Ray Stone's Blog: A blog for everyone, page 14

© Murdo Faw McAlister – The Tin Merchants Curse – Chapter 2

Submitted by Gabrielle Burt on Tuesday 3 February 2015

Chapter 2 – Book 1

As the two men descended into the valley, Neill was impressed by his companion’s ability to find a way where there were no obvious tracks.

 

His instinct warned him to be wary so he slowed, increasing the distance between them and silently berated himself for not going back to look for the file.  All the while Neill searched for a sturdy sapling or some vines.  Anything from which to fashion a make-shift weapon.  Alas it was mostly ferns and bracken.  Nothing with any spring, or substance.

 

They were walking very quickly now and without warning the big gypsy stopped, signalling with his hand for Neill to do the same.

 

Pursing his lips Johnnie let out a perfect imitation of the bird calls that were all around.   An answering call was swift and very close.

 

“What …?”

 

“Shhh.”  Johnnie put his finger to his mouth.  “Don’t make a sound.   Keep very close now and follow me.”  Then in a tone that sounded suspiciously playful, “Ye’ wouldnae want tay be skewered by an arrow noo, would ye’ Fish-man?”

 

They set off again and minutes later emerged from the forest onto a wide stony river flat with only a pitiful trickle of water that meandered to the edge of a large pool.  An enticingly secluded pool, hung with clumps of water loving fern and cascades of sphagnum moss that trailed like lassies’ hair into the silver-black water.  The size of the river bed gave a clue to the large volumes of water that must flow between its banks as winter’s icy grip thawed.  A sheer bluff rose majestically from its reflected image.   It was a most spectacular sight.  Neill gave a long, low whistle as his eye was drawn to the western end of the pool where there was a deep slit in the bluff.

 

 

 

From here the distant thundering roar of a waterfall could be heard and a froth of white spume was visible where the water squeezed through the narrow opening and exploded in a turbulent rush, to a lower level.  “… and impossible to breach!”  Neill didn’t realise he’d spoken out loud.

 

“Correct Fish-man.   We have chosen carefully and guard our privacy with our lives.”    It was a bald statement of fact – implying so much more.

 

Protected on three sides by the bluff;  a bluff with a convenient natural overhang about a third of the way up,  the camp was sheltered from the elements and completely hidden from above.   His thoughts were interrupted by a chorus of birds as they began calling to their mates.   Johnnie, put his large hand on Neill’s shoulder as he answered with three distinctly different tones.  Next, raising an open hand, he made a circle above his head.  Without a sound a dozen hard faced men with chiselled muscles and wild hair, emerged from the greenery.  They held longbows and quivers bristling with arrows.  The men made not a single sound as they stood silent and menacing.  Then each one  solemnly acknowledged his leader and melted back into the undergrowth.

 

Neill felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

 

“Come, Fish-man.  We are here.”

 

A collection of carts and bivouacs already blending into the lengthening shadows of night, nestled at the base of the cliff and provided accommodation for what appeared to be a fairly large group of people.  In front of these was an open space, where a large fire flared against the lengthening shadows.  The fire was quartered with cooking frames from which were hung a variety of pots and pans that were being tended by some of the women and one or two older children.   Even from a distance the delicious smells reminded Neill how hungry he was.   Right on cue his stomach growled.

 

As the two men crossed the riverbed, a stillness settled on the camp.   Half a dozen rosy cheeked children interrupted their game of chasing to stand and stare; their expressions solemn.

 

“Sit with me Honoured Guest”, Johnnie indicated a collection of large tree stumps, “for today we have cause to celebrate.” He clapped his hands and two women appeared bearing goblets of small ale and platters of roasted meat.  The older of the two seemed to make a bee line for Neill and he thought he recognized her as she placed the plate of food before him. It was the woman who had appeared out of nowhere, up by the swimming hole.   She waited, a fraction longer than necessary, holding the platter for him.  Her hand brushed his fingers as she made direct eye contact.  The woman seemed about to speak and again Neill felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.  Then, as if a decision had been made, she bumped the food down in front of him and returned to the opposite side of the fire.  Murdo felt uneasy as he watched her go.

 

Johnnie clapped again.  This time it was a signal for the entire community to join them.   When everyone was seated around the blazing fire, feasting on enormous platters of roasted meats, flat breads, fruit and jugs of small ale, the minstrels began to play.   Neill wasn’t sure if it was the ale or the music; or perhaps a little of both, but the atmosphere had become euphoric as young and old danced wildly round the fire, laughing and singing to the music.

 

Half turning, Johnnie put a hand on Neill’s shoulder.  “You have made your children proud, Fish-man. You are a giant amongst men.” There was no doubting the Gypsy’s sincerity as he raised his goblet to toast his son’s saviour.

 

Acknowledging the gesture with a nod, Neill said.  “I am but a humble blacksmith.  Not a Fish-man and I have neither wife, nor children – yet.”

 

One of the young dancers paused before him and attempted to pull him to his feet.  He declined with a “Nay fair lady.  I have hooves where my feet should be.”

 

Pouting her disappointment she moved good-naturedly to the next person.

 

“Then I, Johnnie Faw, King of the Gypsies,” the big man thumped his own chest magnanimously, “will give you his only sister.   She will be your wife and bear you many strong sons.  My friend, you and I will truly be brothers!”  He gave a satisfied laugh and slapped Neill heartily on the back. This time when he clapped he called “Aishe!  Aishe – come!”

 

Neill gaped as the ugliest woman he had ever seen, responded to this call and began to lumber towards them – a huge, expectant smile on her enormous, round face.

 

“No!” Neill choked on his beer as he felt the panic rise. “No.  Thank you, but no.  I … I have a sweetheart.  Her name is Eilidh.  I was on my way to ask for her hand in marriage. Please.   I am sure your sister is not only beautiful ….,” he offered a silent prayer he wouldn’t be struck dead for this blatant untruth, “but also wise and patient and … and, I cannot take her as my wife!” He gulped desperately, “My heart belongs to another.”

 

“You refuse my gift!”  Johnnie’s voice rose in shocked disbelief as he studied his companion with narrowed eyes. “He refuses my gift…” he repeated ominously, to no one in particular, but loud enough to be heard.

 

It seemed all eyes were now on the increasingly uncomfortable visitor and where only a minute ago there had been dancing and merriment, now a tense silence had spread over the group. Neill felt a chill run down his back as once again, the woman who had served him, caught his eye from across the fire.  Was it a warning – or something else?

 

Without moving his head, Neill looked around for his best avenue of escape.   There wasn’t one!  He was completely surrounded.   In the flickering light, he studied the sea of faces and felt his eyes drawn once again, to the strange woman who sat directly opposite.  Although she was part of the gathering, she remained strangely aloof.  Separate.  His mouth went dry and he felt no warmth from the huge roaring fire as the woman’s eyes burned into his.

 

Beads of sweat had formed on his brow.  Unbidden, the name ‘Morag’ popped into his mind.  “Morag” the sound emerging softly from his lips. Who was Morag? As he watched the woman, she began to shimmer all over. Neill blinked, unsure whether it was the heat haze from the fire or the drink.  He blinked again.  She was gone!   Vanished!  In front of his astonished eyes!  A yelp of surprise mixed with fear escaped his mouth just as Johnnie swung around; his face like thunder.

 

“You refuse to marry my sister?” He shouted, an engorged vein pulsing at his temple.

 

Neill was ready to make a run for it and began to get to his feet.

 

Without warning the Gypsy’s features changed and a huge, white toothed smile dawned on his tanned face. Johnnie slapped his leg, shouting gleefully, “The Fish-man has refused to marry my sister!  Tell me Fish-man – what do you want?  Everything I own is yours – except my son.  Name your price.”

 

Neill couldn’t believe his ears.  “I need a horse.” He blurted.

 

“In the morning you shall have my finest stallion. But tonight we will eat, drink and celebrate. Musicians!   Play for us.”

http://www.thestorymint.com/writers-pad

Unforgotten

Chapter 2
Written by: Linda Alley

“What do you want?” I sobbed.

“Don’t kid around. You know exactly what we want.” It was a man’s voice, low and gravelly.

“I don’t,” “I really don’t. Simon sells…sold robotic vacuum cleaners.”

“Just as well. No cops will want to clean up your carpets by the time we’re done with you…and with Viola, if you continue to lie to us.”

Viola! I sunk into a chair, thrusting my head between my knees and swallowing bile.

“White Creek Motor Camp,” he continued. “It’s the red and yellow house truck. Its name is stencilled in Gothic copperplate across one side: Unforgotten.”

My hands were shaking so badly that I stamped on them

“I trust you’ll be ready to talk by the time we’ve made it up the last few stairs.”

I dropped the phone and rushed to the front window. Through the metal palings on the landing below, I glimpsed a chequered shirt and heavy work boots moving upwards. I ran to the other side of the flat and flung open the bedroom window.

Sister Iglesias had been wrong. Becoming a P.E. teacher hadn’t made me rich, but just maybe it could get me out of trouble now. Though this morning we’d had safety harnesses on when we’d abseiled down the wall.

Grabbing the drain pipe firmly with both hands, I half-slid, half-scrambled to the ground. There was a shout from behind. I jumped the low fence into the playground.

Two young teens sat on the swings smoking, BMXs sprawled on the grass. I didn’t hesitate. Seconds later I was peddling down Western Road as if it was a velodrome.

Brakes screamed behind me. The tang of burnt rubber spewed into the air. My handlebars reflected a van window sliding open. I ducked. Nails pelted down all around me. My front tire hissed. I skidded into the gutter.

I plunged into the bushes on the roadside, puncturing my skin as I squeezed through to the river path. With any luck, they would think I was headed to White Creek Motor Camp. Only they didn’t know Viola was never at home on a Tuesday night.

I sprinted down the path, past the jetty, across the footbridge and up into the square. Although the sun was still up, the Night Market was already filling up with tourists and office workers, stopping by on the way home. Most of the vendors had already set out their wares. Not Viola. Her stall was empty. The beams looked skeletal without their usual colourful beads.

“Huang Fu!” I ran up to the young Chinese man at the next stall. “Have you seen my sister?”

Huang Fu looked up from where he was laying out leather belts.

“Isn’t she supposed to be with you? She sent me a text saying she was going to your birthday dinner tonight.”

“My birthday?” I clutched a beam, gasping for air. “My birthday was two months ago.”

 

Stage 32 – Chandre Laura Cloete

Ask, Believe, Receive.

By Chandre Laura Cloete

Monday, April 6th, 2015

Richard “RB” Botto

Today’s blog comes from Stage 32 member Chandre Laura Cloete of Hollywood. About a year and a half ago, Chandre decided to move from South Africa to LA to pursue her creative dreams. She has since built up a very versatile career working as an actress, boom operator, set crew member, and assistant director.

In today’s very inspiring blog, Chandre shares her experiences since she arrived in LA including insight into her recent successes. In addition, she shares 3 special words which encourage her to keep moving forward no matter what the circumstances.

I thank Chandre for her contribution to the Stage 32 blog!

Enjoy!

RB

It was a bittersweet goodbye for me about two years ago. I was leaving my family and friends behind in South Africa to pursue my dreams in America.

When you have dreams like I did, it’ll feel like everyone around you is failing to see what you see, disagreeing with your dreams, and constantly shutting you down.

“This is fairytale talk!”

“You need to get your head out of the clouds!”

We’ve all heard this at some stage in our life. But just because others don’t see your dreams as becoming reality, doesn’t mean that they can’t. You need to push through and persevere. The world only dreams when it’s asleep, and I want to show everyone that your dreams can still be there when your eyes are open.

In 2012, I was scouted by Elsubie De Lange(director of Just You in South Africa) and was given the opportunity to take part in the International Talent Showcase (ITS). It was at this point that all my dreams started unravelling before my very eyes. The experience was incredible and I received a call back to partake in an internationally-led show called the ARTS in the June of 2013.



At the ARTS, when a group of South Africans hit the stage, all the South Africans in the audience, including me, made sure to cheer the loudest, making sure that America knew we were there and that we dominated. It was such an amazing experience! Throughout my time there, I spoke to top casting directors and agents, went to seminars and learned so many new things about the entertainment industry.

I eventually made my way to Los Angeles, California and what an experience it was. On my first night in Los Angeles, one of my close friends and I were still wide awake at 2 am, so we decided to go for a drive and at one point, ended up walking to the Hollywood sign. I felt like such a tourist, but at the same time, as the Hollywood sign unraveled before me, I realized that I had made it, through all the blood, sweat and tears, the traveling, the goodbye’s, the hard work. Just standing there, in that moment, it all felt worthwhile.



It’s amazing how life works! I live in Hollywood right now and every single day, I make sure to look up at that sign. There always comes a time in life when you tend to take things for granted, but that’s when you need to remind yourself of what it took to get to where you are right now. I am reminded of that every day, just by looking up and seeing that sign and remembering the feeling I had when I first saw it.

Live a life of gratitude and you will be blessed forever.

I have been living in Los Angeles for over a year and a half now and I have treated every day as a new adventure. I decided to further my education by studying acting at the New York Film Academy. And following the completion of my studies, I am now on my work permit, and the work has been such an incredible journey. I have been to several auditions, several screenings at Warner Bros, seen multiple television shows, worked on set as a part of the crew, reached out to agencies, and more.



There are many more adventures headed my way and I’m looking forward to them all. Los Angeles is my new home town now and I couldn’t have asked for a better life. Having faith when you have a dream is the number one rule, and for all those who have a dream, remember these 3 things:

Ask. Believe. Receive.

Anything is possible if you believe it’s possible. All I want in this life is to inspire people. We are given this one life, with no pauses, rewinds, fast forward options or extra lives, so I encourage you to make it count! We live as if we are immortal creatures, but we need to realize that time is limited. All too often, we don’t achieve all we want. We need to share our gifts with the world. We think we have time, but we forget that time is one thing we will never have control over. Whether you’re moving or standing still, sleeping or awake, time keeps ticking. So I encourage you to do all you can with the time you are given.

My mom has taught me that if the dream is big enough, the facts don’t count. My dreams are bigger than my financial status, bigger than my expertise in the field I want to pursue in, bigger than the negativity, bigger than everything that counted against me to pursue my dream. This is why I am where I am right now and still continuing to strive for success. I live a life of never being satisfied. Enough is never enough. Once you’re satisfied with where you are, with what you are, with who you are, it becomes your comfort zone and a comfort zone is a deadly place to be in.



Wherever you are on your journey to your dream, always remind yourself of that feeling you had before your journey started. That empowering feeling to do whatever it took to reach that dream of yours. Success only comes after failure after failure after failure. I find this beautiful because this pushes your limits, your capability, your self-esteem, your EVERY THING to breaking point, and just before it all gets too much, the achievement comes! Always remember to sacrifice a little but here and there, and you will reap the benefits.

The world is your oyster. Go and make the most out of it.



(On another note, I was introduced to Stage 32 a few months back by my dad (who is still in South Africa) and it has been a game changer! You make so many connections and even new friends through Stage 32. I have loved being on here, it’s like Facebook for the industry. Wherever I am I always encourage everyone I know to join Stage 32.)

Chapter 8 – O’Brady Jingle Jangle

Written by: Ray Stone

I left Scradsdale with darkened thoughts and journeyed all that day and into the night before reaching Truro and a comfortably furnished chamber. My mind was clearly set on meeting any doctor of note at Cornwall’s largest hospital who might be able to help with directions to another asylum. With horse rested in the White Horse coaching inn, I set out smartly in carriage the following early morning. On reaching the imposing hospital, a clerk directed me to the office of one Doctor Jethro Tilling. An interesting man, I found the good doctor to be of wiry figure and tall; of old age and of smart appearance wearing black knee breeches and stockings, black morning coat and assisted in his walking with an elegant cane topped with a dragon’s head of solid silver. He received me in a large office dominated by a rosewood desk adorned with scattered piles of books and a very fine brass microscope.

I felt lulled of mind as I sat comfortably in the quiet surroundings. The soft ticking of the tall floor clock and the distant pitched screams of colourful peacocks parading the green around the building slowed the need to rush my day.

“You say your aunt was of sound mind,” he commented as I finished my inquiry. He raised a finger and flicked his bottom lip up and down. “Of course she will in all probability be dead now after several years. The mad idiots live forever and the sane die very quickly.” His head shook vigorously. “Indeed they do, Sir, indeed they do.”

I waited while he wrote on paper, the scratching quill nib rudely disturbing the quiet. On it he wrote the whereabouts of the only other asylum, a place called Trelonwarren.

***

   A long waving row of bright Acer trees on either side of the drive leading to the main entrance gave the plain sandstone brick of Trelonwarren an air of some importance. Behind the door, however, that importance vanished completely as I observed two attendants pushing a man roughly through a large wooden door into a hall. From within the hall the constant jabbering chatter, babbling and screaming of the insane echoed off the high ceiling. The smell of sickness and sewer hung heavily in the air.

After speaking to the clerk, he instructed me to wait for the key warder, Mr J. J. O’Brady, a man with knowledge of the inmates and places few of those who worked there ever visited. I shuddered. It was a morose feeling that chilled my spine.

“Well now, Mr Jeddler,” said O’Brady arriving, “a pleasure to be sure that I meet a real gentleman. Doctor Tilling sent you with note…my…my.” He waved the note given to him by the clerk and held me with a sly look, his fat lips apart to reveal a large gap in his lower front teeth.

I took an instant dislike to him. He was grotesque in size with pot belly and dressed in a worn green jacket and dirty white breeches. A tail of oily brown hair hung limply across his back and a fat bare toe poked through one broken and scuffed shoe whose buckle had disappeared. His face bore signs of the pox, scars from boils, and a weeping spot that looked picked. He held the note with dirty fingers and, bending slightly, passed wind. A more rude and shameless man I had never met.

He shook a ring of keys before me. “Mr Jingle Jangle they call me. Shall we go find your mad aunt?”

“She is here then,” I exclaimed.

He laughed. “Yes, in the pit.”

 http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/bal-maid-knocking

Good books aren’t written, they are edited – by AJ Barnett

20 Top Tips for Editing that Novel

By AJ Barnett

Good novels aren’t written, they are rewritten

“The business of the novelist is not to chronicle great events, but to make small ones more interesting.”

- Arthur Schopenhauer.

Good books aren’t written, they are edited

To write a story can bring tremendous satisfaction, it can bring pleasure and a certain freedom of mind …. but it requires skill to be successful.

Writing skills can be taught. The mastery of it isn’t simple, the skills involve a thorough grounding, dedication, and commitment – yet if it were simple, everyone would be successful and where would the pleasure be then?

I have to admit that when I’m in the process of trying to write a story it sometimes hacks me off. I like to have written, but not always to actually write. I like to have a finishedstory in my hands, but writing it is sometimes painful.

When you set out your store to writea story, be it a Kindle short story or a thriller, it isn’t like writing an article or a review, story writing is a different beast altogether. For most of us, the intial rush of words and ideas that come with a new story are ephemeral. They need to be writtendown before they disappear because no matter what we think, disappear they will.

How To Edit a Novel – record that transient idea

In the initial stage, it’s most important to get your story down, and get it down fast – but that doesn’t make for a good read. At this point, the storyis probably a bunch of half-strewn, badly-connected ideas that have no balance or proportion.

It doesn’t matter. A story in its raw state is only for the eyes of the author. To write a story that holds a publisher’s attention only comes about after serious editing and rewriting.You need to learn how to edit a book.

To Write A Story Is Knowing How to Edit

Critical appraisal and self-analysis are fundamental elements of all creative work – for authors it is essential. As wordsmiths, we need to become our own worst censors or our work will never see the light of day.

Editing  maketh the writer.

I’m privileged to know and be in touch with lots of writers. I’m captivated by how they write, how they fashion their stories and characters, how they organize and research information for their novels. One thing that comes from this is that editingis a very touchy subject.Most have struggled with how to edit a book.

To Write a Story is…..

To write a storyis frustrating.
To write a storyis emotionally draining.
To write a storyis damn hard work

Who in their right mind would be an author? Yet writing can be so rewarding that if you get it right it makes it all worthwhile. In order to get it correct, a manuscript needs to be edited until it gleams or it will stand no chance against the reams of competition out there…. but what should you look for when doing this editing?

Okay we all like to read lists, so I’ve put together a list of what to look for when starting the long road of knocking that precious story into shape

How to edit a book – 20 ways to polish that manuscript

Did you run a spell-check and grammar check when you sat down to write a story? If you don’t have one on your computer, install one right now. They may not be perfect, they sometimes want you to change things when you don’t, but they at least highlight where there might be a problem and they certainly show up those typos.
Have you overused certain words whilst writing your story? Most of us are guilty of having favourites words and sometimes we use them too often. Do a search with this in mind.
Are the time-lines correct in your story? Have you made sure that events take place in the right order and correct time-frame? It’s all too easy to skip a day here and there or get the year wrong, especially if changes have been made.
Are there any clumsy expressions or words that create an effect you don’t want?
Have you sufficiently distinguished your characters so they aren’t just cardboard cliches?
Have you ‘dribbled’ information in your story instead of giving it all in one inedible chunk? You should never let out all the information at one go. Keep teasing the reader.
Have you constantly nudged readers about the character’s details. Readers need to envisage the characters as the story unfolds and a jog to the memory helps them along
Is it obvious in which period your story is set; are the locations of your activities always obvious? Don’t leave your reader wondering where and when, the story is taking place
Have you created unique details about the setting and scenery, and do you refer to it as your writing evolves? Just because you described something at the outset, doesn’t mean your reader will remember it later. Jog their memories occasionally
Are your protagonists constant in the way they behave? People don’t act out of character unless there’s good cause; don’t let your protagonists.
Is there sufficient tension to build and maintain interest?
Do the principal people have powerful motivations and emotions that develop throughout the story?
Have you made your protagonists affable or offensive? A single wrong phrase can make them appear in a way you didn’t intend. Check it out
Is a minor character taking the story down a wrong path? Asides can interest a reader, but if they do nothing to take the story forward, they should be deleted. Any character or element of your story that can be removed and not missed, doesn’t belong there in the first place – and this is especially true ofromances. A romance is generally about the central characters ONLY.
Have you achieved what you intended with the central theme of your story? Make sure you haven’t fooled yourself. Whilst in the process of trying to writea storyyou know the idea you’re trying to get across, but does your reader?
Does the pace of the story vary sufficiently? If despair never ends, if intimidation is too constant, readers will be put off.
Have you deleted all superfluous words? Purple prose and lengthy descriptions simply don’t belong in modern writing.
What about reason and logic? What about the impetus of your characters? Aswriters, it’s sometimes it’s all too easy to mislead ourselves. We know thestory has to reach a certain point and we could be tempted to twist characters or situations artificially to get there. If we do, readers will be annoyed.
Have you tied up those loose ends. It’s essential not to leave loose threads hanging around. Make sure you’ve covered everything and explained away all situations.
Is there sufficient variety in your story? Diversity in protagonists should always be there of course, but what about exploits and locations, the expressions you use, and the length of sentences? Is there variety there?

To Edit a Book – Get the detail right.

“Everyone has talent.What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark places where it leads.”

- Erica Jong.

To write a story that has impact, you must pay attention to detail. To be a writer means more than just putting ideas on paper. Consideration to specifics is what helps to make a manuscript successful. It doesn’t necessarily make your story a best-seller of course, but unless your story gets published it can never become a best-seller. If you don’t edit sufficiently before submitting, it simply won’t get published. Polish, polish, and polish again.

Whilst writing that story, let the words flood out, give your imagination full rein. During the editing process, you have to be critical, you must become both censor and reviewer. You must get the detail correct.

To Edit a Book – Subsequent writings.

During the first writing, you breathe life into your story. When you edit, it’s your chance to get it right. Embrace it…. Grab it with open arms.

Sam Browning, a writer who also follows my blogs and articles, advises, “I would also say, stay positive. It’s so easy to fall into a trap where you start beating yourself up over the things you’ve done wrong, instead of the things that can be done better.”

 

INFECTION – Chapter 6

 

INFECTION
Written by: Ray Stone

“Will he feel anything at all when he wakes?” asks Lillith.

Stanovich looks down at Eric and smiles broadly. “No, we have four hosts walking around and as soon as Eric is processed it will be time for the number one within each of them to be activated. If our experiment works our other labs will follow.”

His fingers slide a clear plastic tube gently into each of Eric’s nostrils. The other ends of the tubes disappear into a small computerised valve attached to a large brown supply bag hanging from a drip support. The bag twitches.

“Hold the tubes carefully in place,” orders Stanovich. “We can’t have anything go wrong. Those number ones”…he jerks a finger at the bag…“are the only fresh one’s we have from the impact site. Once released, they will find their own way in.”

Lillith bends slowly over Eric and takes hold of each tube between forefinger and thumb while Stanovich places a hard gelatine surgical mask firmly over Eric’s mouth and secures a soft rubber plug into each ear. Oxygen flows through the mask.

“This process will take an hour,” instructs Stanovich. “Be careful with those tubes while I’m gone.”

Stanovich presses the button on the side of the computer control panel and immediately the valve on the bottom of the bag opens, allowing a line of miniscule wormites to crawl down the feed tube.

“Do not leave him unattended this time 147.” Stanovich gives Lillith a stern look and exits the operating theatre.

As the door closes quietly, Lillith hastily pulls the tubes from Eric’s nose and mask from his face. Wormites start pouring onto the table as she eases him into a wheelchair. A moment later, she is running down the empty corridor with the chair. Eric stirs as they reach an exit next to the car park and the open back of a laundry truck where someone pulls him inside and the truck moves off.

***

“I don’t understand,” says Eric. “Why and what is Stanovich hoping to achieve and what are number ones?”

He is sitting in the back of a trailer surrounded by a group of people including Lillith. A moustachioed young man explains.

“I left ‘Surecareadrug’ in protest after discovering what they were up to. They spent billions on finding a cure for the disease but it died out of its own accord. Then they found a way to infect the disease safely through willing doctors. Now they control the infection rate, thereby selling their cure to get the investment back. Those wormites are the key. Destroy them and the threat is over.”

Lillith takes hold of Eric’s hand. “These number ones activate and die when the carrier drinks alcohol, giving off toxins every time he or she exhales for an hour, infecting people.”

The group talk excitedly and Eric waves a hand to silence them. “Then we must get to the impact site,” he says firmly, “and destroy them completely before they destroy us.”

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/infection

Bal maid a knocking – Chapter 7 – A Fearful Place

 A Fearful Place
Written by: Ray Stone

It had been several long and lonely hours since I stormed angrily from the kitchen, leaving Mrs Malocks and Pumblewood guessing what fate I may have in store for them. Their disloyalty to the memory of my mother and aunt filled me with an indescribable thirst to punish them. Yet, despite my misgivings, I was acutely aware that without their help the conclusion to my nightmare would forever leave unanswered questions and my mind in a state of turmoil. I had no reason to suppose that my aunt was alive, given the awful conditions within lunatic asylums. It remained for me to find her. The following morning I would set out for Scradsdale Asylum and determine my aunt’s fate. But first I would visit my mother and speak with the local rector.

A short while later I returned to the kitchen. Pumblewood stood uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes looked to the floor and he clasped both hands in front of him. In silence he waited my pleasure as I instructed Mrs Malocks to fetch her cloak and see me to the pauper’s cemetery.

I turned to Pumblewood. “And you, Sir, will take up matters at the mine and we will speak of your right to continue there on my return.”

Pumblewood looked up, his face broken with shame and guilt. “Yes, Sir,” is all he replied before turning to make his leave.

A few moments later, accompanied by Mrs Malocks, I rode to the cemetery to respect my mother, a poor body buried beneath a wooden cross inscribed with the number 375. Before leaving that cold and dreary place, I arranged with the rector to have my mother brought to Condurrow House for a fitting burial inside the grounds.

***

Scradsdale Asylum stood on top of a hill two miles inland and a mile away from the nearest hamlet. My disappointment at finding it closed and abandoned did not prevent me from walking in my aunt’s fragile footsteps. One large rusted entrance gate swung lazily in the wind, screeching as it closed with a loud clang before blowing open again. Lichen covered the red brick walls that surrounded the overgrown garden and the heavy smell of decaying nettles; Foxglove and trailing Geraniums filled the air. The tall building itself, scarred with dozens of small barred windows, rose from the ground like an ugly Gothic creature emanating fear and dread of the unknown.

My feet crunched on broken glass as I entered this fearful place. After I reached the first landing, I wondered at the row of iron doors and from behind each one, a pathetic creature locked away in a permanent state of misery. The very walls, with peeling paint, resounded with mad screams and whimperings of the lost and lonely souls within my head. For my aunt, it must have been a journey into Dante’s hell.

Shaking, I was resolved to find her.

http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/bal-maid-knocking

 

IN PRINT

Yes, Amazon’s top ten listed Twisted Wire is finally in print. It will be available in a few days and you may wish to grab a copy from my shop onwww.raystoneauthor.com Martin Colville is working hard to bring the story to audio and that should be available by the autumn. Cover designed by Irene Kimmel of Archetype Marketing. Happy reading all.

 

The Rule of the Road

It is true what they say about some drivers having a personality change when they get in front of a wheel. Cyprus has plenty of car parking facilities and on most roads one can pull over and park almost anywhere. Unfortunately here to some drivers that means parking on a corner of the street or half on the pavement with the rear end stuck out in the road. Double parking is a national craze and the rule of the road seems to be – you can see me so drive around me. A lot of younger drivers are always in a hurry and take incredible risks, overtaking on a bend or just before the crest of a hill. On the main A6 motorway the speed limit of 65 is abused by most including myself. I think we all like to think we are good drivers but the truth is we are not. This is a great place to drive, unlike Malta where they drive like a load of crazies bumber to bumber. Insurance is another problem here. About half the drivers do not have it. If there is an accident there is very little one can do if the one at fault does not have insurance. That is why most of us who do have insurance have third party only. The rates are pretty high too and I had to pay a lot. Fortunately I will have my past no claims from the last company with me when I renew next year. I lost the paperwork in the move but the company will send me a note for next time around. Drivers here get caught only when they are stopped for speeding or are in an accident.

There has been a lot of talk here about the hospital I attend in Polis, some 15 minutes away. It is what we Brits call a cottage hospital. Although the facilities are big enough to cater for around 500 outpatients a day there are only 4 doctors and about a dozen administration and lab staff. At night there is one doctor on call for emergencies. They are also short of some equipment especially in the x-ray department. It would appear that the situation has been going on for a couple of years with repeated requests for funding ignored. (Where have we heard all this before) so the newspaper here is highlighting the problem and it is hoped the situation will be resolved. I get on well with all the staff and doctors who seem to remember all the patients by name and it would be a sad day if the authorities decide to close the hospital. That would mean a trip to Pafos over some badly maintained roads and an hour’s journey.

I have long suffered with arthritic knees and lately they have got worse. Today I bought an armchair that allows me to sit up higher and is very comfortable. For years I had crawled around on my knees or knelt on paving slabs and even with knee pads the work took its toll. That is one reason I also acquired the treadmill. After starting my exercise regime I found out I had a heart condition so I cannot walk as far as before or as fast. I have not used the treadmill for several weeks but this week after all the tests and pills I am going back on the machine and will walk for ten minutes to start with and build up. I really think it is important to keep exercising. With the weather now turning to summer I will be in the pool every morning.

Despite the demons behind the wheel I have no problem with people here. They are so nice and the thing that I love most of all is that they smile at you. They are helpful in the main and one small story I must share with you. I went to a hairdressers a couple of weeks ago and it was run by two ladies in their late thirties early forties. Extremely attractive and well built they looked as though they were about to pop out of their blouses. I can say that while she cut my hair, my hairdresser ‘brushed up’ against my neck several times. While in the chair and thinking to myself I hoped she would take her time, some gentlemen arrived and sat behind me. One of them, an old gentleman, smiled at me and nodded knowingly. Both ladies knew him well and both stepped over to him and kissed on both cheeks, as we do here. With my haircut complete and having paid for the service, I was about to leave when the old gentleman beckoned me over and offered me a coffee. He motioned for me to join him and we sat and exchanged pleasantries. Several other men sat and listened. After we had finished talking one of the ladies told me that the gentleman was their mayor and that it was the custom in the village to show hospitality to visitors. One of the ways the Cypriots do this is to offer guests a Cypriot coffee, a small cup of strong coffee. One drinks the coffee but leaves the thick sediment at the bottom of the small cup. I felt really good driving home and have since experienced the same thing with a gentleman we visit often in an art framers and also at one restaurant in the village of Kissanergia. I think the art of entertaining in such a friendly manner really promotes strong community relationships and encourages ex pats like myself to get involved in the community. I like my own company but I also like the feeling that I belong among these nice people.

Kalimara my friends. I love you all.

How to Keep Your Confidence Level Up in a Creative Career

By Amanda Toye

Thursday, March 19th, 2015

Richard “RB” Botto

Today’s guest blog comes from Stage 32 member, producer, writer and social entrepreneur Amanda Toye. As a former creative executive for Little Engine and Sander/Moses Productions, Amanda developed over 100 drama, comedy, and reality projects to network and cable, as well as developed web series, interactive content, digital assets, apps, and other content. She is currently working in Costa Rica to expand film initiatives in the country.

In today’s blog, Amanda points to something every single artist in the world has experienced numerous times in their lives: self-doubt. Amanda shares with us her own experience with self-doubt, but also goes into great detail explaining how these insecurities are ultimately just mind games that anyone can overcome with enough passion and perseverance.

Amanda’s blog shows that while the road of the artist presents many obstacles that attempt to threaten our integrity or our confidence, the only thing truly inhibiting us from greatness is ourselves.

I thank Amanda for her contribution to the Stage 32 Blog.

Enjoy!

RB

When I graduated from college and stepped into the world of entertainment, I was determined to climb the mountain in front of me and achieve the career success I had singularly focused on since high school. No matter what unknowns lay in the terrain ahead of me, I had the ability to conquer them. I was naive, I was unprepared, and I had no idea how challenging the path I had chosen would turn out to be, unstable and full of rejection. But of course that confidence, even if it comes from inexperience, is the only thing that can keep you going when things get a little rocky.

Little by little, I was able to piece together my career, first as a producer, than as a development executive, and now as a writer, working on projects I was proud of and with people I respected. But I wasn’t at the top of the mountain yet. I’m still climbing it today. And along the way were more moments than I can count when I was faced with frustrations and failures that made me doubt my abilities and plummeted my confidence. I thought that I was never going to have what it took to succeed in my creative career. I wondered why I didn’t go to business school instead. But each time that happened (trust me, there were many), I eventually pushed through it, regained my creative confidence, and after some hard, focused work, found myself just a little bit further up the mountain.

When enough time goes by without a significant milestone or recognition of your work, you begin to doubt yourself. You doubt your abilities as a creative. You think that maybe it’s time to embrace that office job and steady paycheck. When these doubts surface, it affects your creative work and can lead to a vicious cycle of no productivity and more doubt.



If you find yourself in a place of doubt, you’re not alone. Every single creative person has been there, even the successful ones. Ira Glass has an exceptional quote on creativity that I turn to whenever I find myself not believing my work lives up to my potential:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take a while. It’s normal to take a while. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

Here are a few pitfalls that can suck out creative confidence and a few tips I’ve learned to boost your confidence level up, reinvigorating the passions, instincts, and talent that brought you to this career in the first place.

1. You’re Struggling with Discipline: This is the number one important thing. Everyday your work gets better. Every time you write or create something you learn more about your voice and your abilities. And eventually someone will notice, but not if you don’t put the time in to get there. Sit down every day and practice your creative talents, even if just for a short while, even if it’s the last thing you feel like doing. If you practice every day, then one day in the near future, you are going to sit down and realize that you actually believe in the work you’re doing again, that you’re excited by it, and you will gain your confidence back.



2. You Have a Slump in Career Momentum: There are a lot of writers and creators out there whose work is terrible. Yet they make livings off of their creative work. The difference is that even when people told them their work was crap, they kept creating, believing in their work in the face of that rejection. Your work is probably not crap, but even if someone tells you it is, don’t let it stop you from moving forward. Taste is subjective. My terrible is someone else’s genius. Don’t let others decide that for you.

3. You Distrust Your Instincts: Most people have one idea they’re working on when all of a sudden, it’s sold or released into the market before you can get there. And while that can be disappointing, it’s because you have good instincts. You knew what would be interesting, what would work. And when you find yourself distrusting your instincts, turn this disappointment into a positive and remember that your ideas are good. As Ira’s quote above reminds, it’s why you got into this game in the first place. You have something interesting to say, you just have to keep practicing how to say it.

4. You Distrust Your Abilities: There are two great ways to dust off distrust in your ability to create. The first is to look at everything you’ve done and pick your best work. Then read it over and over again, even improving it more as you go, until you realize that there is something in it that shows the strength of your abilities and that even “best work” is not perfect. The more you create, the more you improve.



5. You’re Nervous to Share Your Work: I get it, sharing comes with possible rejection and rejection is scary. But it’s something you will always face in a creative career. The more you’re rejected, the more you see how little it matters in the long run. But if you never share your work with its intended public, than you will never get any feedback, positive or negative in which to improve with. And you won’t receive any of those reassuring moments when someone respects your work. Those are the biggest confidence boosters in propelling your career forward.

6. You Compare Your Work to Others: I have always been guilty of this and have recently forced myself to believe that it will lead you nowhere, especially in a creative field where anyone’s career can go from 0 to 100 overnight. Everyone has their own time. Whether you’re straight out of school or looking into retirement, there’s always potential for a creative work to have an impact on the world. Creative work is a marathon. Even your peers’ early success doesn’t mean they’ll ultimately win. Keep your head down, keep working, and if you don’t give up, you’ll find the personal satisfaction in the work, which is more important overall than someone else’s career that you wish you had.

7. You’ve Lost Your Passion: When you’re in a slump, it can be easy to forget why you started down this road in the first place. Why you believed you could do this anyway. In those moments, one of the best things to do can be to rewatch or reread those things that originally inspired you to pursue a creative career. Those masterful works of art that had the biggest impact on you, that get your passions flowing. Go straight to the original source. It’s OK to take a little break from your work for an inspiration infusion. Refilling your creative passion engine will only make you dive into the next round of your work with more force and discipline.



Now take all the fear, insecurities, and neurosis that you may have felt going through one of these pitfalls and put it into your work. After all, the best creative work is best inspired by the complexity of the human experience.