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Archive for February, 2012

Authors Should Have A Sense Of An Ending

An interesting article I just read on the Telegraph website. According to journalist Allan Massie: ‘Letting readers decide how a story finishes is an evasion of one’s artistic responsibility.’

Before I venture my own, in-depth opinion I would like to know what others think about said article and its views. The only thing I will say is that I do not think that it is an evasion of the author’s artistic responsibility.

Here it is: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/9086442/Authors-should-have-a-sense-of-an-ending.html

Let me know your thoughts :)

Andy Wood:

This is a wonderful, touching story and as much help as possible is needed!

Originally posted on Dannie C Hill- The writer:

The Joshua Tree

Here’s a question: What can give you instant gratification, a sense of purpose, and a good feeling that last and last? The answer: Helping someone.

That’s a truth you just can’t deny. I’ve found through the years that when I help someone, I’m the one that gets the most benefit out of it. Think about it. The last time you went out of your way to lend a helping hand, give a word of encouragement or do something as small as giving a few bucks; didn’t it make you feel good? And when a thank you or acknowledgement wasn’t expected in return, it was even better. Right? The tears of gratitude came from your eyes. Have you felt that contentment lately?

Well gentle readers here is a chance to have that feeling again. Recently my friend, Eden Baylee told me about another friend, Maxwell Cynn’s heart wrenching struggle. He…

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Flash Fiction #10 (Subject May Be Disturbing)

Here’s a much belated 10th installment :-)

Crisp and Pure

The soft crunch beneath my feet, the weight of my boots leaving behind a trail for anybody to follow, is satisfying to my ears. Through the dark grey blanket above I see more snowfall hurtling towards the earth, covering the buildings with a soft white icing that mixes both happiness and terror into one. A screech of a child’s joy bellows out from the nearby alleyway… must be having a snowball fight. I listen again, a small smile on my lips. My smile quickly stops. That’s that joy – that’s terror.

With one hand on the hilt of my sword I run down the alleyway, crashing past snow-topped piles of old clothing, crockery and boxes. I suddenly slip on a patch of ice and fall forward. Luckily my hands cushion me and I scrabble up to carry on. For the love of the gods don’t let me find what I think I’m going to find.

Head in my hands I look down at the small child, a ragged-clothed boy with cloth bags for shoes. His young form is marred by the appearance of blood and stab wounds. I fall to my knees and grind my teeth together. This is wrong… so wrong. I cross myself.

A sudden banging occurs behind me and I look around, the tears still stinging my eyes as I fight back this abysmal scene. A man stands there, long knife in his hand and a crazed look on his face. Is he drunk? No… he’s psychotic. The twitches and feral looks are a give away. He’s talking to himself. Where the hell is this guy fro… oh God.

‘I’m looking for someone else to get in my way like that little shit did.’ His spittle freezes as it shoots out of his mouth, his dirty face and beard almost catching it.

I look onward with a disconcerted look. ‘I know who you are… and the order is for you to be brought back to the lock-up.’ I look back at the child’s body. ‘Alive.’

‘Alive? Well ain’t that dandy.’

I can feel the anger in my chest. I stare back at him as I walk slowly in his direction. My eyes are locked with his. My hand still rests on my hilt. ‘This is a city that will struggle with the oncoming troubles.’ My hand slips down from my sword and onto the knife next to it. ‘My orders are to take you back alive.’ My hand grabs his wrist and my knife plunges into his gut. I twist it around slowly before bringing it out for another strike, this time into his lung. Again I twist. ‘But to have you alive means only to have you escape again and murder another.’ I glance into his eyes, a distant echo of thanks for the release I’ve given him wanders across him.

His body falls onto the snow, no screams of agony. I drop my knife and kick it, I myself screaming instead. Two deaths, one innocent and one necessary. But why? Why does the world we live in insist on destroying itself with needless slaughter and war? I look up into the falling snow and I can feel my warm tears rolling cold down my cheeks.

The realisation suddenly hits me… this single life is gone. So much potential has been lost. My job as a city guard now is to take the body to the morgue and face the music for the orders I just ignored by murdering that lunatic escapee. A simple broken order does not compare to a broken life. I carry on.

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