She kept a bowl of flowers on the sideboard I never once saw wilt. Regardless of the time of year, weather, or the close attentions of her ginger cat named — unsurprisingly — Ginger, the flowers thrived. They were pink, pretty even, but never worth more than a cursory glance.
I passed those flowers every day for the three years we lived together. Not once did I water or maintain them, and to my knowledge, neither did she. I prayed they’d keel over just to prove they weren’t plastic, or, at least, not as false as me. Once, I even tugged their petals, but we’ll keep that to ourselves. Obstinate flowers still didn’t fall.
The day I left, I paused at the door. “At least tell me their bloody name, I’ve looked at them all this time and still have no idea what they’re called!”
“Same name as me,” she replied, her eyes wet and weeping.
So, I still don’t know.
Life ended when I dreamt you.
We waddled to the lakeside like two overstuffed penguins, laughing and joking, discussing the past. There we watched the sunset, a tangerine moment that made us cry. We looked at each other like once lovers, then jumped, or, rather, plunged. Our concrete filled boots did their job. It was bliss.
A Writer’s Dream
Is it wrong to wish to write for writing’s sake? Is it wrong to feel the need to write a disclaimer only I’ll ever see?
I sometimes think I was born to the wrong era, that before computers and watches knew your name, I might have been happy. I’d have sat in my room as others scampered about living their lives and smiled at the view beyond the window, written down what I saw without forethought or fear. The clouds would’ve drifted across cerulean fields like mythical beasts and birds would’ve tweeted the minutes. With a quill for a sword and a wooden chair for a colt, I’d have lived out my days as a warrior of words and others would’ve been happy I did. But it isn’t days of yore, and there’s no time for idealism in today’s world of exactitudes and uncompromising rapport. We are. We will. We do as we’re told.
I sometimes wish the curtains to close and never open. Here wrapped in my private night, I’ll live in peace with these hundreds of thousands of words scattered all around; most long forgotten and stashed away in burrows of rabbited nonsenses. The songs I love will play in endless loops through ears with no wish to hear the spouted obscenities and harsh realities — or so they claim — of this, that and the other. Darkness will fold around me like a lover’s kiss, all-encompassing, and I won’t even know if I’m dead, nor care. But then the words will come, white on black, and I’ll feel more alive than ever.
Sometimes a voice calls from deep within that I presume my own but still doubt. This — let’s call it soul — knows my name, my home, my life, wife and circumstance, but even this supposed virgin self is dubious to my needs. What are my needs?
I have absolutely no wish for anyone to read what I write. I have absolutely no desire to be famous. If people happen upon these reams of written words and enjoy them, feel them, I’ll smile and thank them, and expect no thanks in return. If a child picks up one of my books and their eyes light up with wonder, I shouldn’t care if their parent commands them to put it back — not if the spark’s already lit. If? Such a little word. Such a pertinent package. But the cold hard reality, is something has to pay for a coffin and good intentions won’t.
Sometimes I think I’m free. Sometimes, but not often.
Thank you for reading
Another month has come around the summer almost lost. The prospect of cooler days and darkening nights only entices me further into a world of typed words. A bit of snow is now less of a dream.
I have had a busy couple of months applying dramatic touches to Nimbus — The Theatre of the Moon: Book 1. Coupled with a rewrite of my first foray into novel work, The Snow Lily, which is progressing nicely, I’ve had a lot on my plate. I’m glad to have. There is nothing gives me greater pleasure than writing and I’m doing it all day long, so who am I to complain.
I read somewhere that paperback books are now reasserting themselves over ebooks, which was good to hear. You can’t beat the smell and feel of a good book, luxuriating over its details, deliberating over how it will end at the turn of every page. Perhaps the world isn’t completely digital just yet.
On a different note, (for those of you who are aspiring to write but don’t know where to start,) here are two writing sites/applications I have recently stumbled across. I can’t vouch for either, but they’re free, so it might help you in checking them out. Here are the links.
I hope the above are of some use.
As regards the next few months? Well, it’ll be a steady balance between hard editing, rewriting and new work. Much as I would love to have a steady line of books appearing on the shelves, I have a gut feeling I’m going to give birth to two or three at once!
Onwards and upwards.
Richard M. Ankers
Author of The Eternals Series
Nimbus Takes Shape
Take your time.
I might have these words stencilled to my eyelids because my fingers aren’t listening. No matter how hard I try to rein them in, they’re off. Tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap goes the keyboard like hailstones on a tin roof. Must be a storm coming. Perhaps there is?
I have quite literally this very minute, well, a few minutes ago, finished the second revision of my latest work. The Theatre of the Moon, Book 1: Nimbus, is now fully formed. I head into the third revision with detail foremost in my mind. Every word must count towards the overall story and there’s a lot of story to count to.
The advantage and disadvantage of writing fantasy is that it gives you leeway to push the boundaries, but the restriction of knowing you must have them. How far can they be pushed? Well, it’s going to be a loooooong way.
Take your time.
The words are back again, and although I’m typing this so you know what I’m up to, I’m already far away. Best disappear whilst the brain is still working.
I’ll see you all soon.
The Beast from the East, bad weather to you and me, has swept away. All of a sudden, England has morphed from white to almost-green. Is Spring in the air?
As for me, I’ve been editing, editing, editing like the industrious literary beaver I am. The Theatre of The Moon – Nimbus takes greater shape daily as each chapter grows nearer to perfection. Who is La Contessa D’Argento, the proprietor to London’s newest theatrical attraction? Only time will tell.
The cold weather and an enforced period indoors has also helped in developing the several other projects I have on the go with no small amount of words being written in anger, as they say.
As well as the novel work, I have also utilised the Scrivener writing software I use to compile and order the short stories I am always writing. This has worked so well that given half a chance I’ll share how I did it for the benefit of others. Not only can I write and edit within one place but use the self-same database and templates for submitting work. It’s been a great help.
As regards published work, The Eternals is on promotion from the 8th – 9th of March in Kindle format for just $0.99 / £0.99 depending on your region. I hope this serves as a tempter to the other two books in the trilogy, Hunter Hunted and Into Eternity.
As always, I wish you all a great month.
Richard M. Ankers
Author of The Eternals Series
These posts are usually reserved for my Facebook Author Page, but as seen as I’m here less and less, I thought this might explain.
February Author Update
Where’s the year going!
Second month in and as busy as ever. Thanks to almost a month of categorising, tagging and collating information, we have lift-off… well, almost. As well as cracking on with Nimbus, Book 1 of The Theatre of the Moon Trilogy, I’ve actually had a chance to insert some of the chapters I’ve been trialling into the following two books. All three novels now have sections within them as well as Nimbus being fully penned. I actually have so many spare chapters that I may even start to post some of them. I hope this will give people a taste of the stories to come. We shall see.
As regards my shorter work, after a disaster which I can’t remember if I told you all about, where I not only lost everything on my computer but the back-up exploded too, (not literally) I have managed to not only find everything I lost but also some I’d forgotten I even had. (Shakes his head!) Accordingly, some have been sent out on submission and others I’ve stashed.
The month ahead looks like one of rewrites and additional diary entries for Nimbus (Mortimer Headlock does like to pen his thoughts). I shall enjoy writing each new word.
So, until I have anything more substantial to tell you, I’ll sign off with a ‘Have A Great February’. See you soon.
“I write… Stop… Write again… This is my way and ever has been. Why change it for the sake of supplicating demons?”
The Ghost Writer
“I have fallen so far, yet it was the not making a sound when I landed that hurt the most. If ever I landed at all?”
The Ghost Writer