Not trying to be pushy… but it’s your last chance to download ‘Sextet’ onto your Kindle (or phone with Kindle app). Offer finishes Tuesday 7 August.
SPECIAL OFFER
For one week only (1st to 7th August) my collection of short stories
‘A Sextet of Shorts’ is free to download on your Kindle or phone.
Click on the ‘Buy on Amazon’ box below:
Check out my Amazon author page – click here
Many thanks to The Haunted Wordsmith for this review of my little short story book ‘A Sextet of Shorts’.
Note the free offer runs until 7th August, so not too late to download for free!
Another Adventure in Botswana
It’s a good two-hour drive from Maun to the entrance of the Moremi Game Reserve in the Okavango Delta. Not that it’s particularly far, maybe 100km, but on the second half of the journey, the tar runs out and you’re on a so-called gravel road, which is actually more like sand, scree and boulders. But, heigh-ho, this is Africa, and we’re on holiday.
We set out on a bright winter morning, fuelled by a good breakfast at our lodge. We fill up the tank of our trusty hired 4×4 and proceed, on the watch for the donkeys, cattle and goats who all graze happily at the side of the road and might suddenly step out onto the highway seeking pastures new on the opposite verge.
At Shorobe, halfway distance-wise, the tar road runs out and a little further along, the warning signs for cattle on the road change to warning signs for wild animals.
Soon we spot an elephant splashing about in a small waterhole near the roadside. We stop and roll down the windows. The elephant looks at us. Somehow he seems wilder, being outside the reserve. But he’s not interested in us. He wanders off to conceal himself behind a bush. No paparazzi, please!
We spy a group of giraffes and wonder at how they can disappear behind the slenderest of trees. ‘Now you see me, now you don’t’. Next there are groups of docile bokkies, all big eyes and stumpy little tails.
At about eleven o’clock we arrive at the South Gate of the Reserve, shaken by the road but stirred by the sights. We have until about 4.30 if we are to avoid driving back in the dark (which is not recommended, given the state of the roads). I understand that the gates close at 5.30. We have plenty of time.
The map we are given when we sign in is short on information, but we spot a sign after the first waterhole and follow a narrower, sandier track which promises a lagoon. We nod to a handful of giraffes. We pass several dried up patches of mud, which may or may not have been part of the lagoon (it is the dry season after all). But we convince ourselves that lions are hiding in the long grass (they probably are). We see zebra and buffalo, lots of them! The track winds bumpily away, through a profusion of birds. Two hours in, we’ve no idea where we are, but never mind, we have plenty of time.
A little further on, we spot a lone hippo. We turn off the engine and listen to him grazing. We watch spellbound as he tucks into his lunch and will him to look up and pose for the camera, but he turns his back on us.
We move off and he gazes up at us; we get the photo. As we leave the open grassland behind and return to the bush we wonder where we might within this large expanse of wilderness.
We pass what we think is a familiar lump of splodged elephant dung by a fork in the road. Have been here before? Without any signs around, the map is not helpful to our dilemma.
We head off down the untried fork. As the afternoon shadows lengthen I have the feeling we are headed in the wrong direction. However, on the plus side, we are passing a series of shallow waterholes and there are animals everywhere.
Eventually we come to a battered wooden sign at another fork. The only name we can match to the map is ‘Third Bridge’; this is definitely the wrong direction. Another vehicle draws up containing a party of cheery people from Namibia, looking for their campsite and also lost. I pass them our map; we all decide that they are heading the right way.
We turn around again. I’m looking at the time. It’s doubtful that we will make it back to the Gate before 4:30, but never mind, we’re enjoying the animals, although not stopping anymore, unless said animal is blocking the road, like the big bull elephant, and the herd of buffalo.
An hour later we are back at the original fork. There is only one choice left. We follow. We reach a vehicle which is waiting for two others to pass. We tuck in behind and watch a honey badger shoot across the path of one of the on-coming safari trucks. The track widens out and vehicle in front stops; as we draw level, we see that it’s our Namibian friends. Clearly one of us is heading in the wrong direction. We shake our heads and decide to follow them for a bit. Maybe we’ll find a sign up ahead.
There is a sign: ‘First Bridge’ and a few yards on, there is the bridge. Now we know which of us is wrong. It’s us. On the plus side, we know exactly where we are, and we know that if we turn around we’ll get straight to the Gate. On the minus side, it’s about 40 km away, another hour.
Off we go again, bumping over the sandy track. This will be interesting. Pressing on through the narrow bush-lined tracks, we slow down only slightly for the evening-time animals, and we arrive at the Gate at little before 5:30. The sun is sinking fast, but what are headlights for? At least we’re not marooned in Moremi with only the thin walls of the 4×4 between us and marauding animals. Heigh-ho, this is Africa, and we’re on holiday!
©2018 Chris Hall
Photographs ©2018 Cliff Davies
SPECIAL OFFER
For one week only (1st to 7th August) my collection of short stories
‘A Sextet of Shorts’ is free to download on your Kindle or phone.
Click on the ‘Buy on Amazon’ box below:
Check out my Amazon author page – click here
Yay! I was so chuffed to be nominated for the Liebster award by awesome author and blogger, JI Rogers. It was just over a month ago (how time flies when you’re having fun writing, or sitting thinking about writing, or just sitting…). But now I’m acting on that nomination and passing on to another 11 people.
So, the Liebster Award; this is how it works:
Thank you JI Rogers for the nomination! She’s a very special author and blogger; do go and visit her site: jirogers-author.com to see all that she’s working on. She’s an artist too, see her work at mythspinnerstudios.com
I first came across Jenn through her Six Word Story Challenge and have been having fun with it ever since. And I recently read Book One of the Korpes Files and you should too! It’s a really good read… and I can’t wait for the second book to be published. See my ‘Good Reads’ review of it over there on the right.
It was a little flash fiction piece entitled ‘The Beautiful Game?‘ which was prompted by an article I read about domestic violence increasing in the UK during the World (Soccer) Cup. I provoked some interesting reactions and I hope helped to raise awareness.
It would have to be my work-in-progress novel. I’m nearing the end of the first major draft and I’m getting quite excited about it, so I hope my enthusiasm would come across.
My high school geography teacher. She was an eccentric ‘old school’ spinster who had fantastic enthusiasm for travel and life in general. She was at Cambridge University in the early 1950s, a scholarship girl too. We thought her rather old and quite batty at the time, but then she’d have been more than 10 years younger than I am now (which is a bit scary, thinking about it). She didn’t partticularly inspire me to write, but to live bravely.
Mine of course! – The Silver Locket
Otherwise, for aspiring writers I’d say ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King.
And for a beautiful read and to experience the craft in action: any novel by Isabel Allende or Kate Atkinson or Margaret Atwood or Jane Austin… that’s just the ‘A’s.
No contest: ‘Casablanca’. A total classic and timeless.
This is the hardest question. I just want to say ‘fiction’, but I don’t think that’s really an answer. I could narrow it down to ‘Speculative Fiction’… I’d be happy just take the books!
Cat. Have you met Luna?
Quiet suits me. My writing room has windows into the garden, so there is a soundtrack: birdsong, the chattering of squirrels and the clucking of my hens. Once I’m in ‘the zone’ I can write almost anywhere and under almost any conditions.
Words; they create the mental pictures. That’s why I prefer radio to TV a lot of the time.
A brilliant, acclaimed, best-selling, literary novel preferably recognised during my lifetime. Otherwise all the proceeds go the cat!
I find yellow very stimulating and that’s the colour of the walls in my writing room. Not a colour I’d wear though.
C J Stark: http://seejaystark.com/
Debra Tracy, Nana’s World Web: https://nanasworldweb.com/
Ellie Scott: https://www.elliescott.co.uk/
gwladysdillon: https://whenyougorragoyougorragetgoing.wordpress.com/
The Haunted Wordsmith: https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/
Nicole Melanson, Word Mothers: https://wordmothers.com/
Mickey & Yunni, Freja Travels: https://frejatravels.com
Thomas Stark, Short Worlds: https://shortworlds.wordpress.com/
The Dark Netizen: https://thedarknetizen.wordpress.com/
Adam West, The Writer of Age: https://writerofage.com/
Wide Eyed Wanderer: https://wideeyedwanderingspoonie.wordpress.com/
Here goes… everyone should get a pingback!
Dear Nominees,
Don’t feel you have to react to the ‘chain letter’ element of this if you don’t want to, but if you do, please take the opportunity to promote yourself and your work BIG TIME.
…and especially for you, dear reader, a heads up to let you know that my short story collection ‘A Sextet of Shorts’ will be free to download on Kindle from 1st to 7th August.
From my Flash Fiction collection
I was sent to the Valley in my fourteenth year. I was given a little attic room and assigned as apprentice to the Herbalist beyond the Green.
She set me to work in the Storeroom, where I organised the shelves, made labels and lists. She was impressed with my lettering. Gradually I started to learn Herb-Craft: where to gather the freshest ingredients, what to plant and when to harvest, recipes for teas and tinctures, poultices and potions.
A year later, following the midsummer feast, she put me to work on the Book. I copied out new recipes, made illustrations, noted where and when certain plants could be found. I began to assist in the Dispensing Room. She was pleased with me and with my work.
I learned that certain things displeased her. If she found me chatting too long whilst I was dispensing remedies, she would stand at the door, arms folded, tapping her foot. My friends soon took the hint. Or if she saw me spending time at a particular market stall, she would take me firmly by the elbow telling me to ‘come, leave that now’.
I worked with my pen and brush in the Storeroom at a little desk among the wooden shelves on which the flasks and jars were kept neatly in rows. Even on the hottest of days the Storeroom doors remained shut. No prying eyes were tolerated; the work was secret. I was sworn to keep those secrets.
One afternoon, I’d made myself a cup of herbal tea using leftovers from a poultice. She came in and sniffed my teacup. “What is this?” she asked. I explained. “Is it in the Book?” “No, it but was only a handful of leaves.” Her eyes flashed, “There must be no omissions from the Book.” She stabbed at the cover with fingers clenched and walked out.
Two years passed. My knowledge grew. I followed her rules; made sure she had no cause to admonish me. She taught me a little rudimentary Spell-Craft and the Storeroom prospered as never before.
One morning in late summer, when the dew was still fresh on the ground, I took my basket up to the head of the Valley to the source of a little stream I knew. There I found newly growing belladonna and wolfsbane. I picked a sprig of each and hurried to back to the Storeroom.
Later that afternoon, I settled down at the little desk with my brush and pen and my new specimens. I opened the Book and turned to the poison plants section. But it was missing. I checked again, carefully, page by page, but it was as if the pages had never existed.
I hurried over to her little house and called her. She followed me slowly and sat down at the desk. I showed her where the missing pages should have been; how they seemed to have disappeared into thin air. I thought she’d be cross and give me that look, so I prepared myself. But she looked up at me and said “Never mind now.” She laid her wrinkled hand on my arm: “Go home; I’ll see you in the morning.”
The Storeroom was unusually busy the next day and my morning was spent making up and dispensing remedies. It was only in the afternoon that I took the Book down. The moment I opened it, I could see something was wrong. Strange symbols had been written in the margins and there were untidy blots and crossings out. I didn’t understand.
I heard the Storeroom door open. She appeared in the doorway and came over to the desk. “Something’s happened to the Book,”’ I said, showing her.
“Only you use the Book. No one else has touched it.” She brought her face close to mine and I saw pure hatred on her face. “Why have you done this?”
“I haven’t done anything.” I felt myself starting to shake. I knew I hadn’t done anything. I stared up at her. “It wasn’t like this yesterday.” My stomach churned under her gaze. “We looked at it together, remember? The missing pages?”
“I know you did it.” Her voice was like gravel.
I stood up, facing her across the little desk. I held her stare; not this time, I thought. There was a burning smell. I looked down. Smoke was rising from the edges of the Book. The paper began to curl and suddenly the pages ignited. She slammed the Book shut.
“Go!” She pointed to the door. “Just go!”
I grabbed my basket and cloak and fled towards the Green. I looked back just once. There she stood, framed by the doorway. She glared back at me for a moment; then she slammed the Storeroom door shut.
I never went back. I avoided that part of the village and only went to the market during dispensing hours when I knew she’d be occupied. I could never rid myself of the memory of the expression of loathing on her face, or the power I’d felt that moment when the Book had ignited. I had been changed forever.
©2018 Chris Hall
Read what happened after that: Little Malice and Little Malice 2
About poisonous plants
A very important issue. Some useful guidance for those of you who like me are posting their work online.
by Sarah Pesce
Let me start this off by saying plagiarists are the WORST.
Unfortunately, plagiarism is made easier than ever with self-publishing these days. If you post your work online – on fanfic forums, on Wattpad, on critique sites, on your own website, etc. – you run the risk of that work being stolen and put up for sale as an ebook, with someone else potentially making money off of your labour.
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I really like this post! Go on, take the advice.
I should tell you though, I already do most of this, most of the time.
Plus, I drink wine too (later on).
by S.E. White
We’re almost halfway through the year, so now is the appropriate time to hear about some of the methods authors use to unwind. A little self-care, a little stopping to smell the roses, and your writing productivity will thank you.
These are all tried and tested ways that writers relax. They’re reliable things to try if the breakneck pace of writing is wearing down your physical and mental health. They’re also science based*, so attempt them with confidence.
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Sanchez rises early. He dons his trench-coat, pulls on his hat.
Sliding stealthily through the silent streets, a dark, fast-moving, shadow. Hat pulled down, collar turned up, he passes through the checkpoint unchallenged. Now he’s in the ‘other’ city.
He’s closer now. He slows down and looks around. His eyes flick left, flick right. Careful, as he watches comings and goings of the grey-clad people. He times his move, then scurries across the square. He waits hunched in a doorway. A clock strikes.
He hears the click-clicking of heels on the flagstones; getting closer. He glances at the reflection in the window opposite. He tenses, wired for action. The woman draws level with him.
He springs out, reaches into his raincoat, pulls out a single red rose. He hands it to her. She smiles.
Then he’s gone. Mission accomplished.
©2018 Chris Hall
I struggle with the techie stuff sometimes… I think this has shed a little light for me! Thanks to the Haunted Wordsmith: https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/
luna's on line 