Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 12)

Earlier parts of The Dire-Man can be found here: 

One – Two – Three – Four – Five – Six – Seven – Eight – Nine – Ten – Eleven

Another cheat post without reference to the prompt. And now, the final part of The Dire-Man:

 

‘And this little boy said to me, “Dire-Man, don’t take me away to your house on the beach”,’ The Dire-Man giggled, ‘”Take my son. When I am old and have a son. Take him.”’

My son looked at me but I did not look at him.

‘So I did. Now, the son of the little boy is mine,’ The Dire-Man cracked his knuckles. ‘So, daddy, does our deal still hold?’

I looked down at my child, broken and maimed.

When I returned home I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall passing the door to my son’s empty room.

 

THE END

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100 Cool Things #45: This is Water

This is Water by David Foster Wallace. This is an abridged version of Wallace’s Kenyon college commencement speech about dealing with the tiny, annoying details in your life. It is about being mindful of our thoughts and surroundings and not being ground down by the little things.

I posted this on Facebook a while back and was inundated with comments about Wallace killing himself. Even though he did commit suicide I don’t think it diminishes the message of this video as some people seem to think. Anyway, have a watch and see what you think.

 

Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 11)

Earlier parts of The Dire-Man can be found here: 

One – Two – Three – Four – Five – Six – Seven – Eight – Nine – Ten

This is a cheat post. I did not use the prompt (even though it was very cool) and instead jut wrote the next Dire-Man part.

Enjoy.

 

Many years ago, I woke up and saw the Dire-Man stood at the foot of my bed. He held in his long fingers one of my toys. He smiled at me.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

‘Boy,’ he said, ‘my boy. I will take you from this place to my home. You will not be happy there but you will live. Or I can cut your throat now.’ He ran his finger across his own throat and made a hissing noise.

‘What if I can give you something?’ I said.

He grinned, revealing rotten teeth, ‘Tell me more, my boy.’

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Another Friday Fictioneers story with prompt supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. (but not really)

100 Cool Things #044: What if the Prequels were good?

I love a good What If? There are hundreds of movies and TV shows with near miss casting decisions, title changes (True Detective was originally called The Murder Ballads, which is awesome) and abandoned plot lines that make me yearn for some sort of way we could see these What Ifs played out for real.

Unfortunately we can’t but we can do nearly the same thing with the bottom two videos which aim to fix some of the glaring errors with Lucas’ piss poor Star Wars prequel trilogy. The downside is that when the videos are over their version of episodes 1 and 2 still doesn’t exist. Nice to dream though.

Nearly finished

Two 100 word stories away from finishing my E-book which is a compilation of one hundred 100 word stories, some of which have been on this site, some that are exclusive to the book.

Last two stories to write are the final two stories of The Dire-Man so waiting for the Friday Fictioneers prompt for the first one and then going to just choose a random picture from Flickr to inspire the grand finale. Very exciting stuff which you will be hearing more about when I am spamming this blog with shameless self promotion of the book.

While you wait for the publication of my masterpiece (or one of my masterpieces), here’s some Robyn to tide you over.

Future Islands – Seasons (Waiting on you)

Came across this this morning and have been listening to it all day. The lead singer’s performance is so intense and so weird and so good that I can’t get enough of it.

As Dave Letterman says at the end of the clip, “I’ll take all of that you got!”

On Worrying

I must apologise for my lack of action on this blog. Before we left Turkey I had decided that I would do a post every single day. Some text, some Cool Things, some pictures. For a while I managed to keep it up but gradually that fell by the wayside and packing up out apartment and moving to England took precedence.

I’m back now and again I will try to post a little something everyday. When I was doing that before I found the Likes, Views and Follows increased day by day so really it is only a matter of time before some big shot Hollywood producer sees my blog and says, ‘Kid, I like your style! We’ve been looking to make a movie that’s a hodgepodge of surreal stories, writing advice, context-less pictures and weeks and weeks of word counts, here’s a check for a bazillion dollars!’

At the moment I’m back in England living with my mum and dad and preparing my visa for my eventual move to Australia. It is always weird being back in England. For me it’s like stepping into my own past. I see friends I haven’t seen for ages and I catch up on gossip and we talk about growing up, which is always cool. I go shopping and hang out at old haunts and see how the area has changed in the time I’ve been away.

I also spend a lot of my time worrying. I worry about bumping into people I have fallen out with. I worry about bumping into ex-girlfriends even though my ex-girlfriends are lovely and I have nothing to worry about. I worry about secrets being unearthed even though there are none to be unearthed. I worry that I will never finish my novel. I worry that I will finish it and it won’t be very good. I worry that I will finish it and it will be very good but it won’t get published. Or it will get published but won’t sell. I worry that I won’t get cleared for my Aussie visa. I worry about running out of money. I worry that my wife and I will spend too much time getting established and making money that we will forget to have kids. I worry about my weight. I worry that I should have started writing earlier or that I should have gotten good earlier. I worry that I’m no good at all. I worry that I worry too much.

Flashback to December last year and this post. I had said I would be more mindful and I tried it for a while and I got quite good but obviously somewhere along the way it has slipped so I need to get back on top of it and stop worrying. Re-reading this post makes it look as though I am crippled with worry and barely able to drag myself out of bed and that is not true. I am ill at ease all the time would be the best way to describe it I think. I find it hard to concentrate without my mind wandering to a worry instead of a scene or a tasty line of dialogue.

My mum says that worrying is good though, it must work, she says, because most of the things she worries about never happen.

Here’s some pics from our recent trips so that you can read this and say, Oi, whining ass, stop worrying and enjoy yourself, after all life’s too short:

Selfie at the top of The Shard

Selfie at the top of The Shard

Selfie at Sagrada Familia

Selfie at Sagrada Familia

Baby seflie!

Baby seflie!

Lovebirds in Chester

Lovebirds in Chester

 

 

 

Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 10)

Earlier parts of The Dire-Man can be found here: 

One – Two – Three – Four – Five – Six – Seven – Eight – Nine

roiling-cloud-1

Outside, the storm clouds raged above our heads and the air felt heavy and hot.

My son sat on the ground. He held up a fingerless right hand and looked at it as though he had never seen it before.

The Dire-Man danced and twirled as the rain began to fall in fat, wet slaps on the ground.

‘Do you know why you’re here, boy?’ He sang in a cracked falsetto. ‘You’re here because a long time ago your daddy and I made a deal.’  He smiled and a plump beetle ran out of his mouth and down his chin.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Another Friday Fictioneers story with prompt supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 9)

Earlier parts of The Dire-Man can be found here: 

One – Two – Three – Four – Five – Six – Seven – Eight

claire-fuller-3

The Dire-Man sat on his throne. Next to him sat a king. The king sat erect and stiff. He was covered in moss and algae and tears ran freely from his eyes.

‘Used to be the king of this place,’ said The Dire-Man. ‘Now he’s the crown sovereign of nothing.’

‘Where’s my son?’

‘When I took this place I said to the king, you will sit at my left side forever.’ The Dire-Man clapped the king on the back. The king didn’t move. ‘A thousand years later, here we are.’

‘Where’s my son?’

The Dire-Man smiled, ‘Which part of him?’

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Another Friday Fictioneers story with prompt supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.