I watched a dragonfly today
Blue-bright body, wings of lace
Like a little ‘copter
or a miniature drone.
I watched a dragonfly today
Circle, hover, perch, take flight
Like a tiny bi-plane
or a teensy flying-boat.
I watched a dragonfly today
And this time looked more closely
Admired its engineering
Saw the faerie in the cockpit.
I’d been late leaving school that afternoon. I’d stayed behind because nice Miss Leibrandt had been helping me with my poem.
On the way home I’d been kicking a can along the dirt pathway between the shacks when I heard shouting over on the main road. Then there was the explosion. Flames shot up into the air, all red and angry-looking. Black smoke billowed upwards.
My house was the other way, but I had to see. I peered out from the end of the lane. People were jumping up and down in the street, arms waving angrily. They were chanting.
Flames licked out of the little corner shop. My friend’s shop. Mr Kabongo whose skin was as black as night, who came from another country further up the map of Africa. Mr Kabongo who told me stories about the animals of the forest where he grew up and the people who lived there before the war in his country. Mr Kabongo who gave me sweets when I went to fetch a half-loaf for my mother.
And now his shop was destroyed. I wondered if he was safe. Had he run, as he’d run before?
Why can’t we all live together?
Well I never! Having, for the last few days, had my nose buried in what has come to be known by me as my ‘fairly-soon-to-be-published’ latest novel, I go to my emails and pick up a message from Amazon Accounts Payable – A Royalty Payment Notification!
Clicking through I see a sudden spike in ebook sales (actual sales!) of my first novel, The Silver Locket (written under a pen name, because I was too shy at the time to use my actual name).
I’m not sure what shameless self-publicity I ventured to put out a month ago, because I’m not very good at this. I believe I did mention on Twitter that it was the seventh anniversary of its publication. Anyway…
I don’t know who you all are, but thank you for buying… and reading? I wonder if you enjoyed it? Hope so.
Okay, it won’t be a fortune, but it’s nice people have found it! And if you haven’t seen it, why not take a little peek? Perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon, or maybe Monday, since it’s (mostly) a holiday.
The Silver Locket by Holly Atkins
Free on Kindle Unlimited
ebook $3.44
“Here it is!” I hold up the proof copy of You’ll Never Walk Alone to Cynthia and Conner, who are sitting outside in the little garden wasteland outside Cynthia’s flat. It is pleasantly and unseasonably warm for an April afternoon in mid 80s Liverpool.
Connor stretches out his hand. “Let’s have a look then.”
I hand the pristine proof over to him. He turns it over in his hands and nods. “Look rather fine, I must say, Ms Hall. Worth the wait, so it is.” He flicks through the pages and frowns. “Print’s a bit small.”
Cynthia takes the book from him. She riffles the pages, holding it up to her face. “I love the smell of a new book.”
I nod and grin enthusiastically. “What do you think?”
“It’s very nice, my dear.” She looks at the pages more closely. “Oh look, Connor, there’s a little drawing of a cat here.” She holds the book out to him, open at the title page. “Is that my clever boy, Asmar?”
As if on cue, Cynthia’s beautiful Abyssinian cat emerges from the bushes and stretches languidly in front of us, mimicking the pose in the drawing.
Cynthia turns to the back cover. “Nice photograph of you, Ms Hall.”
“Thank you!” I smile delightedly.
“It must’ve been taken quite a while ago.”
I wince. Cynthia leans forward and pats my hand. “Well why not? None of us is getting any younger.”
Before I have the chance to reply, we hear voices coming around the side of the house. It’s Gina and Lucy. As soon as they see me, they call out in greeting. I hold up the second proof copy I have ordered for my household of characters.
“She has our book!” Lucy and Gina say together. Never mind that it’s my book. Whose name is on the cover?
They take it from me and sit down on the tatty wooden bench next to the wall. They exclaim in delight at the opening paragraphs. Lucy and Gina are, of course, in the opening scene. They start to read and for once they fall silent. After a couple of pages they look up. I can see in their eyes that they approve.
‘You’ll Never Walk Alone‘ a novel by Chris Hall will be published next month (we hope).
I am thrilled to be part of this!
Cape Town Libraries, in conjunction with the Book Lounge and the Fugard Theatre, are involved in an event called Writing My City which is to encourage Capetonians to write stories and poetry about the city they live in.
Cape Town is home to a multiplicity of voices, however some voices are missing. This initiative is aimed at finding those voices and giving them the opportunity to tell their stories to a wider world. In this way, more local community stories can be told and shared.
The aims of the project are wider than just the stories though. This is an opportunity to celebrate and deepen the understanding of who and what makes Cape Town the city it is. By improving understanding, we hope to build better social cohesion. It is also an opportunity to highlight the importance of libraries in the community and widen access to writing and publishing for people who would not otherwise see their work in print.
The winning submissions are to be compiled into a book for publication during the Open Book Festival in Cape Town in September.
Having responded to a call for facilitators, I shall be leading a series of writing workshops at one of our local libraries over the coming weeks. My aim is to bring the stories of ten local women (who I’ve not met yet) to life. The first session’s next week. I’ll keep you posted!
I watch the time countdown on my screen. My shift is about to start. I run my fingers over the keyboard. I’m ready.
The workload has been increasing. So far I’m keeping up. The monitoring is continual. From the moment you are woken until the lights and screens are turned off: when to shower, when to eat, when to take a break.
It’s all about production, efficiency, the bottom line.
Clock in, clock off, clock out. Thank you for your contribution.
At least I’m only writing ‘soapies’ to entertain the masses. Imagine the pressure if I was doing something crucial.
100 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Writing Challenge April 16: Technological Horror
In case you missed it…
What a nice surprise I had the other day. I love the way Jason has presented my winning piece – as with all his work. Take a look if you haven’t already discovered his dark and humorous little stories!
Storyteller and Accidental Blogger Chris Hall of luna’s on line grabbed the win for the March 13th Aether Prompt with tendrils of terror and her piece “Cepha’s Revenge”:
Cepha observed the two galleons turn broadside. As greed and hatred erupted into sea-churning canon fire, she flung a tentacle into the pool beside her, summoning the sisterhood.
They came, they writhed, and the sea boiled. They pulled timbers apart with zealous suckers. Masts crashed onto splintering decks. Water gushed in.
For the humans must pay: creatures, so new to old Mother Earth, now plundered her riches and fought over them.
Cepha stirred the pool again.
Coins and trinkets emptied from chests were gathered up by eager tentacles, while sailors sank into the murky depths.
Calm returned.
Congratulations! Now you’re in the running for the 2019 AETHEREAL ENGINEER WRITER SUPPORT PRIZE PACKAGE! How might she, or possibly you, perchance win such fabled…
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Everyone fled for the old, deserted places; to the caves, the ruins and the ancient abandoned settlements. The cities had long gone; collapsed in on themselves. All modern infrastructure wiped out.
No-one understood why, but there was no longer anyone to ask or to explain. The politicians, the scientists and the specialists had long retreated into their state-of-the-art doomsday bunkers. Much good would it have done them. All technology had fried when the black hole came into view.
The inevitable came, although it took months. Quite a number of us survived. There had been long enough to prepare. But then the time came. The skies grew dark. There were flashing lights, the rushing of wind, a strange hollow feeling that seemed to gnaw on the soul.
When it was all over, we awoke to a bright new dawn. We opened our eyes, felt our limbs, went outside and looked at each other. Then we noticed. Everything was reversed like in a mirror. Our hearts were beating on the other side of our chests. It took a little getting used to.
We carried on, improvised. Crops grew. The water in our wells was sweet. Everyone felt good, younger by the day. We were more vigorous, more robust, we were quicker and stronger. And then we realised. We were actually getting younger, day by day. And the process was speeding up. What would become of us as we hastened to youth, to childhood and earlier?
Where were you before you were born?
Don’t have nightmares, it’s a long, long way off:
https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-47873592
The Foremost Developer had taken the bait: 100 acres of rain-forest, ripe for replanting with oil palms. He rubbed his hands. His bulldozers were ready. But this time Gaia had been awakened; she too was ready for destruction. This time the earth would revolt. It would not be the last.
50 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith’s Genre Writing Challenge.
– Okay, that’s what I signed, but I didn’t sign up for this.
– What do you mean?
– I signed up to write one post a day, every day, for a month.
– To start with.
– Yes, but…
– Didn’t you read the small print?
– No, well, I just assumed…
– Never assume.
– But…
– It increases in intensity. Exponentially each day. One post a day, two posts a day, four, then eight…
– So today’s Day Seven and it’s 64 posts, then tomorrow it’ll be 128 and the next day 256 and so on.
– Exactly.
– Well, sorry, I can’t. I quit.
– You quit. Okay.
– Thanks.
– You didn’t read the penalty clause then?
– No… What? Oh no!
– So what’s it going to be?
– Okay. I’ll do it.
– Sign here.
From Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith‘s Story Starter Challenge #6 – 1 day late, blame the time zone.
With best wishes to Camp-NaNoWriMo’s and NoPoWriMo’s everywhere!
luna's on line 