Tim Walker's Blog, page 17

ABANDONED!

I’m thinking of pushing out a long-ish short story called ABANDONED! as a Kindle Short… before I do so, would any of you dear followers like to read a pdf copy and give me critical feedback?

It’s historical fiction, set in Britain at the time the Romans pulled out and the Saxons rocked up, raping, pillaging and all that bad stuff.  A leader arises to organise resistance to a mighty warlord…

Always Adoring Alliterations

The use of imagery is designed to make a piece of writing come alive in the imagination of the reader. One of my favourite devices is alliteration…repeated use of the same letter at the start of words to convey an image based on word sound associations.

The example opposite from Edgar Allan Poe has the repetition of words beginning with ‘n’ and the rhyming of ‘napping’ with ‘tapping’ to plant images in the readers’ minds and thus build suspense.  Genius songwriter Bob Dylan started one of his songs with:

‘You’ve been down to the bottom with a bad man, Babe, but you’re back where you belong…’ the repetitive use of words beginning with ‘b’ has the effect of conjuring up a babbling brook.

I’ve attempted this device in my forthcoming book, ‘Hello World’ (currently being copy edited), in a scene where retired railway signalman, George, combines his rail-track mind with hungry anticipation of an Indian feast:

“…the arrival of dish after dish, like rolling stock in a sumptuous siding; platters of pompadoms, paneer, pilau rice… mind the doors please!” …mmmm…that’s made me feel hungry! ‪#‎amwriting‬

A Mouse Squeaking

So, I’m now touting myself as an indie author.  The world is my lobster.  I can write at my leisure, agonise, review, and get a second opinion from a copyeditor.  I juggle my writing windows around essential life maintenance, medical appointments, and when I feel the vibe.  Blogging, research, planning and writing together form a pleasurable, solitary home-based activity that suits me just fine at this stage of my life.

 

Amazon kindle is a gateway to low-cost independent self-publishing, and suits a whole raft of ‘amateur’ writers who are unwilling or unable to make a commitment of time and money to pursue the Holy Grail of a publishing contract.  Why bother?  You can put your work out there and let the World come to you.  To date, about 100,000 authors have done so, and there are approximately 2 million titles in the English language floating around in cyber space.

 

Sales of my first e-book, Thames Valley Tales, have been flat-lining following the initial surge of downloads from family, friends and fellow writers.  I don’t like the idea of giving my work away for free.  It has a value – my time, thoughts, experiences and creative ability.  That’s worth at least £1.99 of anyone’s money.  I’m also finding out that most of my publicity efforts have been met with a wall of indifference.  Most people don’t read books.  Of those that do, only a small number have become e-book readers.  Casual readers can find plenty of free e-books to download and read, and may even stumble on something that will engage them.  This wall of low-level interest or just plain indifference can drive any writer insane.

 

Readers are heavily courted by e-book sellers who try to bully authors into discounting their titles in FREE promotions.  A loss-leader with a high number of reads can help an author build up a following, the marketing guys tell you.  Well, maybe, but it’s still a scam to sucker authors into giving their work away for free.  It de-values the effort that has gone into it, and becomes a product of the internet’s insatiable appetite for free and cheap offers that are aimed at getting more visits to websites, in the hope that other products can be sold to the unsuspecting browser.  Amazon are experts at this.  We have been unwittingly sucked into this world of free online information and cheap cyber deals, a kind of sweat shop for star-struck authors.

 

My efforts to direct people to my e-book through social media – Twitter, WordPress and Face Book in my case – are like a mouse squeaking in the Albert Hall, a weedy noise lost amidst all the incessant chatter and sales pitches.  Everyone’s talking and no one’s listening.  So, why bother?

 

Well, to answer my own question, I bother because I’ve got something to say, whether anyone wants to hear it or not!  I’m alive and kicking, and have amassed some interesting and varied life experience.  I am participating in a number of ‘live’ social experiments, including the National Health Service, the Multicultural Society, Western consumerism, being a remote single parent and supporting a struggling football team (it’s the hope that kills you!); all of which provide me with a series of different coloured prisms through which to gaze on our insane world defined by the extremes of capitalist greed and crushing poverty.

 

I’m not discouraged and working on my next book… This mouse is still squeaking.

The Paul Ross Radio Show

As part of my on-going mission to get as much FREE publicity for my book, Thames Valley Tales, as possible, I have recently appeared on two radio stations.  Now, it helps to have a contact to make an introduction for you, and in my case, my friend, Jeff Lloyd, of The Vinyl Frontier, did the necessary.(https://www.facebook.com/vinylfrontiernorden/ ).

He set me up with a gentle warm-up interview on community radio station Marlow FM, before stepping up to a BBC Regional Radio Station.  I entering the hallowed halls of BBC Radio Berkshire based in a ye-olde country house in Caversham, near Reading, with some trepidation.  How would I come across?  Would I freeze?

Paul is a real pro and instantly put me at ease.  He had even done his homework by actually reading the introduction and two stories I had sent a week earlier as a pdf.  This formed the basis of our discussion and led into a short reading from one of the stories.  Will my appearance translate to sales?  I’ll wait until the 15th to check with trepidation my monthly report from amazon kindle….finger’s crossed!

http://bbc.in/1HCkmD3

Help for Zeros

I woke up in a cold sweat – not the side effects of my medication this time, but a bad dream. I was a courier delivering important documents to a grand building on Whitehall.  I parked my bike under a plaque that read, ‘The Department for Work and Pensions’ and walked across the yard, gravel crunching under my feet, to a large dark-wood door.  My finger hovered over the doorbell, but before I could press it, the door opened and a face familiar from TV appeared in front of me.

“You’re…Iain Duncan-Smith, aren’t you?” I managed to stammer.

“Why, Yes, I am,” said the beaming bald man, as he signed for his documents.

“I heard you walking across the yard,” he explained. “The sound of anyone approaching is loud and distinctive,” he purred, as he received the package.

“It’s unusually loud for gravel,” I confirmed, “and so white.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, with a crocodilian smile, as he started to withdraw into the dark interior; “it’s the crushed bones of sanctioned benefits claimants who committed suicide. It provides the perfect early-warning system…”

Not so much a bad dream as a nightmare. I fired up my tablet and opened the Mirror app, skipping the front page shock-horror story and the glamour shot of Kate Middleton looking fetching in Remembrance Day black, settling on a piece on page 2:-

‘£15bn As Sick Work On.’ A University report has finally articulated what many already suspected: “People who keep working when they are ill perform poorly and put their health further at risk, a study says.”  The report goes on to say that those who struggle on because of money or job fears are estimated to cost the economy £15billion a year in mental health issues alone… “Furthermore, working whilst ill can compound the effects of the initial illness and result in negative job attitudes.”

Now, can someone get this message across to the Tory hierarchy? It is counter-productive to harass, vilify and bully the sick and disabled into working before they are either fully recovered or at least comfortable performing tasks that don’t result in worsening their physical condition or mental state.  It is a false saving of welfare payments to force someone to work whilst they are sick to a point that they are returned to expensive treatment and lengthy convalescence.  Let doctor’s do their job and decide who is fit for work and who isn’t, and have a proper graded return to work scheme for those willing and (hopefully) able to have another go.

In the meantime, can someone remove the human bones trophies from Iain Duncan-Smith’s front yard and relieve that man of his bitterly gleeful duties. He is a class warrior determined by all means possible to punish and degrade the sick, poor and elderly of our Nation.  He must be stopped, and compassion returned to the corridors of power!

Halloween 50BC

Three loud raps on the gate sent her scurrying. Peeping through the spy-hole her eyes widened in alarm at the tall hooded figure of the Druid, staff in hand, waiting to be let in.  Elissa called her son to help pull back the heavy wooden spar.  The Druid’s arrival from his sacred grove in the woods always preceded a festival or funeral.

“Where is your husband, Waylan, the Gate-keeper?” he demanded of the cowering woman.

“Sir, he is dead this past week, killed in the last raid by the Atrebates. His body awaits burial.”

“Then we must honour him,” said the Druid, pushing past her and making for the house of the village chief. “We will summon his spirit at Sah-wen this night.  Make a place for him at your meal table.”

She was alarmed at the thought of the ghost of her departed husband and other spirits returning to walk amongst them as she set about making breakfast for her 9-year-old daughter, Dulla, and son, Tristan, aged 12.

“Mum! Do we get to wear our animal costumes tonight?” Dulla danced and tugged on her sleeve.

“Yes, dear, but first we must help build the bonfire and single out an animal for sacrifice. Perhaps the old ewe will do.  She is dry, and we must not show the Druid that she is lame.”

They had each prepared an animal skin costume with a cured head; Tristan would wear a ram’s head with curling horns, Dulla a sheep’s head and she would wear her husband’s stag’s head with antlers, as she was now head of the house. He had died defending the village’s rear gate, next to where their round house was positioned, as it was their family’s duty to keep the gate and watch out for invaders from the east.  They always came from the east, walking silently out of the woods, axes by their sides, often with the rising sun at their backs.

The village of 30 dwellings was surrounded by a ditch and earth bank, with two wooden gates at east and west. The men had been building a series of wooden platforms on top of the bank, on either side of the gates to give better defensive positions.  Tristan took his sentry duties very seriously, and would roll out of bed at dawn to patrol his new lookout position.  Attacks by their hostile neighbours were becoming more frequent.

That evening the villagers gathered in the central area where the Druid waited to address them:

“Tonight we celebrate the festival of Sah-wen to mark the end of our year, and make ready for the long winter. The harvest is stored and animals fattened.  Now we ask to be favoured by our gods and pay homage to those who have died this year, and summon them to walk amongst us, before they pass to the spirit world.”

Dulla led their elderly ewe and Tristan carried a basket of vegetables to the Druid’s assistants, who received them and placed all the offerings in a wooden box on a raised platform, around the feet of a bound captive, who chanted in his own dialect, expecting death. Tree branches and faggots of twigs prepared by the children, were arranged around the sacrificial cluster of objects.  The moon had risen over the woods as the grey Druid raised his arms and a hush fell on the group.

“Almighty Brea, protector of the people, accept our offerings to you at Sah-wen, and favour the new year. Watch over us through the long winter nights.  We offer these sacrifices to you so you may bless the crops in the fields and the fruit on the vine.”  He started a low chant that was taken up by the villagers, who held hands and swayed as the sacred bonfire was lit.  Animals cried out in terror and fowl flapped their wings in a desperate attempt to escape the flames.  Their sacrifice would ensure the safety and prosperity of the village for another year.

As the sacred bonfire burned low, the head of each household took a burning branch from the Druid’s hand, and returned to their home to re-light the family hearth. Each family group followed the torch-bearer in tight-knit groups, looking out for the spirits of the dead who might be roaming the compound.  Their animal costumes disguised them from the ghosts, who would roam mournfully before melting away into the night air once the hearth fires were re-kindled.

Elissa led her children through the dark doorway of their house and lit the hearth fire from the torch. The wood crackled and spat embers out as light and warmth were restored to their home.  Their meals had been laid out before the ceremony, and now they turned their attentions to the dining table.  A cold breeze made her shiver and she gasped as she saw the plate of food that had been set out at the head of the table was now empty.

“Look Mum!” Dulla cried, “Daddy’s been to visit us again!”

‘That one may smile, and smile, and be a Villain…’

It’s almost as if Shakespeare foresaw the visit of Chinese Premier, Xi Jinping, to the UK today. What’s behind the smile? Perhaps dangerous times for the British, as the Conservative Government looks to cosy-up to this secretive Communist State that has recently emerged from isolation, blinking into the sunlight, to take up its place as one of the World’s biggest producing and consuming economies. Oh, did I forget to mention that Xi Jinping holds the rank of General in the Red Army.

We should not fear what we don’t understand. However, a wise man would tell you that you should fear what you do understand, and see as a threat. The Conservatives see nothing wrong with inviting the Chinese to build a nuclear power station in the UK, probably the first of many, and blithely stick to their ‘free market economy’ argument to justify allowing foreign governments and corporate entities to own and control our energy, utilities and transport sectors.

It’s not really the Chinese we should fear – we can see them coming. We still have a fairly independent media to keep tabs on them. No, it is our Government who are the cause for concern. It is not just the nuclear power issue with China, the latest in a long line of inviting in foreign investors to take control of our energy and utility assets, they could learn much about restrictive practices and State control of the population – a Chinese area of expertise. This is something the Tories are drawn to, as they have already shown an appetite for undermining the privacy and personal freedoms of its citizens.

Human rights abuses in China are said to be at their worst in a quarter of a century, according to the Chinese rights group, Civil Rights and Livelihood Watch Group (as reported on www.mirror.co.uk). The group’s founder, Liu Feiyue was quoted as saying: “The stability maintenance regime is getting stricter and stricter; you could say it’s getting more and more brutal, more and more inhumane.” The group claimed it found measures, including phone tapping, house arrest, enforced ‘holidays’ and criminal detention, had occurred on 2,270 occasions during the past year. There have been 1,800 cases of arbitrary detention since Premier Xi came to power, and 245 lawyers have been targeted as part of a crackdown on civil liberties (according to the China Human Rights Defenders), something I’m sure the Conservatives envy. Smile, David, and don’t mention human rights!

Restrictions on internet access and use in China are so restrictive that they have been termed, ‘The Great Firewall of China’. It is Chinese policy to detain any political activists whose internet postings are viewed more than 5,000 times or re-posted more than 500 times, according to Reporters Without Borders. Chinese writer and professor Liu Xiaobo was jailed in 2008 for circulating a petition calling for greater democracy in China and the end of the one-party system. In 2010 he won the Nobel Peace Prize for his campaigning work, but has been unable to collect it as he is only half way through an 11-year prison sentence. Maybe Dave could stand up for democracy and freedom of speech and raise the matter?

Even our security services are concerned about a possible nuclear energy deal with the Chinese. Chris Hughes, writing in the Daily Mirror, quoted a security source as saying; “The view of the intelligence community is that it is not a good idea for Britain’s safety.” Intelligence agencies believe “cyber warriors” could plant devices to access our nuclear security. There are talks underway for the Chinese to build a nuclear power plant at Bradwell in Essex, and the possibility of them coming in on EDF’s power station at Hinckley Point in Somerset. The latter would mean a partnership between the French and Chinese Governments to run a nuclear power plant in Britain!

What concerns me most about the activities of the Tories in Government is that they will kow-tow to anyone with money regardless of their political ideology or human rights records. Will they do a deal for cheap Chinese steel at the same time and finally kill off the last vestiges of British industry? The Saudis and Chinese are welcome to their Establishment Club anytime – it’s just the British people who are excluded.

Gunpowder Plot Revisited

Life of George, Chapter 8 – Gunpowder Plot Revisited

Follow my serialised novel at:-

http://channillo.com/series/life-of-George

‘…Ken eyed his moody companion and said: “Come on George, I’ve arranged for us to meet the Inspector at the staff entrance to the Parliament building. We can play our part in preventing this madness by identifying any of the main activists on CCTV if they approach the building. We should be able to recognise Stevo and Tommy by their body shape and gait long before any of the coppers, even with hoods up. Come on, it’s the final act of the Thames Valley Four! Let’s finish what we started”.’

‘…George called over WPC Wishaw and pointed to the screen. “He’s definitely one of them! Alert security! They’re in the building!” The petite PC smashed her hand on a big, red plastic button, setting off a loud alarm, as she dashed across the room to call her superior. “Quick! Get everyone you can to the service area! There are two of them and they’re carrying a back pack!”…’