Nav Logan's Blog, page 15
May 18, 2015
SPASPA AWARDS 2014
I got a great piece of news this morning by email. It was from BookHippo to advise me of the following:
One of your books has been provisionally long listed for a 2014 SpaSpa (Self-Published and Small Press Author Award).
The Black Knights of Crom Cruach : Best Fantasy
Maerlin’s Storm: the first book in the Storm-Bringer Saga series, won the Fantasy Award for 2013, so I was naturally chuffed to have book three of the series nominated for the 2014 year’s Long List. On a personal level, I have to admit that The Black Knights of Crom Cruach is my own favourite. I had a lot of fun writing this book, and as for the cover, well, it was love at first sight.
Thank you to everyone who nominated me. I am certainly honoured. Looking at the other fantasy books in the category, I’m up against some stiff competition, and it’s you, the readers who cast your votes to decide the winners.
If you haven’t yet enrolled to receive the daily bargains on BookHippo.co.uk, then do so now. It is a great supporter of Indie and Small Press Authors, looking for and supporting high quality independent authors in the UK (and Ireland too). Check out their website and the long-listed books in the various categories: http://bookhippo.uk/awards/longList20...
One of your books has been provisionally long listed for a 2014 SpaSpa (Self-Published and Small Press Author Award).
The Black Knights of Crom Cruach : Best Fantasy
Maerlin’s Storm: the first book in the Storm-Bringer Saga series, won the Fantasy Award for 2013, so I was naturally chuffed to have book three of the series nominated for the 2014 year’s Long List. On a personal level, I have to admit that The Black Knights of Crom Cruach is my own favourite. I had a lot of fun writing this book, and as for the cover, well, it was love at first sight.
Thank you to everyone who nominated me. I am certainly honoured. Looking at the other fantasy books in the category, I’m up against some stiff competition, and it’s you, the readers who cast your votes to decide the winners.
If you haven’t yet enrolled to receive the daily bargains on BookHippo.co.uk, then do so now. It is a great supporter of Indie and Small Press Authors, looking for and supporting high quality independent authors in the UK (and Ireland too). Check out their website and the long-listed books in the various categories: http://bookhippo.uk/awards/longList20...
May 17, 2015
Sympatico
At first her touch was soft; delicate, and I begged, “Please! Harder! Press harder!”
Her fingers dug into my flesh, almost breaking my skin.
I shuddered and pressed back against her, enjoying the sensation. Her nails bit deeper, and a soft moan escaped from my lips.
“Oh yes, that’s it! Ahhhh, just there … No, don’t stop now!”
With a sigh, she probed deeper for a few moments before withdrawing her hand.
I waited, but further relief was being denied me.
“Why’d you stop?” I asked, a little petulantly.
“I’ve got dishes to wash. You’ll have to scratch your own back!”
Her fingers dug into my flesh, almost breaking my skin.
I shuddered and pressed back against her, enjoying the sensation. Her nails bit deeper, and a soft moan escaped from my lips.
“Oh yes, that’s it! Ahhhh, just there … No, don’t stop now!”
With a sigh, she probed deeper for a few moments before withdrawing her hand.
I waited, but further relief was being denied me.
“Why’d you stop?” I asked, a little petulantly.
“I’ve got dishes to wash. You’ll have to scratch your own back!”
May 13, 2015
Who Stole Eden’s Apple?
We scream vitriol at the mean-faced scoundrels who come to do the banker’s bidding, but are they really to blame? Certainly, the moneylenders are at fault, as are the corrupt politicians who breastfeed upon them.
But is that being too simplistic? What about the company who made you redundant, because they could produce their products cheaper elsewhere? It was we who bought their cheap foreign imports in the first place, rather than buying Irish.
The Chinese have to put food on their table too, so it can’t be their fault. Did our own greed finally come back to haunt us?
But is that being too simplistic? What about the company who made you redundant, because they could produce their products cheaper elsewhere? It was we who bought their cheap foreign imports in the first place, rather than buying Irish.
The Chinese have to put food on their table too, so it can’t be their fault. Did our own greed finally come back to haunt us?
May 12, 2015
The Torturer
I sat on the cot, in the middle of his torture chamber, dreading what was coming next. What new instrument would he choose to bring forth the waves of pain? Some of the devices were quite elaborate, while others looks harmless enough until they fell into the hands of this devious torturer; a large rubber ball, a piece of rope, or a weight. He could use them all to bring forth waves of pain. I’d told him everything I know, and yet still I am forced to endure more.
“Ah, Mr Logan. How’s the knee feeling today?” asked my physiotherapist.
“Ah, Mr Logan. How’s the knee feeling today?” asked my physiotherapist.
Ancient Scottish Mammal
I was on my first archaeological dig in the north of Scotland.
On my second day, I discovered the remains of an unusual beast.
Carefully, I sifted away the dirt.
Its skin was decorated with a tartan pattern. Was this the creature that the Scots hunted to make kilts?
It was a quadruped, though for some reason one leg was longer than the others. It also had a long pointed nose, possibly for digging up grubs.
I called my supervisor over to show him my discovery.
“You great numpty!” he replied. “Those are the bagpipes that Hamish lost last year.”
On my second day, I discovered the remains of an unusual beast.
Carefully, I sifted away the dirt.
Its skin was decorated with a tartan pattern. Was this the creature that the Scots hunted to make kilts?
It was a quadruped, though for some reason one leg was longer than the others. It also had a long pointed nose, possibly for digging up grubs.
I called my supervisor over to show him my discovery.
“You great numpty!” he replied. “Those are the bagpipes that Hamish lost last year.”
May 10, 2015
Off the Beaten Track
The coating of rubber does little to help traction, so I’m not too sure what purpose it serves. Still, the cars that travel this rutted track never go at any great speed. There is no danger of an accident, at least not a traffic accident.
I cannot imagine how many other mishaps there have been over the years, at the end of this particular road.
It ends in a cliff overlooking the disused quarry. They rarely spend much time looking at the view, such as it is. The couples who venture down Lovers Lane have no interest in the scenery.
I cannot imagine how many other mishaps there have been over the years, at the end of this particular road.
It ends in a cliff overlooking the disused quarry. They rarely spend much time looking at the view, such as it is. The couples who venture down Lovers Lane have no interest in the scenery.
May 8, 2015
My Friend Jack
Jack and I have been friends since we were both kids. He is never far from my thoughts, and if I’m having a bad day, he’ll always pop by to have a chat, crack a joke, or just sit in silent contemplation until I get over whatever is troubling me.
That’s what friends are for.
I’ve long since become accustomed to him being around. I can sense him, even when I can’t see him beside me.
Sometimes, we play hide and seek just like in the old days, before he was taken from the world on that terrible winter’s day.
That’s what friends are for.
I’ve long since become accustomed to him being around. I can sense him, even when I can’t see him beside me.
Sometimes, we play hide and seek just like in the old days, before he was taken from the world on that terrible winter’s day.
Zen and the Art of Navigation
“I don’t recognise this road. Have you driven this route before?” asks my wife.
“No,” I reply, “But it looks like a nice road.”
“Where does it come out?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” I reply, calmly confident that I am not lost despite not knowing where I am.
“Do you want me to turn on the satnav?”
“Nope, we’re fine. I’m heading pretty much in the right direction. I’m sure we will get to where we want to go, in the end. Sometimes, we just have to say to ourselves, I’m not lost … I’m just taking the scenic route.”
“No,” I reply, “But it looks like a nice road.”
“Where does it come out?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” I reply, calmly confident that I am not lost despite not knowing where I am.
“Do you want me to turn on the satnav?”
“Nope, we’re fine. I’m heading pretty much in the right direction. I’m sure we will get to where we want to go, in the end. Sometimes, we just have to say to ourselves, I’m not lost … I’m just taking the scenic route.”
May 6, 2015
That Awkward Moment of Silence
The chat had been light and pleasant, but I was becoming exceedingly bored, so I placed my cup on the coffee table and sat back with purpose. “Look, this is all well and good, but let’s get right down to it,” I said. “I can’t keep this secret inside me anymore!”
“What’re talking about, Vernon?” asked my wife.
I looked at our guest, my wife’s friend since college, and blurted it out, “Samantha wants to sleep with you. She lusts after your body. Now, I must admit that at first I was a bit taken back by this confession, but…”
“What!” my wife exclaimed, when she’d finally stopped choking on her coffee.
Her friend, Celia, looked from one to the other of us, unsure what to say.
“This is no time to be coy, darling. It’s okay to have these primitive lustful urges. Look … why don’t I just go and stick the kettle on, and you can work out the details between the two of you … Call me if you need my help…” I started to rise and gather up the coffee cups. “I think we have some Jaffa Cakes hidden away somewhere for special occassions.”
“Sit down!” my wife demanded, her voice sharp and insistent. “Have you been messing with your medication again, Vernon?”
Placing the cups back on the table, I sat. “My medication is fine, Darling. I’m only trying to help.”
“I never said anything like that,” protested my wife, directing her comment more to Celia than to me.
“Not in those exact words, true, but the message was clear.” I argued.
“This is preposterous!”
“You said as much this very morning, when Celia was walking up the driveway,” I pressed.
“I did no such thing!”
“Yes, you did. You said, and I quote, ‘Doesn’t she look fabulous in those shorts.’”
“So … That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her!”
“Ahh, so you admit it!” I demanded. “Then you said you’d love to get into her shorts.”
“Vernon, you idiot! I said that ‘I’d love to be able get into them.’ I’ve a similar pair, but I need to lose a few pound.”
“So you admit that Celia has a sexy ass …” I pressed, sensing that I was losing the argument and changing tack.
Samantha was having none of it. Her look would’ve stripped paint off a door. “Isn’t it about time you mowed that back garden, Vernon darling?” she asked, her voice heavy with malice. “And while you’re at it, the dog could do with a walk … a long one!”
“Trying to get me out of the picture, eh!” I winked cheekily.
“Get out … now!”
I scurried away, knowing not to push my luck. I couldn’t help smiling as I gathered up the dog lead. There is just so much idle gossip that a man can stand before he has to stir up trouble.
“What’re talking about, Vernon?” asked my wife.
I looked at our guest, my wife’s friend since college, and blurted it out, “Samantha wants to sleep with you. She lusts after your body. Now, I must admit that at first I was a bit taken back by this confession, but…”
“What!” my wife exclaimed, when she’d finally stopped choking on her coffee.
Her friend, Celia, looked from one to the other of us, unsure what to say.
“This is no time to be coy, darling. It’s okay to have these primitive lustful urges. Look … why don’t I just go and stick the kettle on, and you can work out the details between the two of you … Call me if you need my help…” I started to rise and gather up the coffee cups. “I think we have some Jaffa Cakes hidden away somewhere for special occassions.”
“Sit down!” my wife demanded, her voice sharp and insistent. “Have you been messing with your medication again, Vernon?”
Placing the cups back on the table, I sat. “My medication is fine, Darling. I’m only trying to help.”
“I never said anything like that,” protested my wife, directing her comment more to Celia than to me.
“Not in those exact words, true, but the message was clear.” I argued.
“This is preposterous!”
“You said as much this very morning, when Celia was walking up the driveway,” I pressed.
“I did no such thing!”
“Yes, you did. You said, and I quote, ‘Doesn’t she look fabulous in those shorts.’”
“So … That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her!”
“Ahh, so you admit it!” I demanded. “Then you said you’d love to get into her shorts.”
“Vernon, you idiot! I said that ‘I’d love to be able get into them.’ I’ve a similar pair, but I need to lose a few pound.”
“So you admit that Celia has a sexy ass …” I pressed, sensing that I was losing the argument and changing tack.
Samantha was having none of it. Her look would’ve stripped paint off a door. “Isn’t it about time you mowed that back garden, Vernon darling?” she asked, her voice heavy with malice. “And while you’re at it, the dog could do with a walk … a long one!”
“Trying to get me out of the picture, eh!” I winked cheekily.
“Get out … now!”
I scurried away, knowing not to push my luck. I couldn’t help smiling as I gathered up the dog lead. There is just so much idle gossip that a man can stand before he has to stir up trouble.
May 5, 2015
The Riddle
The hands that cannot clap watch the passing of each day in the room of many stories. Standing by the far aisle is a man that’s trying to find the English Channel.
The Cuckoo sings, whatever the season, and his song causes delight within the children’s corner.
An assistant pauses in her daily toil to use an ancient invention that can see through walls. She is momentarily transfixed by the frantic scurrying of the world outside.
An elderly gentleman dozes, his ruddy face hidden by black and white.
Finally, the cuckoo declares the day done, and people gather their books.
The Cuckoo sings, whatever the season, and his song causes delight within the children’s corner.
An assistant pauses in her daily toil to use an ancient invention that can see through walls. She is momentarily transfixed by the frantic scurrying of the world outside.
An elderly gentleman dozes, his ruddy face hidden by black and white.
Finally, the cuckoo declares the day done, and people gather their books.
