The Realm of Katherine Vick

 I found this short story written for a long ago online challenge, the prompt being "catastrophic". It seemed oddly appropriate to current circumstances. Even in the worst of times, there's always one...;) Catastrophic It had always been Jim’s biggest problem. He had to try and make the best of things. The cave – for that was all the name one could really use for the remains of this deep Underground tunnel with its broken rails and walls shorn of random clusters of brick like a toothless old man’s maw - was shaking now, dust bursting from the roof in scattering spirals that glinted in the light of the last candle stub as the few remaining ragged survivors clustered there, their faces bloodied and their clothes in rags, clinging to each other in primal, vibrant fear. But for the roar above, a roar that whispered that the walls of this tunnel would not much longer shield them from swelling apocalypse above, there was silence.   Until…   “Still. It’s not all bad, is it...

Brace yourselves. I need a small rant. When, oh when, did making money become more important than making something original and good? Yes, I know, it’s a stupid question that probably can’t be answered. But although it’s hard to precisely put one’s finger on the origin, there is no denying it is definitely the dominant way of things in this day and age. I do wonder, sometimes, if there is a finite amount of imagination out there in the world, people seem so afraid to use it. Or at least, to take a risk. I remember way back in the day, when I was hunting around for a literary agent, I came across the website for a pair of agents devoted exclusively to scifi and fantasy. Given the number out there that specifically state they don’t want scifi and fantasy submissions, this was a rare bonus. But as I read through their site, I came across a statement that stopped me in my tracks. They said, openly, in their submission requirements, that they didn’t want anything original . What they...

 A little piece set in the Realm of The Disposable for you, written to given an outsider's view of the strangenesses of our annual festivities. Merry Christmas everyone. :) Festive Spirit “It’s not going to shift, is it?” Bow the Serving Man glanced at his younger brother Scrape as they paused for a moment in their task for a necessary breather. Prickly green spikes now festooned their thankfully sturdy livery tunics, making them resemble something akin to a pair of disgruntled green hedgehogs. The enormous spruce tree, heedless of their efforts, remained firmly wedged in the door frame of the Royal Palace’s Great Hall. He shook his head in a shower of needles. “Doesn’t look like it. We may have to find some help.” “What help?” Scrape leaned against the wall as he pulled dark spikes disconsolately from his clothing and flicked them tersely to the floor. “Everyone’s busy . The cooks and the rest of the kitchen staff have been at it for days down there. All the artisans hav...

 For all you American bods out there - The Disposable e-book is now on sale at  Amazon.com!

 In honour of the fact there is the possibility of snow in the forecast a mere three days into December, I've dusted off this old dialogue only challenge story I wrote a while back in a distant writing community. It is short and daft. The prompt, I believe, was a picture of some snowy palm trees: Elemental “What were you doing? No, seriously I mean it – what were you doing?” “Look, I just slipped, all right? How was I supposed to know the damn thing was loaded?” “Was it loaded ? It is the Horn of Eternal Cold – what did you think I’d done, put the safety catch on?” “I was just holding it – I didn’t expect it to just go off like that! I wasn’t even pointing it at anything!” “Why were you holding it anyway? It’s got nothing to do with you!” “I just wanted to see what it felt like! My travels are always so warm, so happy, so vibrant – I’ve never known the cold before…” “Well, you know it now. You just dropped a dollop of snow the size of a blue whale on top of Barbados !...

  I’m not one of life’s natural proofreaders. There. I've confessed. This is a realisation that has come to me during this publication process as I have taken to my own work with a fine tooth comb to ensure that it is as mistake-free as possible for the attention of my publishers. Because one thing that undertaking this has really brought home to me is how the human brain works when it is reading – that it doesn’t read every word but gap fills the meaning for you. This, I’m sure you are aware, is a well known phenomenon and it’s one my brain seems particularly adept at – I have no problem with reading those strange sentences that people write in memes when they leave the first and last letter in place in a word and shuffle the inner letters, for example. I have a brain that, in that respect, likes to be helpful and extracts the meaning without taking any great note of the technicalities. The trouble is that doesn’t really help when one is trying to spot mistakes. My brain has a...

 The human imagination is an extraordinary thing, when you stop and think about it. Being as I am not of a scientific bent, I have no idea of the ins and outs of how it can possibly work, how it is that a lump of grey meat inside a wrapping of bone could possibly generate images, ideas, unheard sounds, regurgitate things once seen and create whole new universes out of nothing. Indeed, to be honest, I don’t want to understand how it works - that would destroy the magic. I’m quite happy just to have the means to play in new and never before seen realms in the depths of my own head. But there is another special thing about the imagination – it is unique. It is a strange thing to consider that no one will ever see my characters exactly how I do. Oh, I can describe them down to the freckles on their noses but one of the beauties of books and taking a world out of words rather than pictures is that everyone’s imagination will give it their own slant. Even the finest description in t...

I should really be writing something profound and thought-provoking here but, to be candid with you all, dear readers, I'm really tired and can't be arsed so I have chosen to share with you another little story written many moons ago for a writing challenge far away in a distant corner of the internet. Once more, it shows my tendency to try and angle things a little differently. Copyright is mine, of course, and if my little note in the original document is accurate, the prompt was "Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want". Enjoy. :) A Surfeit of Irony He couldn’t say when he’d first noticed the pattern. That was the thing people tended to forget. He was an intelligent man. Calling himself Dr De’Ath was no affectation – he’d earned the title legitimately through studies conducted at numerous highly considered universities and the surname had been a bonus of lucky parentage. After all, being born Xavier Marvolio De’Ath the third pretty much guaranteed a high leve...

 Now over the years, I've written quite a few little stories, mostly as part of a writing challenge on various online writing groups, now sadly mostly gone. However I thought it might be fun to share a few of these little pieces, written mostly in the spirit of pure daftness and finding as odd an interpretation of any given prompt as I possibly could. I'm also very fond of writing in a pure dialogue form for this sort of thing, as per the below. I believe the prompt may have been "apple". Copyright is mine, obviously. Do enjoy. :) Practical Considerations “Oh blimey. So now what do we do?” “Well… and this is just the first thing to spring into my head, mind… I reckon we should carve her a beautiful glass coffin and carry her to a perfect sunlight glade in the centre of the forest where we should build a nice plinth on which to rest her and then wait for a handsome prince to come along and kiss her back to life.”   “Why wait for a prince? I mean, if the kiss of l...

  There is something I feel the need to address. I have been chastised. Gently, it is true. But chastised I was, by two different persons on the same matter upon their reading my beloved opus, The Disposable. And I felt I had to take heed given they had both offered up the same complaint – why, oh why in creating my masterpiece had I not provided them with any decent places to stop reading? Because, as you may have noticed, The Disposable is on a roll. It has no chapters. So here I am, finding it necessary to try and explain myself. Why did I do this? That, at least, is simple. Because it suited the nature of the beast. I know I’m far from the first to abandon chapters. Sir Terry Pratchett, one of my writing heroes, was there long before me. I can’t recall ever seeing anywhere whether he ever stated his reasons for doing it, but I do know it suited the anarchic nature of his work to a tee. And I had a feeling the same would be true for me. I realised fairly early on that ...