Archive | January, 2015

Breaking the Silence…

28 Jan

It’s been an age since I last posted on my blog and now here we are, a whole month into a new year. Total fatigue and labouring on my works-in-progress have combined to keep me away from here. And one can get out of the habit, if not careful. I haven’t got around to visiting my friends’ blogs much either. Sorry! Has anyone missed my musings? Probably not… The visitors have continued coming by, though, half a dozen here, a dozen there. I’ve also entirely forsaken the Twittersphere.

To be honest, 2014 wasn’t the best of years for me. Travel, writing and time spent with my children were all that could be said for it. Otherwise, it was a washout. I’m hoping – on the basis of no evidence whatsoever – that 2015 will pan out a little better. So far this year, though, I’ve done very little reading and have become bogged down in the quagmire of Martin Amis’s London Fields.

The one thing I have managed to do so far this year (other than earning my crust/keeping my head above water) is writing. I reached the 100,000 word mark on Work-in-Progress No.1 and have switched back to Work-in-Progress No.2, the sequel of sorts to my war novel. From time to time, I’ve alluded to this twin-pronged approach of mine. On the whole, it seems to have worked for me. I’ve now got over 30,000 words of the latter written and much more sketched out. I’m still finding it useful to be able to switch projects when inspiration runs dry and to gain some much-needed critical distance from my work. My hope is that I’ll have at least one of them finished in 2015. The fact that it’ll prove impossible to find anyone to publish them when they are complete due to my not being a stand-up comic or a well-connected débutante is another matter entirely, of course…

Hoping for a more fruitful year than last...

Hoping for a more fruitful year than last…

Anyway, here’s an excerpt from what I’ve been working on.

Imagine, if you will, a hill high in the Wednesfordshire Wolds, close to the early warning station at RAF Kellingwold.  A shaft of brilliant white light descends from the sky, concentrated upon a clearing in a beech wood.  The light is so bright that it would blind anyone that happened to look upon it.  Fortunately, the eyes of every man, woman and child on the planet are closed, as are those of all the creatures of the land, sea and air.  The clocks have stopped and the world is asleep.  The white light fades to orange, leaving behind a disc shaped object in the centre of the clearing, some twenty-five feet in diameter.  Its exterior is perfectly smooth and shines like brushed aluminium.  The spacecraft has crossed the universe to be here, at this exact location, at this precise moment in time.  A porthole appears in the side of the craft and a tall figure in human form steps down onto the grass.  His skin has a green, metallic sheen.  The figure strides out of the wood and across the silent fields.  Motionless birds are suspended in the air around him.  Ten miles above the earth, two jet bombers hang like decorations in the sky.  He walks past the sleeping sentries at the gate of the RAF station then on into the building unopposed.  He continues along the corridors and at 1451 Earth time, he marches into the operations room.  The computer screens are frozen.  The printers have fallen silent.  The officers are slumped before their screens.  He finds the young man that he’s looking for and taps him gently on the shoulder.  The officer wakes.  The spaceman whispers something in the officer’s ear then touches his shoulder again.  Instantly, the technician flops down at his desk once more.  His work completed, the figure makes his way back toward the spaceship.  Once the craft is a hundred miles or so above the surface of the planet, he presses a button on a large, wristwatch-like instrument wrapped around the cuff of his upper-body garment. 

You must say these words, “Klaatu barada nikto.”

All text and images © PSR 2015