On the Eleventh of September

Today I felt like writing a blog update, this week I am going to try and not discuss Angel or her passing. Lets see how we get on. I have been getting some momentum under me with regards to writing again, but if I was being honest it would be accurate to describe it as "stuttering" momentum. Digging into the specific pieces for a quick slithering taste of what is in store for the site. 

I had a rather horrible nightmare last night about some elongated black bodied, human faced, creature named Jangles the Gangly Man. It was trying to gain access to my house to do SOMETHING but couldn't direct access it without gaining permission or weakening me somehow by possessing my family. I leapt onto the laptop, not literally, this morning and scribbled out some ideas for a rough story start involving a young boy being threatened by his mother who is using Jangles as a threat. Supernatural or otherwise, I have no idea, let us see if this gets legs and runs away from me like Bulldog. 

The other short story that is currently four pages deep, is a singular one-shot, one-location, tale of a young sailor who is trapped deliberately upon a cargo ship that is stranded for purpose after receiving word a nuclear event somewhere in the western world. It is about isolation, believing our own narratives and the main characters lack of belonging with the modern world. I like this one, it feels cold and has a certain ache to the characters, main and the captain of the vessel who is drinking himself to death at the helm. Both will be available here for a while when I am finished with them, and of course the wife has poured over them with her fine tooth comb.

I have scrambled around the internet looking for a space with which to call my stories home, every time I leave this little space under my name, I end up coming back. In that truth I think a realisation lives, there aren't better spaces for my writing than existing under my own hat. Bulldog existed outside of it and Amazon ensured it only saw the light of day when I gave it away for free or hacked its price to smithers. Substack was a bipolar experience and never felt like mine, it was basically Twitter without the audience and obviously without the racism. Medium never worked out either, where I have found comfort in my search for a fireplace to tell my stories is right here. My library of the lost stories from the quiet story tellers. I have tried to add something in the way of a money maker for the site, I never wanted adverts on the site because ads are everywhere, you don't need another advert when you come looking for a little spooky short to fill your bedtime reading or lunchtime break. You probably saw it floating in the little corner on the website when you visited, it's a cool little tip jar essentially. Wont make me a millionaire but might buy me a coffee while I write. Think of it like my cap on the ground for you to chuck a £1 coin inside. Support the arts right.

Any other business, well I watched Sinners for the first time and was blown away. It was a really enjoyable, almost nostalgic, experience. I went into HMV to buy a different film, came out with Sinners as well and got excited to rush home and watch it on a day off from work. We got the lights real low, shut the curtains, silenced Angels water fountain for a couple of hours and put the phones on mute. It was as close to a cinema experience as I could have achieved, but I think I can get it closer, need a speaker system and some popcorn ready to go. Anyway, I lost my train of thought, Sinners was excellent. Perfect blend of atmospheric world building and real unsettling horror, not to mention a gorgeous soundtrack. Movies should be like this! Why aren't more modern movies made with such clear signs of love for the craft. Ah, oh well. 

I am tired of rambling, but this was nice. Getting back into real conversations about writing, projects and passions. Lets do this again next week. Until then, keep my girl in your prayers and watch the horizon for the rising blinding sunrise.