arms. She looked down into the faces of two mermaids more barbaric than beautiful. They smiled to display mouths full of fangs. The mermaids kicked their tails, dragging her deeper.



A shoal of mermaids swam up from the dark depths to meet them. More scaled fingers clawed at Magda's clothes. The layers of her skirt gave way, and she kicked herself free of the human clothing with a final thrash from her tail.



Several fathoms above them, the waves subsided and a cleansing wind tore the storm clouds into tatters. As Magda swam into the cold depths with her sisters, she whispered a prayer of thanks to the Sea Witch.

[Review] The Soulkeepers

I've known GP Ching for a while after discovering her shorter works through the #FridayFlash phenomenon on Twitter, and I've always found her to be an absolutely lovely person, not to mention incredibly supportive of other writers. When I discovered she was releasing a book, I was naturally excited to read it since I already knew I enjoyed her writing.



The Soulkeepers is the first book in a planned series (book two, Weaving Destiny, is slated for September 2011). The blurb reads thus; The night sexy and mysterious Abigail Silva comes to Jacob Lau's bedroom window, he doesn't believe she's real let alone a supernatural force who lives just across the street. Abigail says she's his Helper sent to train him as a Soulkeeper, a gifted warrior responsible for protecting human souls. But Abigail has secrets, and as Jacob is pulled into her strange world, he learns those secrets could cost him his family, his girlfriend, and even his soul.



It's a really interesting concept, and like nothing I've read before. Jacob seems to be your usual teenager struggling to fit into a new school in a new town after his mother disappears. He has trouble with the "popular crowd" and can't wait to get out of this dull new town that he hates so much. That might seem fairly run of the mill, but not many teenagers begin their books by coming back from the dead. Nor do they see their mothers fighting monsters. Most of all, they're not usually Soulkeepers - Jacob has a mystical bond with, and power over, the element of water. He encounters the local botanist, Dr Silva, who turns out to be a lot more than she appears, and she starts training him up to be able to fulfil his destiny. Along the way, he gets himself a girlfriend in the shape of Malini, a fellow social outcast.



If the word 'soul' gets you thinking that this is probably a bit deeper than your usual "teen with a superpower" fiction, then you'd be right. It's not just about teenagers throwing tantrums and pouting all over the place (are you listening, Bella?) In The Soulkeepers, Jacob encounters questions of faith, both in humanity and in a higher power, and the book really kicks things up a gear when we meet the villains of the piece - the fallen angels. They're a truly nasty bunch, which leads to an amazing setpiece between our hapless heroes and the demons in disguise, but I won't say much more because I don't want to spoil it.



Now, I've always been a sucker for angels (Michael is my favourite, in case you were wondering) but having had a fairly secular upbringing, I'm not overtly keen on religious fiction. However, GP has such a knack for storytelling that The Soulkeepers is a less a story about religion and more a story about finding faith - it doesn't necessarily have to be in a particular deity, even just faith in the universe itself will suffice. Jacob's quest for peace with the Almighty could be substituted for anything - hell, if Dr Silva was two feet tall and green, then Jacob could easily be the young Skywalker.



As far as characters go, GP has created a cool bunch here. Jacob is moody but with good cause, and Malini strikes me as being that quiet, shy kid at school who would actually be a really awesome friend if you bothered to say hi. The relationship between them feels very genuine and unfolds at just the right pace. Dr Silva is completely badass, and I actually found myself warming to her more and more as the book went on. However, favourite character has got to be Gideon - you'll see why.



All in all, I really enjoyed The Soulkeepers, and got so engrossed that I think I read the last quarter of the book in one sitting. I highly recommend it, and I award it five blunt pencils!



You can check out more about the book at its website, www.TheSoulkeepersSeries.com. You can also buy the paperback from Amazon, as well as the Kindle version, and if you have a non-Kindle e-reader, The Soulkeepers is also available from Smashwords!

Print is Dead

I noticed this the last time I watched Ghostbusters, but then my boyfriend found this and sent it to me on Facebook. As I'm a devout Egon fan, I thought I'd share it with you to prove that all these bloggers who think they're so clever by predicting the end of print have actually been outdone by a character from a movie that came out in 1984. Suck on that, Konrath.

Here be monsters

In the wake of the hysteria surrounding vampires and the never-ending obsession with zombies in popular culture, and to a lesser extent werewolves, I've been rather fascinated by the other monsters that I feel have been somewhat ignored. While the rest of the world tries to decide whether it prefers blood-sucking, lycanthropy or good old fashioned flesh-eating, I've been sat here championing the cause of mummies. Look at the all-powerful Imhotep when he's been fully revived at the end of The Mummy. Who would you rather have, a sparkly disco vamp with possessiveness issues, a moody werewolf who has a worse time of the month than you, a shambling rotting corpse who is truly more interested in your brains than your beauty, or an immortal sorceror from Ancient Egypt? Ooh toughie. (N.B. I feel compelled to exempt Carrie Clevenger's Xan Marcelles and Sam Adamson's Northern Vampire from my comments, as they're both ace)



I actually wrote a mummy story a while ago. True, No Flash is more of a vehicle for my pent-up rage regarding tourists and the fancy cameras they don't even know how to work, but it still stars a mummy. Naturally my fascination with ghosts and spectres knows no bounds, particularly due to my fondness for a particularly dashing Cavalier known as Fowlis Westerby, but I'm not averse to writing corpse brides either. A few weeks ago I decided to resurrect the skeleton from the B-Movie Monster graveyard, while changelings got in on the act soon after. I finally dipped my toe in the waters of science fiction with Evolution , and I think it was at this point that I suddenly realised what I was doing. I was exploring the idea of monsters.



Humans have had monsters for thousands of years. True, those of the cavemen were probably not as imaginative as the Minotaur or the Hydra, but they would be monsters nonetheless. Classical mythology is rife with monster stories, and when you think about it, Lucifer has provided an entire religion with a boogeyman for centuries. We have monsters to justify our fears, but also to create a sense of control. Abandoned buildings can be unsafe, particularly at night, so what better way to keep people out than to install a wandering ghoul who will eat your soul if you venture inside? And how many children have been told that a monster (usually of their parents invention) will get them if they don't do what they're told?



Monsters make excellent metaphors, too. Vampires are often made to stand in for the dangers of illicit passion, while zombies represent the power and threat of the mindless mass. An entire sub-genre grew up around the fear of Communism in 1950s Hollywood, with the best example by far being the 1954 version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. No one watching the film can possibly forget what sector of society the Pod People are intended to represent. It says a lot about the engulfing fear of the time that later versions feel neutered and sterile by comparison - indeed, the fear has not been successfully transposed onto another enemy.



In a lot of ways, monsters represent a particular facet of Sigmund Freud's theory of the uncanny. Freud talks about many principles which engender uncanny feelings in a person, but the one relevant to monsters is that of the so-called "return of the repressed". Rather, a person forces their fears, guilt and doubts into their unconscious through repeated acts of repression, but rather than staying there, these feelings return to plague the person. In many ways it is a form of paranoia, in that the person projects these feelings into the space around them (see Robert Wise's The Haunting for a masterclass in this) but in the case of the monster film or story, these feelings take corporeal form in the shape of the monster that plagues them. I took that incredibly literally in Calling All Skeletons , when the past actions of an aspiring politician come back to bite him in the ass, but writers and artists have been dealing with this for years. Some call it karma - I call it uncanny.



Over to you. What kinds of monsters do you enjoy writing, or reading about? And more importantly...why?

Photo Prompt 40

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The fortieth prompt is Gateway.







All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Massive announcement

It is my honour, privilege and pleasure to announce that my very first novella will be coming out within the next few months! The Guns of Retribution will be published by the super awesome Pulp Press on 24th September 2011, with the Kindle edition coming out slightly earlier.



Some of you may know a bit about my novella already, but I've tried to restrict myself from talking about it on here in case I inadvertently jinxed myself (how's that for promotion?). I'm indebted to Rob Diaz, Carrie Clevenger, Sam Adamson, Jen Brubacher and Adam Byatt for their invaluable assistance during the beta-reading and editing stages. I spent some months writing The Guns of Retribution earlier in the year and I'm so relieved that it'll see the light of day.



The Guns of Retribution is a revenge tale set in the Old West, centered around a young bounty hunter named Grey O'Donnell. You may have heard Grey's name most recently after I described how he came through on a ouija board to say thank you during a paranormal investigation. Accompanied by his apprentice, Billy, and an orphaned Apache named Mahko, Grey is on the trail of Blackjack Bud Hudson, who is wanted for murder. Hudson leads him back to Grey's home town, Retribution, which is now a pit of debauchery run by the crooked sheriff, Jasper Roberts. Grey's return reminds Jasper of their chequered past and they end up on a collision course - only Grey isn't the only one out for Jasper's blood.





Image by http://www.cgpgrey.com/
I set The Guns of Retribution in Arizona, and I did a fair amount of research to ensure that while yes, it's a pulp story, it's also a reasonably accurate one. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and working with Grey proved to be an eye-opening experience - he not only chose his own occupation, he also dictated the choice of point of view, and made plenty of plot suggestions of his own. I truly hope you love him, and the book, as much as I do.



Of course, September's still a fair way off, so in the meantime, I can't recommend the other Pulp Press titles enough, particularly Danny Hogan's Jailbait Justice , which I reviewed back in April. It's still only 70p in the UK, and 99c in the US, which is an absolute BARGAIN considering how utterly ace it is.

Friday Flash - Evolution

Dr Lydia Lee stared into the thick sludge clinging to the inside of her mug. Stevie caught her grimace and chuckled.

"If the theory of the multiverse is correct, then there's another you in another universe who's drinking actual coffee, instead of that synthetic crap," said the technician.

"Yeah yeah, and there will be another me who's playing Twister with Charlie Sheen and Sean Connery," replied Lydia.

"Oh stop with the multiverse rubbish, will you?" Alan grimaced at them from his crossword. The lab assistant spent most of his days doing puzzles, but Lydia couldn't afford to be picky about staff. It was already difficult enough to get people to venture into the exclusion zone.

"For that heresy, I think you should go turn off the groundwater pumps for the day," said Stevie.

"Why do I have to do it?" asked Alan. He thumped his puzzle book onto the desk.

"Because a) it's the only water we have and b) because you've done nothing else today. Come on, Alan, I'm paying you for this stuff," said Lydia.

Alan shoved his chair back and stood up. He pouted at her before stomping out of the room. Lydia rolled her eyes. 

"Just think, humans are 80% water. That's 80% totally wasted on that guy," said Stevie.

Lydia watched Alan leave the building and cross to the concrete bunker. It squatted halfway between the lab block and the perimeter fence. Lydia winced as a gust of arid air blew the groans of the dying across the wasteland to the lab. People came from miles around, usually on their hands and knees, hoping the scientists could help.

"You ever feel like we're doing something wrong?" asked Lydia.

"In what way?"

"Hoarding the water like this, only using it on the plants. Even this isn't enough for them. Look at them, they're getting desperate too." Lydia stretched out a hand and stroked a wilted leaf. The plant rippled beneath her touch.

"They're the only plants left in the state, Doctor. For all we know, they're the only ones left in the country. If we don't keep them alive, then what'll we grow when the rains come back?"

"It might never rain."

"Then it doesn't matter whether we give the water to the people or not. They'll die at some point."

"Stevie! That's an awful thing to say!"

The door flew open and Alan flounced back into the lab. He threw himself into his chair and snatched up his book again. The movement knocked the plant on the desk off balance, and it swung towards him, its limbs outstretched as if seeking a saviour. Alan caught the pot and shoved it away, ducking out of the reach of its tendrils.

"Alan, it's only a plant. Don't take your mood out on it," said Lydia.

"Stupid plants, I hate the lot of them. Why are we saving them? We could use that water a lot more than they could," said Alan. He pouted. "We could have real coffee and-"

A loud crash in the next lab interrupted him. Lydia stood up, leaning forward like a hunting dog scenting prey. Stevie swung around in his chair to check the security monitors. The last thing they needed was intruders. Security put down the last raiders who broke in searching for water, but the detail moved on when martial law was declared. The cities needed them more than a science outpost.

"I can't see anything," said Stevie. "Maybe something just fell over."

The vision panel in the door exploded inwards, showering safety glass across the floor. Lydia yelped in shock as a green tendril curled into the lab. It patted around the wall until it found the door switch. The mechanism hissed and the tendril withdrew before the door slid open.

A towering plant tottered into the room. Balanced on thick roots, it held the spine of its central stem upright. Lydia whimpered. Stevie's mouth hung open, and Alan's book fell from his limp hands. The plant shuffled to one side, and three more of the giants entered the lab. Their roots undulated, moving across the floor like snakes.

"What are they doing?" asked Stevie.

Before Lydia could answer, a tendril studded with wilted leaves shot across the room. It wrapped itself around Alan's neck, yanking him from his chair. He gave a strangled cry as his knees hit the concrete floor. His fingers scrabbled at the plant but its tendril held the chokehold firm. Lydia reached out to him but Stevie darted forward and grabbed her arm. The tendril squeezed, and Alan's eyes bulged in their sockets. The plant's arm constricted and Alan toppled forwards. His skull hit the floor with a sickening crack. The plants gathered around his prone body.

"What are they doing?" asked Lydia.

Her ashen face turned to her technician. Stevie peered through the forest of tendrils and stems. He looked back, his own face green with nausea. Lydia looked for herself, watching them dip their roots into the growing pool of blood around Alan's head. Her stomach lurched to hear the smacking and sucking sounds.

"I did say he was 80% water," whispered Stevie.

[Interview] Tony Noland

I featured my review of Tony Noland's Blood Picnic and other stories anthology back on Tuesday and today is the EXCLUSIVE interview I did with him for the Blunt Pencil. Enjoy!



What made you first pick up a pen and write a story?

I wrote stories as a kid, but it was discouraged. In 2006, after years and years of writing journals and blog posts, I posted a bit of fiction to the blog I had at the time. A reader liked it and challenged me to do NaNoWriMo. I did, successfully. At 50K, it was the first large scale fiction project I'd ever done. After that, I thought, "I can do this." Of course, only later did I realize that I'd written utter garbage and would have to improve my craft 10,000%, but by then it was too late – I was hooked.



You recently released your Blood Picnic anthology. What prompted your move into the world of self publishing?

I self published "Blood Picnic" for a few reasons. Firstly, while I've continued to do my weekly FridayFlash stories, I've been working on a novel. It's been a bit of a slog, and I wanted to put a win on the board to keep my spirits up. Secondly, the novel isn't done yet, not even close, but in the course of writing it, I have been keeping tabs on the publishing situation in general. Self publishing "Blood Picnic" gave me a chance to see what it takes to organize, edit, format (and re-format and re-re-format…), and market a book by myself. This whole thing was done as a learning exercise so I can make an informed decision about what publishing route to take with my novel(s). Thirdly, I've always wanted to do a book cover, and this gave me a chance to indulge my graphic arts side.



You have work in various published anthologies, as well as your own. What are your thoughts on the self-publishing boom compared to the traditional publishing paradigm?

It's brought a tremendous freedom to writers and readers. In the past, print books with a limited run would be horrifically expensive. Now, e.books that reach out to niche markets can go for the same prices as other e.books. One concern that is coming to the fore is the issue of quality. I don't mean the quality of the writing. Sturgeon's Law is still in effect: 90% of self published books are crap, but 90% of everything is crap. There have been plenty of dreadful, schlocky, forgettable books published by traditional means, and some truly excellent ones published by indie presses and by self publishers. The key element that is missing from the self publishing boom is some indicator that the basic requirements of professionalism have been met: decent cover, spelling, grammar, margins, line and page breaks, etc. Recent concerns about spam books clogging Amazon may just be a taste of what's to come. One possible example for a "seal of quality" is the Premium Catalog at Smashwords. Almost any book can be self published at Smashwords, but only a small subset meets the stricter requirements for the Premium Catalog. I was pleased that "Blood Picnic" made it in the Premium Catalog, not only because it broadened the distribution for the book, but because that's a high hurdle to clear. It gave me confidence that the mechanicals were taken care of to professional standards.



Blood Picnic covers a range of genres - which would you say is your favourite to write?

I like writing literary fiction. Bloodthirsty demons and magic rings are fun to write about, but human emotions make the very best playthings.



Who would you consider to be your influences, either in terms of style or content?

P.G. Wodehouse made every word count, to great hilarious effect. Stephen King goes right up to the line of what's acceptable then goes vaulting over it. Jane Austen hinted and suggested. Harry Turtledove starts with an idea and lets the story tell itself. C.S. Forester made his protagonist both sympathetic and infuriating. Isaac Asimov had galactic sweep and vision peppered with humor along the way. Charles Dickens made characters come alive through idiosyncrasies. David Brin knows that alien worlds are only as interesting as the aliens who live there. Richard Rhodes took the technical and made it personal.



Do you have a writing routine?

If I did, I'm sure I'd be more productive.



You also write posts for the Write Anything blog. Would you ever write a "how to" book?

Until I have more published – stories, poems, anthologies, novels - and have significant sales of same, I can't see myself writing a how-to book. Right now I give my advice away for free. Before charging anyone for a compendium of my wit and wisdom, I would need to be sure that people had a reason to trust my judgment.



Tell us about how you came to the attention of Neil Gaiman.

In January 2011, I wrote a story titled "Where the Hell is Tony's #FridayFlash?", which starred Neil Gaiman. It was a funny piece featuring lots of famous writers and celebrities as massive fans of mine: John Scalzi, Wil Wheaton, Susan Orlean, Margaret Atwood, President Barack Obama, etc. They were all desperate to read my next story and were DMing Neil Gaiman, another huge Tony Noland fan, to find out if he knew anything. I wrote the story as a lark, just having wish-fulfillment fun with the idea of these leading figures as uber-fanboi of The Great Tony Noland. Via twitter, the story came to the attention of Neil, with the suggestion that he might take issue with his name and inner thoughts being used so freely. Neil tweeted me to say, "I thought it was really funny. No objections here." As you can imagine, I was pleased that a) he liked it and b) he didn't see the need to sue me.



Later, when I was discussing "Blood Picnic" with someone on twitter, I was asked why "Where the Hell…" wasn't included, since it was one of this reader's favorites. I noted that it made extensive use of Neil; while he was nice about it all, I didn't want to push it. He tweeted me again to say, "I wouldn't have minded. I liked the flash." (Let me go on record here to say that I want to be as cool as Neil Gaiman when I grow up.) I get a little lift whenever I think of these interactions. Writers go through periods of wondering just how sucky their work is. These serve as a useful benchmark for me, to remind me that people who know good writing from bad can read my work and like it. As it happens, there are other reasons that story wasn't really right for "Blood Picnic", and might be tricky to fit into any anthology. Regardless, "Where the Hell…" has a special place in my heart.



What are your three favourite words?

Syzygy, gravitas and yttrium.



Wildcard question - if you were Dr Sam Beckett, which contemporary figure's life would you want to quantum leap into?

President Barack Obama. There is so very, very much more going on behind the scenes that the public doesn't get to see. All of it is so important and impactful, I would love to get an inside look at it all. Of course, given the way Sam Beckett fumbled his way through those Leaps, I'd probably start a war.



Book info

Blood Picnic and other stories is a mixture of fantasy, horror and literary fiction, priced at $2.99. It's available for many formats at Smashwords, and in device-specific formats at Amazon, Amazon-UK, Amazon-DE, Barnes & Noble, Sony, Kobo, Diesel Books, and other outlets.



Author info

Tony Noland is a writer, blogger and poet in the suburbs of Philadelphia, PA. He's active on Twitter as @TonyNoland. Tony's writing and fiction blog is http://www.TonyNoland.com.

[Review] Blood Picnic and other stories

If you're part of the Friday Flash phenomenon, then you will no doubt have come across the work of the very talented Tony Noland. If you're not, then his new Blood Picnic and other stories anthology gives you the chance to discover exactly how good he is.



Anthologies are sometimes accused of having a lack of focus, but not so here. Blood Picnic is divided into four "chapters" - Tales of the Heavens, which contains six fantasy stories; Tales of the Earth, which contains eight literary fiction stories; Tales of the Moon, which collects six horror stories; and Tales of the Sun, which includes eight magical realism stories. Indeed, a hallmark of Tony's style is his verstatility, although his "voice" comes through strongly to add coherence to the diversity on display.



My own personal favourites are the superhero tale, Grey Ghost Gone; Straight and True, My Arrow, Fly, in which a pair of lovers discover the difference between love and lust; Aspirations, in which the extent of a young man's insecurities are laid bare; Ridi, Pagliaccio, in which a fading star tells a chilling story; Long Story, in which a desperate man tests the strength of duct tape; and Reconciliation, in which a penitent man tries to rejoin his family. The themes are varied and the endings are both happy and sad, but the strength of storytelling is self-evident, and the stories are clearly the work of a talented writer.



I had the privilege of seeing this anthology in its original form, and it's my absolute pleasure to be able to feature the finished article on my blog. I can't stress enough how enjoyable these stories are, with their intelligent plotting and deft wordplay. Tony has a vivid imagination and a true mastery of the written word, and I guarantee you'll find something to love in this collection.



Blood Picnic is available from Amazon and Smashwords for the princely sum of $2.99. I'll be featuring an interview with Tony on Thursday, so stay tuned!

Photo Prompt 39

Latest prompt, ready and waiting.



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The thirty-ninth prompt is Colliery Cart.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!