K. Morris's Blog, page 811

This above all to thine own self be true

How not to write? Now that is a big question!

The primary rule when writing is to express oneself honestly. Write what you need to and let the consequences go hang. I am not encouraging aspiring authors to go out of their way to offend people. Such an approach is purile and smacks of the school boy who uses filthy words in order to gain a reaction from adults. What I am saying, to quote Shakespeare is “this above all to thine own self be true”. There is no point in writing if the author is constantly looking over their shoulder to see if anyone is wagging fingers in his or her direction. To write under these constraints will, almost certainly result in the production of stilted compositions. Writing with integrity may result in criticism, some of it expressed intemperately so you will need to develop a duck’s back so that the immoderate criticism runs off you without causing major problems. Intemperately voiced criticism does hurt, however if you believe in your project the pain will be worthwhile.

Don’t write while you are tired. Almost always this will lead to you producing work which is below the standard of which you are capable. If you feel your brain wandering or your eyelids heavy with sleep take a break, go for a walk or simply go to bed! Coming back to your writing with a fresh mind will make all the difference to the quality of the final composition.

I can feel myself tiring now so I’ll stop. My fatigue is entirely my own fault and results from me getting up at 6 am! Good night or do I mean good morning!

When is a short story not a short story?

I began writing short stories in mid 2012. At least I thought that my compositions where short stories (I knew of no other means of describing them), however I now realise that many of my compositions are, in fact flash fiction (a term wholly unfamiliar to me until comparatively recently). Wikipedia describes flash fiction as follows

“Flash fiction is a style of fictional literature or

fiction

of extreme brevity.

[1]

There is no widely accepted definition of the length of the category. Some self-described markets for flash fiction impose caps as low as three hundred

words, while others consider stories as long as a thousand words to be flash fiction”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flash_fiction

I have never consciously aimed at producing flash fiction (indeed, as mentioned above I was unaware of the label until quite recently) but many of my stories none the less fall into this category. See, for example my story entitled Chicken, http://newauthoronline.com/2013/09/15/chicken/. To be frank I haven’t counted the words but I guess that they total 1000 give or take a few either way!

Other stories most definitely can not be classified as flash fiction. Rather they fall into the category of short story, (see, for instance my long short story, Samantha which runs to approximately 29 pages, http://www.amazon.com/Samantha-ebook/dp/B00BL3CNHI).

To the best of my recollection all of my flash fiction has been composed in one sitting while my short stories have been written over a longer time-frame (Samantha was written over a period of several months).

To me it is irrelevant whether a composition is, technically a piece of flash fiction or a short story. What matters is that the story gives pleasure and (hopefully) causes people to think about the world in which they live. If I can achieve that in a thousand words or less then all well and good, however if it takes longer to convey my “message” (if that doesn’t sound too pompous)! Then that, also is absolutely fine. Ultimately it is the production of a meaningful tale which matters rather than how many words I as a writer have churned out.

 

Candy Floss

Full of air like candy floss, the world of celebrity appears puffed up with self important nothingness. Once consumed, only the discarded stick remains.

Chicken

Julie took another swig of cider and passed the bottle to her friend Lizie.

“How’d you get it Jules?” Lizie asked taking a gulp of the dark liquid.

“How you think I got it. Bought it didn’t I” Julie replied taking another swig from the bottle which her friend had just handed back.

“But you aint old enough to drink Jules”.

Julie threw back her head and snorted with laughter.

“So fucking what. You aint old enough either but I could swear you’re drinking with me. Got it in that offie on Duke Street. Owner doesn’t give a stuff about how old you are, just cares about cash”.

“Its bloody good stuff Jules” Lizie said taking another mouthful.

“Its your turn next time Liz. I aint taking the risk every time. It aint fair. I got it last time as well”.

Lizie paled.

“But you look older than me Jules. You look all mature, I look like a little kid. I’ll never get served”.

“Chicken. Course you will. Borrow some of your mum’s make-up and those glittery heels your sister wears and nobody will have a bleeding clue that your 14”.

“Mum will fucking murder me if she finds out” Lizie said.

“Who’s going to tell her? I aint no grass. Just wait till she goes to work and nick a bit. She won’t notice” Julie said flicking a strand of long blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Angela’s mum went ape shit when the cops brought her home” Lizie said drumming her fingers nervously on the wooden bench.

“That stupid cow tried to buy cider in Sainsburys. Fucking idiot. Supermarkets are red hot on, oh what do you call it?” Julie asked.

“Age verification I think” her friend replied.

“Yeah, that’s it. Age verification. Why do you think I always go to the offie? Cause Mr Patel doesn’t give a shit. He’ll sell to anyone so long as they have the cash”. Julie said.

“Mum’s a teacher. She’ll kill me if I get caught. In fact it will be much worse. She’ll give me that I’m so disappointed in you Liz, how could you bring shame on me look. I can’t stand it when she does that. It makes me feel so small” Lizie said holding her hands six inches above the ground.

“I get it. Its fine for bimbo Julie to stick out her neck and maybe have it cut off but that little angel Elizabeth Cox won’t buy cider cause she doesn’t want to disappoint mummy. Well I’m pissed off. Go and find someone else to hang out with because I’ve had enough Lizie” Julie said jumping to her feet.

“Don’t go Jules” Lizie said taking hold of her friend’s sleeve.

“I want a friend not a fucking chicken” Julie said wrenching free from Lizie’s grasp.

“OK I’ll get it next time, promise” Lizie said running after Julie as she headed towards the park gates.

“You promise?” Julie asked turning towards her friend.

“Yeah I promise Jules” Lizie replied.

 

—

 

Lizie looked up and down the street for the third time. At 8:45 on a wind swept and rainlashed Monday evening Cobden street was deserted with the exception of an elderly man fighting a losing battle with his umbrella. As Lizie watched the wind caught the umbrella and carried it away with the elderly gentleman in hot pursuit. Taking a deep breath Lizie pushed open the door to the off licence. The sound of the bell caused her to start guilterly. Funny that. She haden’t felt guilty while drinking Julie’s cider in the park but somehow the prospect of purchasing alcohol herself made Lizie feel sick.

“Can I help you?” Mr Patel said looking through the wire grill which acted as a safety barrier between those serving and the customers.

Lizie swallowed.

“I’ll have this please” she said placing a bottle of Woodpecker cider on the counter.

£3.75” Mr Patel said.

Lizie reached into her pocket for the money. Shit she could have sworn that she had £10 in her purse. It wasn’t there now, she must have left it on the chest of drawers in her bedroom.

“Sorry I’ve forgotten my money. Can I pay you tomorrow?” Lizie asked.

“Its only £3.75. Forget about it” Mr Patel said placing the cider in a plastic carrier bag, “but you could do me a small favour if you have a moment” he continued.

“What kind of favour?” Lizie asked.

Mr Patel grimaced with pain and massaged his back.

“I’ve hurt my back. The doctor says that I shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting but in this job I have to carry heavy boxes. I’ve a box of wine out the back. Could you carry it in here for me?” Mr Patel asked.

“I’m meeting a friend” Lizie said glancing at the time on her mobile.

“It will only take a minute. I can unpack the box, I just need your help to carry it into the shop”.

“OK, where do I need to go?” Lizie enquired.

Mr Patel gestured towards a door at the back of the shop which stood slightly ajar.

“The box is just inside, straight ahead as you go through the door. Don’t trip over it” he said laughing.

Lizie entered the stock room. The box was straight ahead of her just as Mr Patel had said it would be. Lizie bent down to pick it up. As she bent forward to pick up the case of wine Lizie heard the click of a latch followed by a burst of bright light as Mr Patel flicked a switch. Lizie blinked dazzled by the flurescent lights. A hand was clamped over her mouth.

“Lets have some fun. I won’t hurt you if you are a good girl and don’t struggle” Mr Patel said.

Lizie could feel bile rising in her throat. The smell of Mr Patel’s sweat mixed with the scent of his garlicky breath made her wretch. She threw up all over his shirt. Mr Patel released Lizie and began dabbing at his shirt with a tissue.

“You fucking bitch. I’ll kill you” he screamed at Lizie.

Lizie made a dash for the stock room door. Fuck the bastard had locked it. She turned to see that Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie had no option accept to run. She dashed to the opposite end of the room and stood with her back against a stack of boxes. Desperately she looked around for a means of escape. There was none and Mr Patel was almost on her. Lizie squeezed into the tiny gap between the boxes and the wall. What a crazy thing to have done Lizie  thought. She was well and truly trapped. Mr Patel reached the boxes.

“Come out bitch or I’ll drag you out”.

Lizie could feel her heart banging like a sledge hammer in her chest. She took deep breaths attempting to calm herself. She needed to think.

“Right I’m coming in” Mr Patel said attempting to force himself into the small gap between the boxes and the wall. Unlike Lizie Mr Patel was overweight and he struggled to force an entrance. Lizie tried to think of a way out. She was about to be raped and there wasn’t a thing she could do to prevent it. Her gaze alighted on one of the boxes. It had split open and several cans of Heinz baked beans, the ones with the ring pulls protruded from the box. Lizie grabbed a can. She pulled back the lid and with a jerk of her hand detached it from the tin. Mr Patel had managed to force his way in.

“Don’t struggle and it will be over quicker” he said grabbing for the girl.

Lizie drove the serrated edge of the lid into Mr Patel’s face ripping open his left cheek. He bellowed in pain his hands protectively clutching at the wound. Lizie  drove her foot into his groin. With a pearcing scream Mr patel doubled over. He lay rithing on the floor animal noises coming from his mouth. Lizie bent down and felt in Mr Patel’s pockets. There it was. With a feeling of relief she retrieved the key and pausing only to kick the prostrate man in the face she walked to the door and unlocked it. The shop was empty. Lizie gazed out onto the deserted street. With a final glance up and down the empty pavement she stepped out into the rain swept evening.

Autumn has come in all her beauty

The sun has chased the rain away here in Crystal Palace although he is no doubt waiting in the wings for an opportunity to pounce again.

Autumn has come early. The ground is strewn with leaves and the air is perfumed with the scent of rich earth. Damp ground and newly fallen leaves mingle to delight the senses.

I love autumn. A gentle sun combined with the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, who could ask for more? Autumn reminds me of the cyclical nature of time. The growth of spring and summer is superceeded by the slow retreat into death of autumn which culminates in winter. The dying of the year is exquisetly beautiful, melancholy intimately mingled with profound beauty, perhaps symbolic of life itself.

Living with Blindness

I became blind due to a blood clot on my brain at the age of 18 months. I feel very lucky as the doctors predicted that I could suffer from severe mental impairments which is, fortunately not the case. I attended university and have a full time job which I enjoy doing. Above all I am grateful for the fact that I’m able to live independently.

Unfortunately many blind people receive little support from their local council on losing their sight. I was fortunate to learn how to use a white cane at school and (later) a guide dog. Many people who lose their vision wait a long time to receive mobility and other assistance to ajust to losing their sight from their local authority.

The Royal National Institute of the Blind (RNIB) has recently released a report drawing attention to the difficulties faced by many blind people, http://www.rnib.org.uk/getinvolved/campaign/news/Pages/facing-blindness-launch.aspx. RNIB is calling on the government to ensure that the Care Bill which is currently going through Parliament reflects the needs of visually impaired people. If you live in the UK I would appreciate it if you would consider writing to your MP to ask that they ensure the needs of blind people are reflected in the legislation. You can find a template letter together with further information at the above link.

For anyone who is curious how I, as a blind person use a standard Windows PC, I have Jaws software which converts the contents of the screen into speech and braille allowing visually impaired people to use a standard computer. The software is sold by a US company called Freedom Scientific.

My Confession

I have always regarded myself as a civilised man. The idea of violence makes me feel physically ill. Life is a precious spark which should on no account be snuffed out. To commit that most wicked of acts, murder is to lose one’s own soul. To have on one’s conscience the death of another is surely the most appalling weight any human being can carry. What is done can not be undone. The flash of a blade, a slight pressure on the trigger and death swiftly claims his prize.

However we all have our limits. A point beyond which we say thus far and no further. It is a rare man indeed who when struck on the right cheek proffers the left in order that his assailant may strike that also. Very few men can follow the precepts of Christ and permit others to abuse them with impunity. I for one do not possess the saintly qualities required to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune without taking up arms and, albeit reluctantly defending myself.

I am a patient person and possess the capacity to put up with a great deal of abuse but, ultimately my patience will snap.

You wouldn’t follow the path of prudence. No you, like a fool insisted on plaguing the life out of me. All I wanted to do was to enjoy my lunch free from distractions but you insisted on making that most irritating of noises. Not content with asailing my ears you wouldn’t keep still. Next to me one moment and then in the kitchen eating my food. It isn’t as though I invited you into my home. Like a thief in the night you entered and paid the consequences of your rash actions.

I aimed taking my time. It is important to get a good shot. You tried to escape but my merciless finger pressed down and death streaked as swift as lightening and found his mark. Poor little thing your death agonies pricked my conscience exceedingly. You rolled around on the floor desperately clinging to existence but, eventually you succumbed to the wasp spray …

I’m So Nice

I’m so nice and modest to, you’d like me, I’d like you to. I’m lacking in vice, so incredibly nice, my modesty shines through!

The Sunlit Uplands Beccon But Are Forever Just Out Of Reach

An interesting book review of a series of books by the science fiction writer William Hertling, http://www.kurzweilai.net/book-review-william-hertlings-singularity-series-continues-with-the-last-firewall?utm_source=KurzweilAI+Daily+Newsletter&utm_campaign=8ce5c96683-UA-946742-1&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_6de721fb33-8ce5c96683-281953165. In his books Hertling speculates on the future of artificial intelligence, a world in which ill intentioned AI threatens humanity while benign artificial intelligences team up with artificially enhanced humans to defeat the malign forces.

I’ll be checking out Hertling’s books as the reviewer makes them appear eminently entertaining and thought provoking. I am, however somewhat sceptical as to why artificial intelligences would take it upon themselves to enslave or otherwise harm humanity. Why would AI’s act in such a manner unless they had beenspecifically programmed by their human operators to do so? As things stand it is humans who possess motivation whether for good or evil. Machines are motiveless. Your computer may respond to voice commands but this is purely down to clever programming.

I can imagine an artificial intelligence which might massacre particular races or classes of people, however I find it almost inconceivable that a machine would take it upon itself to perpetrate crimes of this nature unless humans programmed it to so behave. Doubtless if a modern Hitler where to arise in the distant future he (or she) might employ artificial intelligence to commit genocide far more effectively than we can at the current stage in history conceive of. However the machines would be acting under the direction of their deranged programmers not of their own volition.

I am know scientist but what seems much more likely to me is that AI’s will arise which appear to be human. Such AI may, in the future act as servants to humanity although given the current state of the technology a machine which can perform the tasks of a human domestic worker, as competently as he (or she) can perform them seems a rather distant prospect. I can also imagine sexbots which provide, err personal services to their owners or those who hire them, however while these may replace those sex workers who offer a quick release I can not see them replacing professional escorts who provide much more than a sexual release.

I could, of course be wrong about all of the above but on reading Kurzweil and other proponents of artificial intelligence I’m struck by their belief in the coming of a technological utopia. A utopia in which death shall have no dominion, we can all live forever and the sun always shines. I’m struck by the similarity of technological utopia to the utopia postulated by Marx’s followers in which the state withers away to be replaced by a classless society in which conflict is consigned to the dustbin of history. Marx, as with all utopians was wrong and I suspect that Kurzweil despite his tremendous abilities as an inventor will be proven, in time to have been at the least rather optimistic in his speculations concerning the possibilities of AI.

The Root Of All Evil

Money is the root of all evil. Whoever said that, they must have been having a laugh.

“Charlotte darling money is the root of all evil”.

“I couldn’t agree more Tarquin. Don’t you just love those African village women? They look so natural and content carrying pales of water from the village well. I envy them, no investments to worry about or concerns regarding school fees. We are so pampered here in the west, we can learn so much from those ladies”.

I’d love to see Charlotte bent double carrying a gallon of water.

“Oh gosh Tarquin these party shoes aren’t designed for the African bush, my silk dress is absolutely ruined”.

Me I’m a dyed in the wool materialist. Money may be the root of all evil but it sure as hell makes life worth living. Just try existing without cold hard cash, go on and see how far you get.

Tarquin and his kind will try and convince you that money doesn’t make you happy. Come off it, try telling that to the young man sleeping under Waterloo Bridge. He’d laugh in your face if you are lucky and, if you aren’t he’ll break your nose.

Heres a riddle for you, what opens doors and is neither a key nor a door knob? Give up, I’ll tell you. The answer is money stupid!

I’ve plenty of the filthy stuff. It may be dirty but it sure as hell gets me into exclusive hotels and restaurants. Take tonight, here I am in the Ritz sipping champagne having just partaken of roast pheasant with all the trimmings. Delicious it was. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

That waitress, the slim brunette with those come to bed eyes keeps looking in my direction. I’m in there. Tonights the night if I play my cards right, to borrow a phrase. Girls love a big tipper and I’m always generous with my tips. Whats the greatest aphrodisiac in the world? Viagra. I thought you’d say that. No the answers money, course it is. One look at my wallet and women go weak at the knees. Well not all women but a fair number fall in love with my wadge. You think I’m shallow do you? Well I think you’re jealous. Come on, admit it man to man, you’d like some of what I’ve got wouldn’t you? You can deny it until you’re blue in the face but I can see the envy in your eyes.

I am Mr popular tonight. That leggy blonde keeps giving me the eye. Wow my luck’s in, she is coming over

“Excuse me sir I’m arresting you on suspicion of credit card fraud. You do not need to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you. Do you understand?”