Friday Flash - Allergy

Tweet The clock in the square struck one. Karea cursed under her breath; she hated being late. She stood on her toes to peer above the heads of the crowd. They jostled and shoved outside the cathedral. Some brandished placards, while others waved banners in a righteous frenzy. “The dead have rights too” and “We’re sick, not criminals” were two of the more popular slogans.

She edged along the edge of the crowd, caught between protestors and onlookers. Many of those watching the demonstration held handkerchiefs to their mouths, or buried their faces in nosegays. Karea wondered why they didn’t just stay away, if they were so scared of the Contagion.

The crowd petered out on the far side of the square, and Karea slipped into a narrow alley between a bakery and a milliner’s. Looking back, she could see mounted militia surrounding the protestors. They sat astride huge chestnut stallions, all wearing black government-issue masks. The long ibis-like nose would be filled with strongly scented flowers. Karea wondered how many people would succumb to hay fever before the Contagion itself.

Karea burst out of the alley as a tram pulled up to the stop across the street. She hurled herself across the cobbled stones, narrowly avoiding a pony and trap driven by a young boy. She climbed on board, and squeezed herself between two elderly women clad in black. She nodded at each in turn, acknowledging their loss. A purple hat band indicated that the woman on her right had lost someone a lot earlier than the woman on the left. Probably when the Contagion first started, thought Karea.

Two government officials flanked the trembling conductor. Blue eyes burned bright behind the ibis masks. Karea shuddered. She wondered if the masks were intended to protect the officials, or to intimidate the populace.

Several passengers alighted at the next stop. Karea dropped her gaze from the window; she didn’t need to see them file into the cemetery. She also didn’t need to see the gravediggers and their pits, shovelling quicklime onto anonymous corpses, dumped in ignoble piles.

A tickle in her nose made Karea look up. A woman settled into the seat opposite, heaving a wicker basket onto her knee. A cat the colour of marmalade sat in the basket. It looked at her with brazen interest. Karea felt her stomach drop as the first sneeze struggled to escape. She left off a volley of rapid sneezes, each more violent than the last. The passengers scattered, clawing at each other in their attempts to get away from her.

The government officials swooped. Each clamped a gloved hand on her arms, hauling her to her feet. The tram lurched to a halt, and they pulled her down the stairs into the street. Karea’s protests went unheard as a crowd gathered to investigate the commotion. A cart waited by the gutter; the livery was that of the House of the Stricken. One of the officials fought to tie a cloth mask over her lower face.

“I’m not sick!” shouted Karea, her words lost in the thick fabric. “I’m just allergic to cats!”

Robot Rock - Or Why I Started Drawing Again

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I've been trying to come up with new ideas for fiction, and I remembered reading Zoe Westhof's eBook guide to having a creative mini retreat to boost your creativity. I still haven't managed to find the time to set aside an entire weekend, but I decided to grab some spare time where I had it, and do some drawing. I used to love drawing, but after I finished college and was no longer studying art, my drawing became somewhat sporadic. It's a shame, since it's something I really enjoy doing, so I've decided that, in an attempt to jar my brain from seeing things the way I normally see things, that I'll draw more often to make me look at things in a new way.

So I ended up drawing a robot. I've never really coloured things in using Photoshop before, but all in all I'm pretty pleased with how he turned out! I've always been much better at drawing mechanical things, or structures, than anything organic, so you never know...perhaps I'll end up writing a spate of robot-themed futuristic sci-fi, with illustrations to match?

Friday Flash - Strictly No Digging

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Today's Friday Flash is actually inspired by a bizarre sign I spotted near Leicester Square in London. Normally I wouldn't have dreamed of digging up the public highway, but of course the very second you're told not to, you can't help but want to!

Strictly No Digging 

Davey pointed out the sign the first time we ever cut through Perdition Square. The black oblong of metal was screwed to a bollard near old man Jenkins' cafe. Big white handpainted letters spelled out 'Strictly No Digging'.

"Why, man? What don't they want us to find?" said Dave. He pointed at the sign, a goofy look of conspiracy plastered on his face.I simply shrugged.

"Could be anything. Water pipes, maybe?"

"Nah, man. There's got to be something they're hiding there. That's why they don't want us to dig." He gesticulated wildly with spindly fingers. Dozens of bracelets made of wooden beads knocked together on his skinny arms.

"Bollocks. Jenkins probably doesn't want people taking up the cobbles."

"I'm tellin' you, man. It's got to be parliament." Davey's eyes were wide. They were also bloodshot, and I wondered for the umpteenth time what he'd been smoking this time.

"I doubt it."

"Look, they're telling us not to dig. So, I gotta dig now. I wouldn't have thought of it before, but now...I gotta know what they're hidin' under this place." I thought I caught a whiff of stale moonshine on Davey's breath as he leaned close.

"Do whatever you want."

I left him standing in the square, contemplating the sign.


Eleven hours later, I found myself standing in the square again. Thick clouds blotted out the moonlight, and shadows clustered in doorways. I looked around at the silent buildings, feeling the heavy weight of the windows' stare. Davey jabbed his dad's spade between the cobbles around the bollard. The grate of metal on stone set my teeth on edge.

"Do you HAVE to do this?" I hissed. "You've already broken my shovel and that one isn't looking too healthy. My dad's gonna kill me!"

"I'm nearly there," replied Davey. He tossed aside his own shovel, ignoring the large crack that ran the length of the wooden handle. He dropped to his knees, and clawed at the loose cobbles. I looked around the square. A shiver ran down my spine as I looked at the windows. I wondered if anyone sat beyond the glass, watching us from a darkened room.

"I don't believe it."

I looked down at Davey. A small pile of cobbles sat on the ground beside him. He still clutched one, dirt clinging to his fingers. I peered down into the hole he'd made. A single piece of white card lay at the bottom.
I fished it out and held it up, brushing crumbs of soil from the card. A breath of wind drove the clouds from the moon, and I could read the black script.

Come to O'Nally's, for all your hardware needs! Shovels, 

gardening equipment, pick axes - if you need it, we have it!

Procrastination Blues

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Dear friends...I am procrastinating. Again. It's amazing that I'm even writing this entry, and not finding other things to do instead (while simultaneously complaining about not writing enough blog posts). Despite the introduction of a writing schedule, I find that I'm still not getting enough done. Oh, I'm managing to write my Friday flashes, I'm keeping up with my serial, and I'm even working on my Fowlis Westerby novel, but I keep finding that I have more and more things that I want to do with my waking hours that aren't spent chained to an office desk. They're not even always writing related - I have several drawing projects and knitting endeavours that I want to start (let alone finish).

So what do I do? Since I bought a Netbook last week and can now type to my heart's content on the way to and from work, I'm finding it a lot easier to find the time and the space to write (especially since I seem to work better when I'm not at home). But what do I do about the other projects? None of them are 'important' to my goals as a writer, but they're important to me in other areas of my life, and when I neglect those, my writing suffers. Besides, some of the knitting projects are going to be for sale, as I have a very very special trip to save up for, and could really use the extra funds.

So please. Help a struggling 'artist' out. How do you combat procrastination, and find enough hours in the day to do everything?

Immortalised in Comic Form

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Fame beckons!!

If everyone goes to have a look at the Alone In A Crowd strip for May 14 2010, they'll get to see me! I'm the black-haired girl!!

I'm very, very chuffed about this for various reasons. One, it's not every day that you make an appearance in one of your favourite comics, and two, I think Tom's made me look pretty awesome!!

I really do recommend that everyone take some time out, go over to Alone In A Crowd, and start reading from the beginning. I can't stress enough how good it is, or how lovely its creator Tom is. He's a fellow member of Jimmy Misanthrope's Below the Fold collective - you can check out the other members by clicking the links down the side of my blog. I'll be introducing you to everyone over the coming weeks, so start swotting!

Friday Flash - First Impressions

Tweet For today's Friday Flash, I've decided to do something a little different. I'd like you all to meet Fowlis Westerby, the star of my first novel. He's very pleased to make your acquaintance.

First Impressions

The cavalier stands poised at the end of the corridor. He holds out his sword, proud that his hand does not quake. Facing four enemies would perhaps defeat a lesser man, but Fowlis Westerby never backs down from a fight.

He hears a door open along the hall. He has only moments. He preens the immense feather in his hat with his spare hand. He is nothing if not fastidious. Intimidation is a valuable weapon, and what could be more intimidating than a cavalier dressed in all his finery?

Four young women approach. Each of them wears a bright pink ballerina outfit, complete with legwarmers and garish tutu. They all wear plastic tiaras in their bouffant hairdos. One of the four wears a tiara rather bigger than the others. A white sash thrown over her shoulder marks her out to be a 'Bride in Training'. They squawk at each other about drinking games and flashing their underwear at men.

"En garde!" shouts Fowlis.

All four women stop their chatter and look at him. They take in the sword, and the splendid attire. They remember the previous night; doors slamming, taps running of their own accord, writing appearing on steamy mirrors. The trainee bride turns white first; her cronies follow suit. They flee. He can hear their screams echoing throughout the house as they seek refuge in the gardens outside.

Fowlis smiles. Whoever assigned him a house rented to hen parties must have known this would pose no challenge, yet he is pleased nonetheless. This is why he is Ghostmaster General - he is the best.

Handful of Links

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I'm currently in the process of writing my contribution to the second Chinese Whisperings anthology so I won't be writing any of my normal blog posts this week (I wanted to write one about Iron Man 2, so I'll just say "Go and see it and ignore the fact Scarlet Johansson can't act because War Machine is coooooooool!")

Instead, I thought I'd post a collection of links I think you might find useful. First of all, Nathan Bransford looks at how to develop your voice, which is something a lot of writers struggle to do. Livia Blackburne shows us how to function at your creative best, while Marelisa Fabrega uncovers some online tools to help you meet your goals. I'd also recommend the post by Carolyn Kaufman at Query Tracker which gives advice on how to handle critiques. For something a little more whimsical, head over to IO9 to see some truly astonishing pavement art!

If that's still not enough, then why not head over to the Chinese Whisperings website and check out the blogs and writing over my collaborators? I'd also urge you to go and add Adam PB's A Fullness in Brevity to your RSS reader now because this guy is very talented indeed.

You're still here? Well then I offer you one last link...part 13 of The First Tale is up at my Tales from Vertigo City blog.

Enjoy!