Ray Daley's Blog, page 30
August 1, 2016
Coming soon to an anthology near you!
will be my story “Seeing Double”!
The anthology is called “Deserts Of Fire: Speculative Fiction and the Modern War” and it’s available to buy RIGHT NOW on Amazon.
I’m one of the many contributers (reviewed here, I even get a mention! (http://www.redbullrising.com/2016/07/book-review-of-fire-war-fiction.html) where I am described as “nearly Vonnegut-esque”
Very flattering.
July 31, 2016
News on ebook releases
A few thoughts.
I’m not sure if I’ll be maintaining the ebook release schedule next year as I’ve done for the last few years.
I’m not getting a massive amount of downloads, I’m not getting many sales of the pay titles and the amount of time that goes into just doing the damn release is a lot.
I don’t think readers realise I am a one man operation, from creation, to edit, to proof, to cover to release and advertising. It’s not magical publishing elves, it’s just me in a different t-shirt.
As of now (Sunday 31st July 2016), no solid decision has been made. I’ll continue to do the releases this year but there is the chance this might be the end of monthly free ebooks from me.
There may be 2 pay titles being released later this year and the novel is still to be finalised then released as well.
More on this subject when I make more solid choices.
Just be aware, the gravy train may well be at an end.
July 22, 2016
On being a cross dresser
Eddie Izzard knows of where he speaks.
For myself, I once pulled my RAF 1250 (I fucking did, I’m a crazy bastard, ask anyone who knows me!) to help a friend who was being beaten up just for being “a bloke in a dress”. When you’re with the victim and the Police are being absolute cunts about the whole thing, you just have to make a stand.
I literally had no fucks left to give, they could have happily nicked me too. This is when I become a complete bitch. Well, I was dressed for it. The fact that the copper had to look up to maintain eye contact. “You really want to arrest BOTH of us? Good luck explaining me dressed like THIS to the RAF Police then. Oh, we’re not worth the paperwork? Then we’re leaving.”
I make no apologies. I am and was a crossdresser.
And I look fucking AWESOME in the red dress.
I’ll have you know that a lesbian once asked me to make her girlfriend jealous. “Kiss me, make her jealous.”
And it worked. “Oh, you’re a bloke? I’ll let her off then. Nice arse though.”
July 4, 2016
The 80’s Synth Text Adventure
The 80’s Synth Text Adventure
Look.
You are in a dark room with a wooden frame which is broken. You see a hammer. There is an exit to the West.
Get hammer.
You get the hammer.
Examine hammer.
It has the word Jan on the handle. it’s Jans Hammer.
Fix frame.
You fix A Broken Frame. It’s Construction Time Again!
Go West.
You Go West. It is very bright, you can just about make out someone standing close by.
Close eyes.
I don’t understand that.
We Close Our Eyes.
You can now see an Ant playing a guitar. There is an exit to the North.
Listen to Ant.
It’s Ant Music. The Ant offers you a taste of the music.
Eat Music.
That music’s lost it’s taste, now try another flavour.
Go North.
You go North. You can see a black button with red writing, it’s too small to read. You can hear birds singing, possibly A Flock Of Seagulls?
Press button.
The birds stop singing. On the wall you see a sign. It says Depeche Mode engaged. You hear silence.
Enjoy The Silence.
You Enjoy The Silence, somewhere in Basildon Martin Gore is buying eyeliner.
Look.
A door has opened to the North.
Go North.
You go North, it is a narrow passage way. Your route is blocked by Nik Kershaw and a fat child.
Examine Nik Kershaw.
Nik Kershaw appears to be wearing a snood.
Examine fat child.
He’s no big deal, he’s just a wide boy. Nik Kershaw hands you a piece of paper.
Examine paper.
It’s a Riddle.
Quit.
Do you really want to quit? Y/N?
Y
You have scored 38 points, you are Boy George’s Make-up bag.
1990 (an RAF Poem)
What were you doing in the summer of love?
When the world was all raving & high on drugs.
I was finding it wasn’t all wine & Stone Roses,
Where bullshit baffled brains, we were up to our noses.
So what were you doing in the summer love?
Watching jets buzz the Black Hills like seagulls above.
Buried deep in A.P’s and progress tests,
And 6 months without sleep; just a sequence of rests.
So what was I doing in the summer of love?
Just biding my time in an almost Welsh grove
June 29, 2016
Little boxes (a poem)
Wed, 22 May 2013
Little boxes, little boxes,
full of shoes and socksies,
straight from little boxes.
Full of bix and chocksies,
scoffing in our socksies,
out of little boxes.
Also lots of clocksies,
going ticks and tocksies,
inside little boxes.
All in little boxes, crazier than foxes.
Forget fezes or bowties. Boxes are cool ;-P
What Will I Be? (poem)
17 Feb 2013
What Will I Be?
What will I be when I grow up?
A fireman, a soldier, a candlestick holder.
What will I be when I grow up?
A driver, a drover, a man who falls over.
What will I be when I grow up?
A tinker, a tailor, a world famous sailor.
What will I be when I grow up?
I will never grow up, just older.
Portait Of A Manger (flash fic)
5/7/12
Portait Of A Manger
The stable was getting pretty crowded.
A handful of shepherds had brought some sheep, they’d wanted to give a fleece, maybe some Lanolin but eventually decided to offer their best wishes as they truly were a bunch of cheap bastards.
“That is one cute baby” said Balthazar, a Wise Man.
“He is pretty cute. Got his mothers eyes.” said Melchior, another Wise Man.
“Isn’t he adorable?” asked Mary, the childs mother.
“Look,” said Gaspar, yet another Wise Man. “I consider myself to be a pretty clever bloke. He’s a fairly cute little thing but I am not going to be forced into saying he’s adorable. No-one, I repeat, NO-ONE is going to make me adore the little shite. And if that’s going to be an issue then I’m taking my Frankincense and I’m going to bugger off back East.”
That killed the conversation stone dead.
Gaspar grabbed his Frankincense and left them with one final thought as he left. “Screw you guys, I’m going home!”
THE END
The One Ring (flash fic)
The One Ring
19/11/12
It’s the place all fighters come to eventually. Regardless of their experience, everyone will fight here at least once. For the less fortunate, at the most, once.
Don’t say you aren’t a fighter, never ever tell them that. It’s the one surefire thing to make them pick you for the very next bout. Lie if you must, say you’ve been fighting for years, say you’ve been winning for years.
But never make the most fatal mistake. Never tell them you’re unbeaten. Or it’s your turn next.
I can hear them announcing the next fight now. It’s not for me. I’ve already won my bout for today, I get to live to fight another day.
It’s for you. Die well, stranger.
THE END
You Don’t Know Jack (a poem)
You Don’t Know Jack (c) Ray Daley
17/10/12
This is the castle that Jack stole.
This is the cat that starved on the mat that died in the castle that Jack stole.
These are the bones that rotted alone, that stood in the castle that Jack stole.
That was the goose laying Golden eggs sliced open in greed & totally dead inside the castle that Jack stole.
There stands the wreckage that once was a beanstalk that led to the castle that Jack stole.
Remember the castle that Jack stole.
