For the past 8 months or so I have had the peculiar urge to write a detective story.  Long time readers may remember my idea for Dead Beat.  Well as you know, certain circumstances here in the real world (somewhere I try to avoid as much as possible) led me to put that story on hiatus.  Now I find that the story wants out once again.  I should probably let it out to have a stretch as the pink squishy thing in my head is getting a little overcrowded.  I overheard the voices mention that they were planning an intervention on my behalf.

I’ve been looking over my notes and find myself torn between picking up where I left off, or doing a complete rewrite of the story.  To be honest I would like to switch the era which the story is set in from the not too distant future, to the late 19th century.  I think the narrative could lend itself rather well to the Victorian age of discovery with a bit of a steampunk twist thrown in for good measure.

Further proof that timing is everything when it comes to writing?  Who knows.  Perhaps this is one of those rare occasions when my procrastination has actually paid off.

Okay I promised you a treat this week and here it is; A sneak preview from my latest short: At Sleeps Twilight gate

I fear when it is time to sleep.  I fear, for I know that must once again pass that twilight between the conscious and unconscious world.  That terrible place which has come to be both my purgatory, and my ecstasy.

I am uncertain how long it has been since that first time.  Days, months even years may have passed since I first journeyed away from myself and entered that world of strange and lost beings.  Time has lost much of its meaning for me now.

I still remember that night as I lay in my bed.  The recent nights had been muggy and warm, so I kept the window of my bedroom open.  I wonder now if things would have been different had I of decided, instead, to shut the outside world away.  The sounds of the night drifted in on the cool, gentle breeze, slowly lulling me to sleep.  I could feel the heavy, relaxed euphoria that one experiences as the waking world drifts away and I surrendered to it.  The sounds from outside became became more and more distant, fading to nothing.

That is when it happened, when I first heard that damnable noise that would signal my transition.  It was like the terrible neighing of a suddenly startled horse, yet it carried with it a malice that goes beyond description.  My mind became suddenly sharpened at this new, alien noise.  Without knowing exactly how and when I got there, I found myself at my window, looing down onto the street below my modest apartment.

To quote the great Mark Twain:

“The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated”


It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything.  Not just on here but in general.  All of that, however, is about to change.

This past year has been wild for me.  The move back to Guernsey, my engagement to my school sweetheart (well crush…well object of my stalking).  All of this has lead to the neglect of my writing.  And to be honest I think it did me good.  I feel I can return to my WIPS with a fresh perspective and some new ideas.

I will, of course still be working on Maidens Song (another rewrite) as well as keeping up with my short stories.  In fact I’m currently working on something which is a little Lovecraftian in nature.

Stay tuned for more info (and maybe a little teaser) on that one.

I feel the call of the narrative once again.

A very happy new year to everyone. All the best for 2012

– Jim

A very merry Christmas to all of you out there in meat land.

J B

At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, I looked over my homeland, once occupied and enslaved and I gave a silent thank you.

IN THE RED CORNER

Here to prove that the pen is mightier than the sword, The Pylon from the island (I never said Iwas good at rhyming): Jim the writer!

AND IN THE BLUE CORNER

Coming out of retirement after 21 years in a nerve cell; The bug with the gloves: SHINGLES

That’s right folks, I have been stricken by the little beggar that has, apparently, been laying dormant in a nerve cell since the last time I had chicken pox.  No one has ever mentioned to me how painful this incarnation is.  Oh and anyone that tells you that you only get chicken pox once is lying, I’ve had it twice.  Does this count as a third time?

So I have some time off work and to prevent the onset of cabin fever, decided to do some writing for this years NaNoWriMo.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, until I discovered that sitting at the desk just irritates things even more and increases the pain.

Still, we’re supposed to suffer for our art are we not?  And it has given me the chance to make a start on the new short: The Crows and the Tree.

So how are things going for my fellow Wrimo’ers? Are you reaching your targets?