Category Archives: Interlude

At Causeways #Blog Battle : June – Silhouette

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Meeting Place

Forewyrd : In the Blog Battle I like to create a post’s image using Cavana. Normally either half-way through or at the end of the story. On this occasion being summoned to the site by the evocative idea of silhouettes I had much fun creating the above first. Thus on the basis on ‘Never Waste A Good World Build’   the story has to fit into the image. Let the struggle to achieve this commence….

                                               ***********

Seated on the edge of a ledge. Looking straight ahead with no sign of any horizon. To do so was stability, he did not care to look in any other direction. Not on this edge, where staying put was for the best, even to scramble back might risk losing a footing and thus stumble out into The Endless. At this juncture he admitted the journey should not have been undertaken, at the onset and during the undertaking there had not been the wisdom of Hindsight; only the calling onwards, onwards. And now he was. Here? There had supposed to answers Here.

The action, a something taking place suspended in the emptiness to his right. He dared not turn his head for fear of losing A Balance, by good fortune the action was turning into an opening, starting as long and slender, through which deep blue was a backdrop to a curtain of soft shimmering light. Gradually widening into a panorama of a dark landscape from which rose the light against the backdrop of the blue interspersed with a few small bright sharp specks that could be stars. There black against it all came a figure, walking steadily towards him.

Fearfully his hands dug through the grass and into the earth on which he sat. Fixed sitting and staring ahead, unable to turn, eyes aching with the effort of looking sideways, his voice broke out a cracked trembling thing.

‘Who are you? Why come this way? I have nothing for you,’

The closer the figure came, he could see they were not looking to him, but downwards. Summoned by Curiosity which ignored Caution his eyes moved in the same general direction.

Viewing another place devoid of full daylight, in this case being a sunset of a brighter intensity than he could recall ever witnessing. In similar lineation to the walking figure sat in cross-legged repose a feminine shape, attention set upon the majestic blaze of yellow and white dominating the horizon. 

‘You seem somewhat calm in the face of the coming Dynamic,’ the walking figure said.

The seated figure looked up to them, spending a little time considering this arrival before speaking.

‘It is inevitable. At least I suppose so. What say you? Are you affected?’

The walking figure stopped, to the one of the ledge it appeared that figure could not go beyond some undefinable barrier.

‘I will not be. I have travelled,’ a hand was cast back in a gesture to the stellar background ‘Through many distances and times. Witnessed all manner of events and circumstances of which the Cosmos is capable of. Yes it is inevitable. All Life will be seared off of your world which will become a place of geological features and no more. Does that upset you?’

‘Not really. We have known for a while, and instead of making the best of the time, ensuring comprehensive records of our existence were placed in safety for Future Folk, most fell into debased hysteria and nihilistic violence. I had quite a struggle in my journey to find this place of calm isolation. Now I wait. Content that the Universe will not have cared a jot about us or our passing. Did you come here specifically to bear witness?’   

‘Now I am here I will. Though my journeying is a random thing. At the behest of what circumstances or forces I have not yet discerned. I arrive and observe, sometimes explore then on turning a corner, or waking up, the location is different. One clue available is wherever the next place may be the environment is conducive to my survival, for that interlude anyway,’

The one of the ledge had been calling out loudly for their attention. They did not notice him.  Reason dictated to him there was something to do with The Physics of it all; Time, Distance, Dimensions and the like. It was not, Reason told him firmly that he was not simply a figment of some other’s imagination. He found comfort in Reason, and just listened.

‘Have you met many people, races?’ the woman was asking, the male figure seemed to be looking down, thoughtful, though the one of the ledge found there was difficulty in being precise over the actions of a silhouette.

‘Thus far. None. I have encountered many ruins, even intact but long deserted complete cities but so far none with any clues as to who had lived there and the manner of the ending of that residence. Since whatever propels me along never allows me to stay  in one place long enough it is difficult to gain a full picture. In the ruins there are possible indications of wars, or natural events. The deserted cities are always a complete mystery to me. There again you have to consider the sheer size of just one galaxy alone. If Time was still recordable for me, and I was to spend one hour in one star system some twenty-three million years would have had to elapse covering them all and I am not sure if immortality applies to me. So my journey, to date, might have been only the barest of scratches on a surface,’   

‘Such a vastness for one soul to deal with. Do you ever get lonely?’

‘The variety of scenes and the constant movement, along with the puzzlement of the purpose does keep me occupied. Though I admit companionship to discuss the observations would be of comfort,’ he extended one hand, and then opened his palm outwards as if pressing against something ‘Would you,’ emphasis lay heavy in that word ‘Care to try and join me?’

There came a sigh and an unease in the previous tranquil posture.

‘I confess in reaching here, the struggle I referred to, involved killing many folk who tried to impede me. There is within me now a certain instinct to that violence. My company might be detrimental when you finally meet folk on other worlds. It is as well I go with the rest in this world. Thank you for the invitation though,’

‘I am sorry you feel this is the best solution. If there is any consolation in these next words I can see the coming cosmological event, the ending will be so swift you will feel no transition,’

‘Again, thank you. Do you know when?’

‘Very soon, within the next few moments,’

‘Jump to me,’ cried the observer on the ledge holding out his arms, his voice loud and echoing into the void before him, his action beyond rational and born of an urge to no longer be passive. Her head turned up in his direction, as the light commenced to engulfed her, he thought he saw a smile.

She and her world were gone. A black space with stars vast distances away remained.

The walker, still a dark shape without features set his attention upon the one on the ledge.

‘That was a kindly gesture. Have you been there long?’

The one of the ledge clutched into the soil again, lest the contact caused him to either lose his balance or try to step over into the other domain, for either he felt would risk his demise into the void.

‘I had been watching you both for a while and called out but neither of you noticed. Until now. She did see and hear me then?’ 

‘Receipt of sound and vision appear to be variable when dealing with the vastness and variety of this Universe and along with the other scale, its attendant smallness. I conjecture the event which fell upon her planet might have opened a causeway between us. There again maybe her world had been a barrier. Who can tell?’ the head inclined ‘Perhaps you should ask the person seated next to you?’

Still fearful of the ledge the sitter turned very carefully. There was someone next to him, but as with the others he could not make out the features, they waved a hand in a brief friendly acknowledgement.

‘How long have you been there?’ he asked, nearly demanded.

‘Oh, since you arrived,’

‘But I-‘ he began.

‘I leave you pair to it then,’ said the walker, a hint of humour in his voice and he walked away, leaving the sitter with a companion.  

‘I expect you are puzzled and confused,’ this latest person said ‘It is to be expected. Me, I have this ability or you might say curse to keep a record of linear time. Therefore I can say, this has been my worlds and lot for the past two thousand years and for me there are still more mysteries than questions answered. Can you recall anything?’

‘Only the urge to journey and finding myself here,’

‘That’s a common enough story. Some arrive as a result of death, others through long and intense meditation, then there are those who get here through some mechanical agency and some, just by accident of placement. I had spent some amount of my earlier existence here in trying to identify the reasons for the differing means and the attendant purposes, but when there seemed to be a possibility of reaching some conclusion it all drifted away, thus these days I devote my efforts to being of assistance to arrivees , and those here a while and burdened by confusion who are in danger of getting lost, also those journeying here,  if I can see them early enough guide them in,’

‘That’s commendable. Is there a purpose to all this though?’

‘I think these locations and those who inhabit it are simply another part of the Whole Existence. Goodness knows there is enough of it. We should make the best of whatever. You have started off most promisingly. You sat here in fear, daring not to move and yet risked your tenuous feeling of safety to help another. You should develop that. Helping others is a most rewarding effort hereabouts,’

The figure stood confident and erect, one hand down to him.

‘Come take my hand and follow me.  We shall talk a while,’

He did as asked. The fear ebbed being replaced by a positive sort curiosity. He took the solid enough hand and followed.

As they did a shadow walked through them, very much at ease.

‘Ah,’ his companion exclaimed ‘There’s the girl you offered to help. Seems you were successful. She looks very much at peace now. Quite the fetching hair style too. Intriguing the changes which take place,’ the hand squeezed his ‘Don’t try and contact her now, she is following another path,’

Those words made quite the most sense he had heard to date, and he simply went hand in hand with the other.     

Time Out From One Direction. Forge On In Another

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Foreword: Having spent a week thinking about this and two days writing, and re-writing (and probably still making grammatical errors) I am still uncertain as to the theme. It is either an announcement, a public apology for future shortcomings, or something of a rambling discourse on the motivations for writing up posts in the Blogverse (in the case of the latter there is a chance some readers who are also writers of fiction might say…’Oh yeah. Not just me then’).

Anyway…..

Several years ago when I started out on another launch of a writing career someone pointed me in the direction of Word Press as a way to get to know other writers and make my work known. That said, although there was a great deal of time, and keyboard tapping on the subject of writing, WP being a social site my attention was drawn to those bloggers whose interests were more social and above all political and before long, there I was also reading and engaging on the subject of politics. For a while there was a quite productive balance, switching and, using experiences and styles from one to the other. At times it was refreshing to do that.

After finishing up my trilogy

And having too much fun and not enough focus on marketing campaigns

Just for Marketing and Giggles – The Good Ol’ Hard Sell Approach.

Just for Marketing and Giggles II (The team conference)

It was good to have the political side to blogging while I threshed about trying to get a plot going for a second series.

But, ah me. One should always remember that Dynamics are prone to friction resulting in Wear & Tear.

Consider the following:

Brexit, MAGA, 2016 & 2020 US presidential Elections, the bungling of the UK Labour Party from 2015-2019, that year’s UK General Election, Boris Johnson as PM, That Vanity Project in the Whitehouse from 2016-2019, the slaughters around the world which gained no public interest, the Russian Invasion of Ukraine and inevitable Western Excuse Makers for The Kremlin, The Return of Cohesive Misogyny, The Proliferation of Racism, the Hypocrisy of the American Religious Right, Mass Killings, The Conspiracy Idiocy over Climate Change, its degenerate cousin claiming Covid was anything but a warning from Nature, The abuses of Social Media, Men displaying their Sexual Insecurities by ranting over a comedy film about a doll. And there were more. Then came the final tipping point with the sanctimonious outrage at Israel (while having been quite silent over the Rohingya genocide, the decades of abuses in Sudan, complete ignorance over the Sahel region (where’s that?) in Africa, and never mind about the Horn of Africa- and that was just a few the vast majority current paraderers seemed to not give a damn about- all the while playing into the hands of the extremist corrupt Israeli Government and its rent-a-thugs in some settler communities ).

I knew the tipping point was reached when writing up a series on the current round of Palestinian / Israeli conflict and coming to the essay on Palestine. The Palestinian case was quite easy to see and understand, the history had an inevitable tragic flow to it. My problem was,  writing about something which if seen on social numerous folk would point to in approval (apart from the few comments on Hamas) while those very people know nothing of the Big Picture or the nuances of the whole Histories and to those I would yell at saying ‘Read the other two essays will you!’ (Not quite the exact words, but let’s try and be all Age-Friendly here). Set against the back drop of thousands of deaths and countless tales of misery and anguish my reaction is rather ugly and not justifiable, and also sweepingly judgemental. But I have always had to write with the restraint of a leash on an attack dog.

While, finally thanks to taking part in a BlogBattle every month, the fantasy book narrative was starting to coalesce with the characters; a time every writer of fictions hopes will happen….soon, and I felt the need to put my efforts there. A place I had some control over (not total control- ask any writer about trying to rein in Characters)

Therefore, to restrain my vitriolic anger (you really don’t want to know what gets stopped by the internal censor) and concentrate upon creative fiction I am stepping back from a smidge from the political side of the Blogverse..

Now that does not mean I’ll be leaving all the good friends I have made through following politics or not caring about the good fights that they fight on various fronts. Now I will be there reading your posts, putting a ‘Like’ but in the comments there will probably be a short statement of support or maybe an emoji. So you should know this is nothing personal, nor apathy breaking out. It’s just a re-adjustment. I will be there, backing up you in thought, but the words will be slender.

Vitriol can be useful in very small doses but when you are drinking it like coffee, it’s time to stay away. And waking up at 5am with a tirade of a post going through your brain about hypocrisy or intolerance, or the slaughter of innocents is not conducive to good health.

I am better disposed to spend my creative time writing fictions

I wonder how long this resolve will last?

0001

Keep on keeping on all you bloggers I follow

Sailing Ship

Strive on with your own journeys

PS: The worse part of the writing of this being not knowing what inappropriate advert WP will include to mess up the narrative at some important juncture

 

Musings on an Aftermath of Writing.

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Reflective(Allegorical image by the way)

Some of you will be familiar with the opening of this tale.

Commenced I suppose from 2015, maybe, (although there were myriad false starts) and completed end of 2021. A fantasy trilogy written without much respect for the apparent ‘Rules of Writing’. And that was that. Completed.  Like any writer there were all sorts of ideas, whispers of ideas and the like swirling about. The same characters a few years down the line? Maybe the next generation, their children? A few experimental paragraphs suggested; it wasn’t going to work, not now anyhow. The scene was as if I had spent some time with this varied group, recorded these parts of their individual and joint narratives and now a parting of the ways was taking place, all by mutual consent. There was this singular notion any further novels would be intrusive into their lives. The conclusion was almost as if I had indeed strayed upon another fragment of Creation and had been a mere observer. Time for us all to move on.

The obsession to craft three volumes had been, of course unobtrusive. At the time, simply three basic ideas with plots and sub-plots spinning out all weaving into a pattern of cause and effect. The warning how obsessive I had become was the evening I flew into a rage because Kindle would not accept the download of the final cover, normally the solution would have been quite simple, but when Obsession takes hold anything that gets in the way in a foe…right?….Well no, wrong. Toxic.

Anyway, with the whole project completed and ‘Out There’, a calm settled. The urge to read books rather than listen to audio versions returned. An experiment to paint emerged; by numbers I add, because my perception of colours is rather variable; seriously an adult paint-by-numbers is a challenge, with tiny, tiny patches and titchy, titchy numbers therein; fun though and to be worked on at a leisurely pace. Finally there was the focus to stop trying to take up Quantum Mechanics as a serious interest, the maths and the terminology are beyond my capabilities. Back to History reading and in consequence looking into International Relations and the attendant theories. (Yes there are graphs and data but only for those who have made it their Life’s Work or intending to do so, a working knowledge of what is what is sufficient).

Does that mean you have quit writing? Some may ask. No, comes the simple answer. The Muses still flutter around me (or poke me in the back, if thus inclined). The frenetic side has evaporated. There is an idea to work a series of posts from way-back into a neater format and set in the same realms of the trilogy
Aureyborealice, A Fable in Several Parts…Part I

And there is  https://bbprompt.com/

Which supplies a monthly prompt for short stories and is quite a buzz to join as well as read.

There is a weight lifted though, the notion it was all for fun and relaxation was a flaw in perception, I was in deep. Of course being in deep is something a serious writer should be to embrace, but when you start to live with the characters, muttering phrases of possible conversations to yourself, going over and over in your mind situations, not being able to truly focus on anything else other than the day-to-day living and ‘Your Book’. No, maybe not. It maybe necessary for the true professionals with a contract but for the rest of us; the rest of the world needs to come in.

Maybe therein is the true reason why I’ll not be going back there. Even though it was fun at the time.

Writing eh? You love it. You can’t leave it alone. But it is as well to have boundaries.

A Mid-Winter’s Tale…Pt II

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A Mid-Winter’s Tale

Jagerin without thought of Faigai’s rank, never mind being enemy impatiently signalled for him to stay still and get low. It was quite obvious, someone of slight build would do better surveying the road. She crept to one of the bushes not sporting thorns and making the best of the sparse cover while risking a serve crick in the neck peered towards the oncoming group.

There they were, horses ridden at a slow steady pace, no furtive glancing or the instinctive hunch of the suspicious. Yet, the idea of three locals simply out and about at night time in a remote tense land between two armies struck her being just plain implausible. As the group drew nearer she sensed a steady confidence about them which made her shrink back, one hand behind signalling for the sergeant’s benefit, three extended fingers for the number, then a slow side to side waggling of splayed fingers the universal indication for ‘Uncertain,’

If there had been the correct accompanying sounds, judging by the ‘khmuree’ ‘s reactions and apparent misgivings  Faigai, would have thought she’d seen a small motorised column pop up. Three unknown riders she couldn’t figure out though?  He shuffled up to get his own view, only to be greeted by a pinched expression and one angry finger to her lips. Trying not to feel chastened by this he still proceeded until they were both unprofessionally crowded in the same cover, stilling their breathing. Faigai  trying to come to grip with the idea of two hardened veterans trying to hide from three…

Well dressed middle-aged to elderly riders? Out here, in sparse lands which could be fought over at any time?

‘That is disturbing,’ Jagerin said after the trio had passed by far enough for whispering to start ‘Folk of that age and some wealth have no business being out here that certain of themselves without a large escort. Who or what are they?’

‘Maybe they are,’ Faigai mulled for the right slovan word, not wanting to be the first to break their informal convention ‘Elders?’ her grimace of agreement encouraged him to continue ‘There’s that village, we  are still sanctioned from. There is maybe some council of the local elders,’ 

Jagerin peeked up over the cover in the wake of the riders and tapped her teeth with the rag covered barrel of her rifle.

‘Old guys,’ she began in a passable version of The Mitch’s own twang ‘Doing a stitch up?’ and seemed quite pleased with her grasp of his native slang. ‘Work out some ploy, to fool our commanders into thinking they are buddies with us both? Keep us off their turf? Playing down the middle?’

And there it was. Thinking like that showed she too had worked out in The Wilds. There were always The Wilds. The places where conventional battles were not fought, where you carried Shield for The Cloaks as they wove their webs with the militias, gangs masking as volunteer police, village patrols and criminal cartels; Deal Making, Promise Breaking. A month in that fog and when back at base camp some ordinary rifle carrier said ‘Hi’ you straighways wondered ‘What did they mean by that?’ You could never brush that dust off. Sometimes it paid not to. It seemed here was a time. 

‘I agree Corporal,’ he said realising she was actually looking to him for orders, there was some sort of universality going on here ‘ Whichever way they are choosing, it’ll benefit both our sides to know. After all locals will understandably work to their own advantage, and we are still uncertain about these lands. It would not be the first time fresh commanders have ended up doing fighting for locals,’

‘We’re going down there,’ she gestured in the direction of the village. ‘To listen in? You are used to the language yet?’    

‘No,’ he drawled back ‘But if we hear some brief grim laughter, then we can guess schemes being worked out. Yes?’

‘Yes,’

‘Let’s take a walk then,

As she rose she suddenly wiggled her hips, half-held her hands out fingers rubbing together and her feet shuffling a quick dance while she murmured in a breathy musical chant

‘And the pretty girls, sing

La-dee-dah. La-la-la-dee-dah,’ **

Well, he thought to himself, that was unexpected. Good stuff she had in her slim flask.

To be continued……..

** With respect and thanks to the Legendary Late Lou Reed     

And to Michael Herr of ‘Despatches’ fame, one of my valuable go-to-books

A Mid-Winter’s Tale

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They shared the same first thought. If they survived they would seek out and cause severe harm to whosoever fired off that star-shell, even if the culprit was from their own respective side. It was probably only the shock of staring at the equally exposed and surprised enemy soldier which stilled they impulse to do anything more than breath out their own favoured swear word. Here they were experienced scouts and snipers surviving into the third year of the war, gawping and quivering like recruits. He wondered if this was it; he’d finally lost his edge, time to pay. She felt so damn tired she reckoned this was it. But the other one did not fire the shot. His shoulders slackened, his sniper rifle lowering; her knees eased as she crouched, placing her weapon on the frost hard snow. In response to her dulling eyes now shorn of the predatory gaze of their shared craft, he sighed in fatalistic relief and did likewise.

After nervous interlude of crouching, each at their own edge of the clearing in the scrub, She reached for the slim plastic flask strapped to her helmet and took a swift sip, she tossed it across to him.

‘Will keep you warm and awake,’ she said, although heavily accented he admitted she did speak his language well, reassured he took a swift mouthful, the liquid tasted of strong coffee but slipped down with the gathering warmth of a liqueur; feeling unsettled at the lack of an attack to respond to, for want of some response he was returning the social civility in her own lyrical tongue.

‘This is good. Were you issued or did you,’ the pause took the place of a smile ‘Appropriate?’

‘Nothing but the best for scouts,’ she replied the brief dullness in the eyes replaced with a flickering sardonic glint, he responded with a twitch of a smile and a brief snort.

The silence was growing awkward; comforting as it was, the stimulant could make you twitchy if you did not take some positive action in one way or another, and, anyway these days she was prone to twitches, having your cheek skimmed by a stray shot could have that effect.

He had to admit this situation was peculiar. There had been ceasefires. There had been truces to collect wounded. He’d never just sat down with a Khmuree before and he supposed judging by the shifts of puzzlement crossing her face she had not offered a Mitch a drink before as a matter of good manners. Mind you, this was still officially a neutral land and both armies were only here to protect the locals from the depredations of The Other, or so the story went. So with everyone under orders to be tip-toeing  oddness was bound to happen.   

‘Corporal Jagerin,’ her sudden introduction breaking the silence.

‘Banner Sergeant  Faigai,’ he replied, causing her to pull a face of mock respect and a quick universal salute of three fingers side on to her brow, making him realise they did have a sense of humour…not so ‘khmuree’ then.  In the lessening of tension he felt a general question was reasonable ‘Surveying the land and no more?’

‘Those are my orders. Your people are established but do not appear comfy, sentries keep pacing, officers are examining the land more times than they need to,’ she shrugged ‘I expect you found the same. You are returning yes?’

‘The most difficult part will be getting back to our own positions. Nervous soldiers are as dangerous as foes,’ 

‘I wish they would send veteran battalions to these places. People who can read a situation,’

They might well have simply ended the interlude with another exchange of acerbic comments on their own higher commanders and gone their separate ways, relieved at still being alive. Instead they both stiffened, dropped even lower, rifles to the fore.

‘Riders?’ they said to each other, in disbelief.

‘Not even trotting,’ Corporal Jagerin added.

To be continued…..