K. Morris's Blog, page 768
October 5, 2014
Managing The Online Distractions
Many thanks to author Linzé Brandon for hosting a guest post by me, on time management, (http://linzebrandon.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/managing-online-distractions-guest-post.html). Please do check out Linzé’s other posts and, of course her books which can be accessed here, (http://linzebrandon.blogspot.co.uk/).
October 4, 2014
Ghost Train
Phantom table moving in time with the darkened train. My hand resting on the table summons a ghostly hand reflected back in the window. The unreal hand moves, or is it mine? Solid table, ghostly object mingle in the black night. What is real? What a dagger of the mind?
October 1, 2014
National Poetry Day 2014
A reminder that today is National Poetry Day in the UK and Ireland, together with a poem from Ali which I greatly enjoyed reading. Kevin
Originally posted on aliisaacstoryteller:
In the UK and Ireland, today is National Poetry Day. There is a full program of events lined up for the days surrounding this popular annual event in Ireland. Just use the tags #thinkofapoem and #nationalpoetryday to tag your poetry related events and join in the fun. This year’s theme is ‘REMEMBER’, and so without further ado, I present to you my poem for National Poetry Day 2014.
Remember
We jump in the car on a whim, and drive
back to the places of our past,
to the days when spontaneity
was the only way we lived.
We are heady with remembering,
drunk on nostalgia,
and it’s a subtle rebellion,
this abandoning the now and all that’s in it
for the sake of what once was.
*
But on arriving, we sit quiet.
Memories flare, vivid…lurid.
The minutiae faded by time,
dulled with age,
is not the gift we’d…
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Like A Bad Penny I Will Be Back
My mum and her partner will be visiting from tonight until Tuesday 7 October and, of course we will be doing lots of family things together which I am looking forward to! This means that I won’t be blogging (well not quite so much) over the next few days. However don’t break open the champagne just yet. I will be back, like it or not from Tuesday. You have been warned!
September 30, 2014
Dining With Enoch
London is a melting pot with people from all parts of the world living, working and sometimes loving together. The lady who assists me in formatting my books and other administrative tasks is black British. Her boyfriend is white. This is, to me a sign of progress, that love and friendship can overcome racial and other differences.
Unfortunately not everyone thinks in the same way. Yesterday evening as I sat in my favourite Indian restaurant enjoying a curry I overheard the following snatch of conversation
Man, “Enoch Powell was right”.
Fellow diner sitting on an adjacent table, “Yes”.
Back in April 1968, the late Enoch Powell (a member of Edward Heath’s Conservative Shadow Cabinet) delivered what has come to be known as “The Rivers of Blood” speech, so called because of the line
“As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding; like
the Roman, I seem to see ‘the River Tiber foaming with much blood.'”
Powell was referring to the racial conflict which he believed would flow from allowing non-white immigrants into the United Kingdom. He called for “voluntary repatriation” of non-white immigrants and opposed the introduction of anti-discrimination legislation.
The speech lead to Powell’s dismissal from the Shadow Cabinet and is, to this day still sighted by opponents of a multi racial society.
I have known the owner of the Indian restaurant for many years. He and his staff are wonderful, kind, charming people and it is particularly sad that a customer chose to invoke Powell’s views on race in an approving manner in that restaurant. I wonder if the speaker considered the irony of his support for Powell’s sentiments as he sat enjoying his curry in an Indian restaurant which (had Powell had his way) would, in all probability not have existed. I doubt that this gentleman has much capacity for self examination so the answer is, almost certainly no.
Ultimately love and friendship cut across racial lines and Powell’s views are, thankfully slowly dying out.
For information on Powell’s speech please go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rivers_of_Blood_speech
September 29, 2014
Cyborg
The baby nestled in your loving hands. Your soft caresses elicit no response from it’s dead, metallic body. You fall asleep and dream of texts, the phone grasped in your warm, cyborg hand.
September 28, 2014
5 Worst Publishers – BEWARE!
An interesting post (although I must add that I have no personal experience of any of the presses mentioned here).
Originally posted on Savvy Writers & e-Books online:
Author and e-Book Builder Deena Rae wrote in one of her blogs:
“The world of publishing has always been filled with scammers, and top of the list are vanity publishers. To those who have been in the world of publishing a vanity press used to be a bad thing, but with Penguin, Random House, Simon & Schuster, and even Harlequin getting into bed with AuthorHouse / AuthorSolutions to form so-called subsidiary presses. Now there is a sheen of “respectability” to vanity publishing…
.
Want to know which vanity publishers I personally find the worst? This is based just on my own research, observations and studying of lots of “publishing contracts”. Top of the list are the ones that are operating under so many names and changing them so often, one can barely keep up with listing them:
AuthorHouse / AuthorSolutions (Penguin)
Alibi, Hydra etc. (Random House)
iUniverrse, XLibris, PublishAmerica, America Star Books
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Birdsong On An Autumn Evening
An Autumn evening. The park deserted save for me and my dog. A solitary birds sings. Entranced I stand, his song bringing thoughts of sorrow comingled with joy. Beauty, pain and happiness, contradictory emotions stir within my breast.
The lonely bird continues to sing, his voice filling the darkening park.
Distant sound of traffick. I linger, reluctant to break the spell.
Later, the pub full of noise. Yet, through the din I fancy, dim and distant, the singing of the birds can be heard.
Come Back My Little Oxford
We have all done things in life which we later regret. As a child (teenager) I owned a Braille edition of The Little Oxford Dictionary Of Current English. I regularly consulted the dictionary (all 16 braille volumes of it)! To ascertain the meaning of words with which I was unfamiliar. It was an invaluable resource and, in retrospect I can not, for the life of me recollect why I decided to donate The Little Oxford to The National Library For The Blind in Stockport (UK). My decision to donate was no doubt connected with the proliferation of online dictionaries (why retain a dictionary which occupies a whole bookshelf when one can ascertain the same information by logging onto Google or another internet search engine of your choosing)? However I now regret my hasty decision, and wishing to obtain an updated replacement I logged onto the Royal National Institute Of Blind People’s (RNIB’s) website, only to discover that the Dictionary is no longer available in Braille.
Why the desire for a paper dictionary? Online dictionaries are convenient in that they do not take up shelf space. In addition an internet work of reference can (unlike it’s print counterpart) be easily updated. However online dictionaries (the free ones at any rate) tend to be chock full of advertisements (I hate wading through ads to find what I am looking for). Additionally I dislike being online while writing. The ideal, for me at least is to turn off my mobile, log off the internet and close e-mail thereby ensuring that I can concentrate, 100 percent on my writing. Also, to be frank I like leafing through paper dictionaries, perhaps at the age of 45 this love of traditional sources of reference is ineradicable. I suspect that in years to come paper dictionaries will become quite collectable. It will be a talking point when someone has on their shelves a copy of the last print edition of The Oxford English Dictionary but, in the meantime I still regret the loss of my 16 volumes!
http://newauthoronline.com/2014/04/21/shed-a-tear-for-the-oed/
September 27, 2014
The Condemned Man
The prison officer watched as the condemned man tucked into his last meal on earth. The smell of eggs, bacon, pork sausages and hot buttered toast caused his mouth to water,
“bloody murderers, they eat better than I do”
He muttered casting his mind back to the bowl of cornflakes and the lukewarm tea he had consumed prior to leaving for his shift in the prison earlier that morning. Well the prisoner who was showing such relish in devouring breakfast would in half an hour’s time be dancing a gig on thin air, as the noose tightened choking the life out of him.
“Enjoy it while you can my friend” the jailer said outloud.
“Thank you. I will”, the prisoner replied popping half a sausage into his mouth.
“There’s a lot of grub on that there plate of yours. Fact is you seems to ‘ave as much now as you did when the waiter brought it ten minutes past”, the jailer said scratching his head in puzzlement.
The condemned man grinned, chewing a piece of thick back bacon with relish.
“How many pieces of bacon do you ‘ave on that there plate?” the warder asked, looking with envy at the platter which despite the attacks of the prisoner still groaned under the weight of mouth watering bacon, sausages and eggs.
“Tell you the truth, I don’t know”, the prisoner said as he took another slice of hot buttered toast from his side plate.
“Aint that cold?” the jailer asked pointing to the toast which had been sitting on the plate for some time past.
“Nah, it’s as fresh as when it was toasted over the fire” the prisoner said as he licked butter off his fingers.
The warder glanced at his watch.
“Angman will be ere in five minutes. Best get a move on Johny”, he said addressing the condemned man.
“But rules say the condemned man is allowed to finish his meal”, the convict said.
“And so ‘e is Johny. All I’m sayin is I’d appreciate it if you would get a move on finishing it as angman’s due any time now”, the warder said glancing, yet again at his watch.
“I’ll finish when I’m finished and not a moment before”, the convict replied, pouring himself another cup of tea, from the china pot which stood next to the plate still piled high with delicious eatables.
“Remind me Johny, whats the name of that place you ordered your meal from? I’ll be eatin there meself. It smells so damn good”, the prison officer said, trying not to drool at the scent oeminating from the convict’s breakfast.
“Can’t you guess?” the prisoner said, spearing yet another of the never ending supply of sausages with his fawk.
“I wouldn’t ‘ave asked if I knew now would I”, the prison officer said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“It’s the Café Cornucopia”, Johny said as he tucked into yet another egg.
