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I Met The Agents

Meet the agents, was a really special evening. Araminta, Donald, Jessica and Sarah blew away some of the mystique surrounding their craft. I found their clarity refreshing and their professionalism, excellent. Agents really do look after their clients for not only do they hand-hold, kick author's bum, and promote your work worldwide, they also ensure that the author receives a fair contract. They do know about legalities, thus ensuring that you don't get ripped off. Apparently many an author has been wrapped in an appalling contract due to dealing direct. One single message appeared throughout the evening - the writer must also be professional. This relates to your intro. letter, synopsis an

A Dog's Tale

A DOG’S TALE The dog always sat on the windowsill, waiting. The old lady opposite called him Rocco. On the few occasions when our paths cross she barely spoke, especially when asked about her dog. Looking up when mowing the lawns, Rocco would always respond to my wave with a tail wag. Strange that I could be so fond of an animal that I had never met. When Rocco disappeared I feared the worse. Mrs. Smith was buried today. And Rocco is no longer here. It may be a little while but soon he will be mine, his days of waiting gone forever.

Tick Tock Said The Clock

Tick Tock Said The Clock I wore my invincibility badge proudly, for my time on Earth would never end. Stupid me! The days passed leisurely, the months and years slower than time itself. A new day always offered opportunity; the fruits of enjoyment waiting to be tasted. As I rushed to finish one task before commencing another, the clock ticked, but I never heard it. The hours remained constant, no cheating allowed. Yet the days passed me by, each year flying faster than my thoughts. The evil robbery of my life was before me. For you, are the most hateful thief of all ... Time.

A Seat With Bite

Inspired by the picture of the punk and the granny. A Seat With Bite “Nice hair cut, young man.” “Ta! You a granny?” “Yes, but I don’t see them much, too far away.” “Abroad?” “My son’s in the army.” “Shit! That ain’t fair.” “In the war days, only those fighting travelled abroad.” “Yeah, that’s tough. I like travelling though.” “Yes, I heard you talking to your friend about Amsterdam. Picked up some hard drugs, he said.” “Bloody right, the kids at the school can’t get enough. What did you do in the war?” “I worked for the OSS, a spy.” “Fuck me. What was your speciality?” “Poisons, do enjoy the cigarette I gave you.”

Meeting The Agents

Meeting The Agents In just under two weeks time, Portsmouth Writers Hub have organised a ‘meet the agents’ event. Sounds good to me, but who are these mysterious beings that hold my destiny in their little pinkies? I can provide the blurb, synopsis, first ten chapters, covering letter and my book in paperback, but will it be enough? This process isn’t easy because all of them have different requirements, thus it means four, maybe five separate proposals. I hope I keep them in the right order and remember who-is-who. More to the point, are they actually looking for new authors? Do they like my genre of medieval fantasy? Will they like my approach, my personality? I’ve looked at their profiles

The Longest Morning

The Longest Morning We had planned the day like a military exercise. I hated rising early but for once, my duty and pleasure would conjoin like twins. On hearing the excited voices of our boys aged nine and four, I rushed to the garage. Dressing as fast as I could in red robe, wig, and carrying a sack, I ran to the front door and hammered loudly. I will never forget the magic in their eyes. Later, my eldest whispered in my ear. “I thought it was you, dad, I saw the scar on your hand. I won’t tell Tommy; he still believes.”

Clowning Around

Clowning Around I never remember my dreams but last night that changed. Lying in a room with a fan overhead told me I was somewhere hot. But the silence confused me; even the spinning fan was noiseless. The sweat oozing from my open pores stank with fear. I couldn’t move but I didn’t want to. For all the time I remained motionless I felt safe. Looking up at the huge pendulum and the swinging axe I felt the air rush on every pass. But now awake my nightmare should end. Yet the axe still swings as the laughing clown pulls the rope.

Fairy Tales

Fairy-Tales. From me? After all, I mainly write medieval fantasy. And where would I start? At the beginning, I suppose. But of course, didn’t we love to hear fairy-tales from our parents? When I was small, my dad told me a different story every night, and every single one came from his own imagination. Looking back I realise how many were inspired by fairy-tales. With the vivid imagination of a small boy, I had dreams of standing in front of the fire-breathing dragon and slaying it with one slash of my huge sword. Dad even made me a wooden one. And what about Jack and the Beanstalk? I loved it, but my mum was none too pleased when I cut down her giant sunflower. Of course fairy-tales were to

The World Is No Longer Mine

The World Is No Longer Mine The sun is shining yet I doubt that I’ll be outside today. Memories of the last trip to a golden beach slip into my troubled brain, but they never linger these days. I look around and see their faces. Why can’t they see my pain, my frustration? The mind that I once cherished is slowly failing. Like the switches on an old electrical circuit the conduits inside my head are turning off, one by one. I scream, but no one listens. Why can’t they understand me? They call it ... dementia. I call it ... a slow road to hell.

Tap! Tap!

Tap! TAP! The floorboards creaked as if someone was walking across the room. Ellie sat up in bed, her eyes as wide as saucers. Tap! Tap! She turned on the light and saw – nothing. Tap! Tap! She looked under the bed and in the wardrobe – nothing. Tap! Tap! Her eyes welled up. She tried to call mummy but only a strangled sob escaped from her lips. As she looked at her image in the mirror, the face of a clown appeared. At last she found her voice; her scream cracking the mirror. “Danny, I’ve told you many times, your sister hates clowns.”

Passing The Time Of Day

Passing The Time Of Day “Over here, Char.” “Thanks for the coffee, Trace. Wot’s that black thing?” “Some soap called diesel, innit.” “For you?” “No Char, it’s for Jezza. He luvs anything to do with his work.” “Wot, lorry driving?” “Nah! He quit that. He’s working in a bleeding garage, gets covered in the goo. Can’t get it out of his clothes.” “Men! I know what you mean Trace.” “How’s your old man then, Char?” “The bastard’s dead.” “What? When? What he die of.” “Died of bleeding syphilis didn’t he, Trace.” “Char, you can’t die of syphilis.” “You can, if you give it to me.”

Two Part Drabble - At War & At Peace

At War I espy the ruthless from a safe distance. Looking through the mists of time little has changed as man continues in his relentless persecution. From the beginning we have sought to conquer and rule. Countless innocents had died; men, women, even babies had been sacrificed on the altar of eternal power. The ambition of so many is now threatening our world. If they prevail, the darkness will overcome us all and the race of man will fade into oblivion. I scream at their selfishness and their stupidity. Simply open your eyes. Take a look. For all you need is love. At Peace Holding hands we stood spellbound as we watched the stars way above in the heavenly black. The bright sparkles appeare

My Drabble Workshop

Hi everyone, my name is Rick Haynes, I live in England, and I am an author. I have written a novella, Bolt Out of the Blue – a story for all the family, two collections entitled Drabbles ‘N’ Shorts and Shorts ‘N’ Drabbles, and recently published my first novel, Evil Never Dies – a tale of medieval fantasy. As you can see I have an eclectic taste, but my passion is to write fantasy tales. I have also run two successful Drabble Workshops. So, does anyone fancy a Drabble? And more to the point, what is a Drabble? A Drabble is a self contained story of exactly 100 words –excluding the title. With so few words why would you want to write one? There isn’t much scope to let your creative juices flo

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