Danny's Piano Trick

This piece follows a character called Danny, who is a train driver on the run, and hiding at a girls' school under the pretence of being a music teacher.  A concert is happening at the school along with some boys from a boys school.  However, the boys are plotting to use a trick piano to upstage the concert, and Danny overhears this, and plots how show the boys up in front of their headmaster, who is conducting the concert, instead.

This piece is inspired by a running gag in the Looney Tunes, where a musical instrument, usually a piano, is rigged to explode when a particular note is played.  However, the intended victim will hit the wrong note a couple of times, causing the one behind the plot to get angry, take the victim's place, and they all fall for their own plot.  Here's a link from YouTube for your viewing.

*

Miss Tara Sharpe was getting ready to walk on stage and take her place on the piano seat when Danny appeared.  "Tara."  He called.
     "What is it?" She asked.
     "I'd like to play the piano."
     "Why?"
     "The boys from Kennal High are up to some dirty trick, so I'm doing to teach them a lesson."
     "Do you know what tune to play?"
     "It's Those Endearing Young Charms."  Danny answered.
     "Go on then."  Tara insisted and Danny walked onto the stage and up to Mr Milne, the boys' school's headmaster.
     "Where's Miss Tara Sharpe?" The concert conductor asked.
     "I'm playing instead."  Danny answered.
     "Oh very well." Mr Milne replied, "Take your seat at the piano."
     Danny turned to face the black piano in front of him, spotting a way for his trick to work, he then asked, "Where's the piano?"
     A few in the the audience laughed as Mr Milne looked at Danny.
     "In front of you."  Mr Milne pointed at the black piano.
     "This is not a piano."
     "What do you mean?"
     "A piano stand vertical and it's colour is brown, this is horizontal and black."
     "Meaning?"
     "This is not a piano, it's a grand piano."
     The audience burst into laughter, even those in the wings were laughing too, including Tara.
     "Well, take your seat at the grand piano then."  Mr Milne spoke through gritted teeth.
     "Certainly I will."  Danny replied and took his seat in front of the grand piano on stage, all the students in the audience applauding.
     Mr Milne took a deep breath and spoke out to the audience, "Sorry about that.  And now, for your delight, we shall play Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms."  The audience applauded again.
     Danny waited till the applauding stopped before he began.  As he played, however, he noticed wires from a certain key.  Guessing that the key was to one to set off the trick, he pressed the key beside it.
     At once, Mr Milne and the boys behind the trick, who were hiding the wings, shouted out loud, "That's wrong! Try again!"
     So Danny started again, but he dodged the trap again.
     Noting the stage in keys, Mr Milne, who demands to best of music playing, burst into anger and marched to Danny, gesturing him to get off the seat and took the seat himself.  "Not like that! Like this!" He declared.
     Realising what was going to happen, the boys cried out, "Mr Milne-"
     "Shut up!" Their headmaster thundered, then placed his focus onto the piano keys and stared to play.  However, he failed to notice the wires and when he pressed the key, the lid that covers the pain keys slammed shut on his fingers, causing him to cry out in pain, and causing everyone to burst out in laughter, and the boys behind the trick to start planning their escape route.
     "Get this lid off my fingers!" Mr Milne shouted, but everyone possible was laughing so much, they couldn't stop, and the boys are starting to make their escape, for now.
     Danny walked back into the wings where Tara was laughing.  "Thanks for that."  She laughed.
     "Anytime."  Danny smiled a laughing smile as he walked past.
     Mr Milne thundered for "those brats behind this", but they were gone.

*

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece and I hope to expand the character Danny and this story too.

I hope that you will have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

25th Blog Post - The Little Curious Shop

Here's my 25th blog post, and I can't believe it.  I hope that you will enjoy this piece and it fits in well for Christmas.

The little girl of seven years of age was running up the street, full of joy.  Melissa enjoyed running through these busy streets as it enabled her to escape the ever watchful eye of her stepmother, Mrs Wragg.  It wasn't often that she was brought here into town, and Melissa will always try to enjoy as much as possible.  Right now, she has managed to escape once more and was running free through the city streets, full of its modern shops and retailers.
     It was here that she noticed the shop.  Compared to the neighbouring shops, it was small and looked a bit of place.  It had Birds and Sons written in gold lettering over the shop window.  The window looked old, but it was full of wonderful site that made Melissa become filled with joy.
     In the shop window display, there was dolls in pretty dresses, toy soldiers standing to attention, fancy clocks that marked the time with singing choirs and birds, wooden puppets with smiling faces dangled from above and near the front and at the back of the window display, there were trains steaming along railway tracks pulling coaches and trucks in and out of tunnels, round mountains and across bridges.  It looked like an old-fashioned Victorian toy shop.
     And, of course, Melissa wanted to go inside.  And so she did.
     A doorbell rang above her head as she entered the shop, and the sight amazed her more.  There was beautiful crafted wardrobes, tables and chairs.  More toys of all sorts, but none of them modern.  It was like she had entered a new country.
     "Hello?" Called a voice.
     Melissa turned to face the counter as a white bearded man entered the room.  As soon as they saw each other, their smiles brighten.
     "Good afternoon, young lady."  The man bowed.
     "Good afternoon, Mr...?"
     "Bird.  Ishmael Bird."
     "What a strange name."
     "I know," Mr Bird chuckled, "my father gave it to me.  What's your name. young lady?"
     "Melissa."
     "Please to meet you Miss Melissa."
     An elderly lady came in behind Mr Bird, "Hello there."
     "Hello Mrs Bird."  Melissa waved.
     "And what can we get you?" Mrs Bird asked as she came round the counter to Melissa.
     "What have you got?"
     "Would you like a doll?"
     Melissa couldn't contain her excitement, and for the next fifteen minutes, Mrs Bird showed the little girl what must have seemed like all the dolls, but Melissa just couldn't make up her mind.
     The doorbell rang again and a tall young man entered the shop.
     "There you are."  Mr Bird greeted him with a smile, and both embraced each other.  "Did you get the wood I asked for?"
     "Of course Grandpa," the young man answered, "and it will be here first thing tomorrow."
     "At a boy."  Mr Bird clapped his hands.
     The young man noticed Melissa, "Who's our visitor?"
     "This is Melissa, Melissa this is my grandson, Frederick."
     Melissa approached with a smile.  "Pleased to meet you Mr Frederick Bird."
     Frederick laughed, "Oh that's not my name, it's Frederick Roberts.  Bird was my mother's family name."
     "Sorry about that."  Melissa spoke.
     "It's alright young lady."  Frederick then looked at Melissa really hard, "Have we met before? You look familiar."
     "I don't think so."
     "It's alright, I rarely see any I know these days, I suppose, I see them in everyone I meet."
     The doorbell rang, and Mrs Wragg entered the shop.  "So this is where you're hiding young lady."  Her thunderous voice echoed in the shop, even the puppets were rattled.  "What do you mean, running off like that?"
     "I'm sorry."  Melissa said sadly.
     "I should think so."  Mrs Wragg's voice was deep, and it didn't match her fair looking face.  "What did you have you eyes on, then?"
     Melissa returned to Mrs Bird, and picked the smallest doll and brought forward.
     "Would you like to have it?"
     "Yes please."
     Mrs Wragg's face, brightened up so quickly and her personality had changed so much, Frederick and the Birds couldn't believe that she was the same person who entered the shop less than five minutes ago.
     "Do come again."  The three called as the visitors.
     "I hope so."  Melissa called back as the doorbell announced her departure.
     "Oh we're sure you will."  The Birds nodded.

     She will, but that's another story...

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece, and that you found it enjoyable for the time of the year.  Merry Christmas.

The Man on the Corner - A Poem of the Homeless

Today, it is estimated that nearly 3,600 people are homeless in England alone.  The Labour says that they can remove homelessness wishing 5 years if voted into Westminster.  But there many reasons for homelessness:

• No job (some may have a job, but no place no place to stay)
• Disabled 
• Unaffordable houses 
• Drug problems
• Abandoned 
• On the run 

The list is endless, I have no doubt.

I was inspired to write this poem by seeing a homeless sitting on the corner of the street junction of the B861 and Church Street in Inverness, beneath a clock tower.  This poem is for the homeless.

There he is
     The lonely man
Is he standing?
     No, he sits there
Does he sit straight?
     No, he sits bent-double
How does he sit?
     He sits with his legs crossed
He wears clothes like us
     But he can't afford clothes new
All he might afford
     Is meals small from McDonald's
As he watches the opposite restaurant
     While its visitors delight themselves with meals extra large
Does he have deformed?
     None that can be shown to our eyes
What does he drink?
     Drink? ye ask me. What drink?
From the cup before him?
     Oh that is no drink he possesses
Then what?
     A place for coins
What coins?
     From passer-bys like us
We take loose change out
     That choke up our wallets or purses
To drop into his cup
     While we will sport with tener notes later
Sometimes a coin
     Can be joined by rarest notes
Does he speck?
      Very rarely
Where does he speck?
      Where do you speck?
What speech does he give?
      One of gratefulness to those like me
All I hear when I drop a coin
      Is a grateful "Thank you kind sir."
That is all
      That I hear
But I'm sure he specks
     When he asks for few offered comforts
When does he sit?
     Any time of his liking
All weathers?
     Hot shine or rain cold
Is he moved?
     I don't see it, but I imagine by force
Why do you tell me?
     What time of year is it?
Christmas, of course, so?
     It's a time of giving and charity
What can be done for him?
     Open your heart and empty your wallet or purse
What's his story?
     Sadly one of too many, take a pick
Know what I was for Christmas?
     You want the latest Xbox game, don't you?
What do you want for Christmas?
     I'd like a family Christmas for me
What he'd want for Christmas?
     Charity to begin with, then a good home
Who'd give him that?
     Those who'd give more than given
What's his shelter from night cold?
     His shelter is his coat and anywhere he wonders
Is there any hope for him?
     If you're willing to give hope
And if ask me
     It would be his favourite Christmas present this year

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece and that you will help spread Christmas joy to the homeless this Christmas.  Merry Christmas.

The Night's White Sun

Last night, there was a bright full moon above my home, so I went with my camera and took a few photos.  I was then struck to write this poem.  I hope that you will enjoy this poem here.

It is prefect round
     It is shining bright high
She can shone any time
     She can shine day or night
Oh look at her
     She hand high tonight
Oh look at her
     She hangs about alone
Oh look at her
     The night sky is clear
Oh look at her
     Quick! Quick! grab the camera
Quick fumble of camera bag
     Quick! before the clouds win race
Oh look at her
     Despite shadow clouds, she shines
Oh the waiting
     Get the setting sun
Oh the waiting
     Get a couple of evening stars
Oh the wonder
     Which is Sirius or Venus?
Oh look at her
     Quick! she's clear now. Quick!
The clouds glow shorty
     But her face shines features old
Despite the December air
     Gloves are useless with camera mine
Zoom close as possible
     While another zooms closer
Oh look at her
     Snapshots to remember her by
Gained cold fingers I did
     But the few snapshots are my rewards

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  Merry Christmas!

James's Surprise

I wrote for the writing class I go to at Eden Court for homework under the theme Self Portrait and expanding on topic we discussed, character trees.  The idea of character tree is similar to a family tree, expect a character tree shows the relationship between the characters.  This scene is inspired from a scene from Doctor Who.

In this piece, James is a young man who witnessed a war in an area called the Wetlands and he has returned to find that what he hoped to return to isn't when he hoped for.  Eventually, he and some of his friends get kidnapped to a place run by a man called Farquhar, who calls himself a collector, and James and Doris are about to find out what one of Farquhar's collections is.

James and Doris entered the dark room.
     "Hello there."  Doris greeted the darkness.  Silence.  "We're here to help you."  Still silence.  "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves.  My name is Doris."
     "And mine is James."  James finished the introductions.
     "James?" The darkness spoke.
     Doris loked at James, his face had gone deadly white, his jaw dropped, as if a spring holding it shut had snapped, and his eyes were as big as golf balls.
     "It can't be."  He rasped.
     "James Pike?" The darkness demanded.
     A light flashed on, flooding the room with the scene of a scarred man in a hospital bed.  His eyes fixed on James's eyes.
     "It can't be."  James's rasped voice repeated.
     "You know him?" Doris asked.
     "Of course we know each other."  The man sat up, revealing an iron ring round his right wrist.  "We first met during the latest Wetlands War."
     "But you were dead," James shook his head.  He sounded stronger seeing the man chained to hie bed.  "I saw you fall into the water when your ship exploded."
     "I swam."
     "You are just like your Order's self portrait, willing to kill to conquer, but a coward at heart, equally willing to abandon your loyal followers to their deaths while you flee."
     "Spoken like a warrior."  The man spoke.
     "You said that you were a bystander."  Doris spoke.
     "Did he?" The man asked, "now who has a false self portrait, lieutenant?"
     "Lieutenant?"
     "Of course my dear lady.  He was an officer of those inferno blockade runners."
     "And a good thing too."  James's voice was very changed.  There was no hint of fear, but the sense of reserved strength bursting from a breached dam.  It caught Doris by surprise.  "You Imperialists were stopping trade routes and much needed supplies to keep the islands alive.  I admit it, I was a blockade runner officer, and I'm glad of it.  I was there when I saw your whole order sink in that final battle and I was glad to see the end of it.  Now, I am going to finish it!"
     And with that sentence off his chest, James lunged his hands onto the scarred man's throat and pressed hard.  Doris watched on in horror as the man's legs kicked air under the blankets, hi left hand-less arm struck James's side and as James beard gritted teeth, his eyes burning red and his hands' grip pressed tighter and tighter.

I've hope that you've enjoyed this piece and that I will expand on it, revealing more of James's role in the Wetlands War, more of the mentioned blockade runners, and what the affects the war has left behind.

Sunshine Rain

I thought of this while I was out walking.  Here in Inverness, it was frosty and foggy this morning, but as the sun got higher and the mist cleared, I heard the frost melt on a couple of tall trees I walked by (I took the path round them to avoid being rained on).  I hope that you will enjoy this small piece.

Grey, grey the sky looks
     November mist has descended upon us
Light grey, light grey you see
     The sun is beginning to shine later
White, white your eyes see
     Another nightly visit of Jack Frost
Bluer, bluer the sky clears
     The sun prevails over the mist
Crush, crush of your feet
     Where you step onto white
Slip, slip of your feet
     Where you step onto non-white
Shine, shine of the sun
     Shining up above you
Shine, shine of the sun
     Shining off the road before you
Shine, shine of the sun
     Shining into your eyes
Redder, redder the sky becomes
     Approaching Shepherds' Delight of the day
Redder, redder the sky glows
     Another ending of growing shorter days
Darker, darker the sky grows
     Chance to see the stars watching from above

Pat, pat I hear while walking
     Thus comes my inspiration I present here
Pat, pat your ears can hear
     You look for the non-existent rain
Pat, pat you listen hard
     Your eyes scan the clear blue above
Pat, pat you hear to see
     You see the trees' drops follow Newton's laws
Pat, pat you smile at Nature's sight
     You listen to the trees' Sunshine Rain

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece.  Happy St. Andrews' Day on Wednesday.

20th Writing Blog - Jack London - An Unmentioned Author

This year, we've been talking about Shakespeare (who died four hundred years ago) and Roald Dahl (who was born a hundred years ago).  But I'd like to bring forward an author who seems to have been forgotten; the American author Jack London.

Born in San Francisco, California, on the 12th of January 1876 (a hundred and forty years ago), London was born under the name of John Griffith Chaney, before he then took his stepfather's surname, London, to become Jack London. London lived life to the full.  He grew up in Oakland where he worked hard for a living, when he was ten he sold newspapers on the city streets.  At thirteen, he was working an eighteen hour day in a cannery.  Coming from a poor working-class family seemed to encourage young London to succeed.  despite little formal education, London learnt from books from the Oakland Public Library.  He eventually studied at the University of California, but due to costs, had to drop out.

In 1897, at the age of 21, London travelled to Canada in the wake of the Klondike Gold Rush.  Sadly, like many others on the Gold Rush, he didn't make much money.  However, he returned to California with ideas that would form the basis of the two novels, The Call of the Wild (1903) and White Fang (1905).  Jack London wrote over fifty other novels like The Sea-Wolf (1904) and The Iron Heel (1908).  I have read that London's works have been translated into more than fifty languages across the world.

In the novels The Call of the Wild and White Fang, the story follows the trails of a cross-breed dog, Buck and White Fang respectively.  Both dogs pass through a line of owners, some good and some bad.  Buck works with the sled dogs, pulling the mail, after being stolen and sold from his owners in California, before his last owner is killed by the Native Americans ("Indians" as they're called in London's novels) and finds a place with a wild wolf pack.  White Fang is almost the same, but in reverse.  He was born in the wild and grows up learning the laws of the wild, before found by a Native American called Grey Beaver, who then sold White Fang to a man called "Beauty" Smith, who was anything but pretty and uses White Fang in the now illegal dog fighting rings till a Californian man called Weedon Scott rescues White Fang from a near-deadly fight and allows White Fang to travel with him back to California, where he earns the respect of Scott's family after alerting the family when Scott was injured and when an escaped murderer breaks into the family house and nearly dies from the resulting fight.

Jack London married twice.  He married his first wife, Bess Maddern in 1900 and together they had two daughters, Joan and Bess, before they separated in 1903.  London married his second wife, Charmian Kittredge, in 1905.

In 1904, Jack London travelled to Japan as a war correspondent to cover the Russo-Japanese War of 1904.  While there and in Asia, London was arrested at least three times.

For the rest of his life, Jack London supported many causes, like the women's suffrage and animal activism (the stories The Call of the Wild and White Fang are mostly from the dogs point-of-view).  Sadly, London spent most of his money on his friends and drinking, and suffered many illnesses.

Jack London died on the 22nd of November 1916 in Glen Ellen in California, mostly likely from kidney disease.  He was forty years old.

I hope that Jack London's books and stories will still capture our imagination as they first did upon their publication.  I hope that you may find one of his stories, read and enjoy them for years to come.

Thank you again Jack London.

Wendy's Squeaking Follower

I came up with piece just this week.  In this piece, a young lady walks through town, thinking that it'll be a normal day in town.  That is, until she hears of familiar squeaking that hints that somebody it following her.  I hope that you will enjoy this piece.

Wendy loved coming to tower on a Friday afternoon.  It is here where she meets up with her friends after working hours and they go off to night clubs, where they love have a party.
     Wendy hopped off the bus into town with delight.  Just half an hour before she was due to meet up with friends at the G4 Club.  As she rounded a corner that approached a retail building's front door, it was here that she first heard the sound.
     Squeak, squeak, squeak.
     There was something odd about the squeaks.  There was a gap big enough for a step to happen.  It was as if the walker had a new pair of shoes, but one of them was still squeaking.  Thinking that it was somebody in passing, Wendy took no notice as she stopped and peeked into a shop window.
     But then, the squeaking returned and passed on.  Wendy thought maybe the walker remembered something he forgot and was going to back for it.
     Wendy then proceed to enter the retail building and walked to the coffee shop for a cup of coffee.  As she exited the coffee, feeling refreshed, and started walking past the other shop windows, she heard it again.
     Squeak, squeak, squeak.
     Is somebody following me? Wendy asked herself, the first hint of nerves starting to sink in.
     Hoping that she wasn't showing her fear, she stopped and pretended to look at something nice in a shop window beside her, but started to focus on the reflections on the glass.  The whole hall was full of people, but one had his eyes on her.
     He was about thirty years of age, strong build, hands deep in his coat pockets and every time he stepped forward, his left leg limped and his ankle gave the faint squeak.  His dark eyes was hidden in shadow.  And beside his leg, was a large dog, that was more like a wolf than anything else.
     Wendy pretended to stop looking at the object in the window and walked into the shop, aware of the squeaking that announce that the man had entered the shop a few feet behind.  She could feel his eyes upon her.  Knowing the shop's layout, Wendy quickly double backed and out of the shop and up a flight of stairs and into another shop.  She reached the middle of the shop, she sighed in relief.
     Squeak, squeak, squeak.
     He's still following? Wendy asked herself, He can't walk that fast.  She hid round a tall shelf.
     Her heart was racing now as she waited for the man to pass.  But the squeaking stopped.
     At least a minute past, but nothing.
     Softly, she looked around the shelf.  The man was standing in the doorway, his shadow casted eyes  fixed on her as she quickly dodged back round the shelf.
     She knew that this shop had no other door than the one being guarded by the man and his dog.
     Squeak, squeak, squeak.
     She turned her head and saw the man looming over her.  Her heart's rate rocketed as fear drowned her heart.
     "Wendy?" The man asked.
     She nodded.  He produced a purse from his coat pocket.
     "You dropped your purse on the bus."
     She felt her pockets and found her purse gone.  She took the purse from his hand and saw that it was her purse.  Relief washed over her.
     "I was trying to return it, but my blasted left leg made me slower than I used to be.  Are you Jess Ennis-Hill's long-lost cousin?"
     "Thank you so much."  She laughed with a smile.
     "You're very welcome."  Said the man, with a nod of his head, his eyes flashing brightly.  "Sorry if I scared you.  Have a nice day."  And with that, the man and his dog walked out of the shop.

"And you don't know his name?" Julia asked Wendy over the noise of the club's music.  The "party" was in full flow.
     "He left before I could ask."  Wendy shook her head.
     "Was he handsome?" Mary asked.
     "Dashingly yes."
     "Shame you don't have his number."  Julia said.
     "I'll get more drinks."  Wendy spoke up and went to the bar, hoping to delay anymore questions for later.
     As she waited for the refreshments, she heard a familiar sound.  Squeak, squeak, squeak.
     Wendy smiled.

I hope that you've enjoyed this small piece.

The Time from the Train Drivers' Watches and the Station Clock

While I creating the previous post, I discovered another short piece I wrote not long before it.  I thought you might enjoy this piece.

In this piece, two train drivers, Chris and Danny, are asked by a small boy what the time is.

"What's the time?" Chris asked Danny, his pocket watch in his hand.
     Danny stepped into the cab doorway of Neil the steam engine, taking out his pocket watch, and looked at it.
     "Quarter to twelve."
     "That's what my watch says too."
     "Why ask?" Danny asked.
     "This laddie here has pointed out that the station clock says ten to twelve."
     "That means that your watches are slow."  The boy said in a cheeky manner.
     "Pardon?" Chris asked, looking scorn now.
     "I said, 'That means that your watches are slow.'"
     Chris and Danny looked at each other then at the boy.
     "We beg your pardon my young man," Danny nodded his head, "but our watches are correct."
     "No they're not."
     "Yes they are."
     "No they're not."
     "Yes they are so."  Chris mimicked the boy's voice, but failed on the accent level.
     "What's going on here?" A man, in a posh suit and coat, appeared through a gathering crowd.
     "Nothing sir."  Chris replied, "Just this young man says our watches are slow compared to the clock."
     "Their watches are slow Father," the boy shouted, "their watches say quarter to, the clock says ten to."
     "Father?" Chris and Danny asked, surprised, as the man looked at the clock, then his watch, the clock again and corrected his watch.
     "Good eyes my son."  The man patted his son's head.  "I'll get you a watch.  I've got a friend who owns a watch factory."
     "We've got a friend in a watch factory."  Chris spoke.
     "Really?" Asked the man, "What does he do?"
     "He sits about and makes faces."
     Everyone about who heard laughed at the joke, apart from the man and his son, their faces red.
     "What's going on here?" Asked the Station Master as he appeared at the front of the train, fighting his laughs.
     The man pointed at Chris and Danny.  "These two men say that their watches are correct and my son is wrong and spits out bad jokes to my social standing."
     "How are their watches wrong?" The Station Master asked.
     "How are our watches wrong?" Chris and Danny asked together.
     "Their watches are five minutes slow behind you stations clock."  The boy's father folded his arms with price, so did his son, both smirking.
     "Oh that old clock."  The Station Master smiled.  "That old clock hasn't worked in twenty years."
     "Son, get on the train, NOW!"
     "I think somebody just lost their chance for a watch."  Chris whispered to Danny, both grinning, watching the boy walk slowly embossed with a fuming father following behind in front of a laughing crowd, reconnecting his watch.  The two train drivers looked at their watches, twenty four seconds past ten to twelve.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece and I hope to expand this piece later in the future.  I have already be working on Chris and Danny the steam train drivers.

A Short Horror Story

I wrote this piece back in March, I thought you might like to read it.

Douglas closed the front door after giving sweets to the trick-or-treating children, sighing.  He wasn't so keen on Halloween at all.  All the fancy dressing up as ghosts, witches, zombies, mummies, princesses, werewolves and Harley Quinn and anything related to Halloween possible.  But Douglas was glad that all this happens once a year.
     Scarlett was in the kitchen, pouring out tomato juice, waring a thick dark scarf and black dress.  Douglas placed the sweet bowl down on the bench as he looked for more sweets.
    "A good night for the kids?" Scarlett asked as her husband reappeared with the sweets bag.
    "Oh yes.  But I'll be glad to see the end of Halloween this year."
    "Oh come on, it's one night of the whole year."
    "Well, I'm sure that Halloween will be the death of me."  Douglas shrugged off his wife's remark.
    Scarlett walked to the window and looked out to the full moon, her skin shinning brighter, catching Douglas's eye.
    "Are you alright?" He asked.
    Scarlett looked at him.  "Of course I am."
    "You've looked pale these couple of days."
    "I'm fine."  Scarlett shrugged off her husband's remark.
    "Perhaps you should see somebody."  Douglas remarked.
    "I already have."
    "And?"
    "Never better."  Scarlett answered.
    The door bell rang.
    "Another trick-or-treat."  Douglas sighed, picking the sweets bowl up before answering the door.
    The visitor towered Douglas by a full head.  His dark cape matched it's wearer's smooth dark hair above his emotionless thin face, his eyes fixed on Douglas.
    "I have nothing but treats."  Douglas greeted the stranger.
    "I'm sure you do."  The stranger answered with a nod.
    It was then that Douglas looked one of his missing mirrors behind the stranger, but as Douglas looked into it, she saw...only himself.  The stranger wasn't in it.  As if the stranger knew from Douglas's face of confusion, she smiled, bearing his fangs.
    Without a second thought, Douglas slammed the door closed, dropping the sweet bowl, his face sweating n horror.
    "What's the matter my dear?" Scarlett asked as she appeared in the hallway, slowly approaching her husband.
    "There's a vampire outside."  Douglas answered.
    "It's Halloween."
    "A real vampire!"
    "Stop kidding."
    "I'm not kidding!" Douglas shook his head.  "I saw his fangs!"
    "Oh do settle down."  Scarlett reached her husband and they embraced.
    Douglas looked down the hallway past his wife and, in a mirror at the far end, he saw...himself embracing nothing but air.  He looked between the mirror and his wife's red hair for a second.  Then he grabbed and pulled her scarf off and found two red dots on her pale neck.  She leant back he head, smiled, bearing her fangs before she dived her mouth over his neck.
    Outside, the Count smiled as he heard screams of horror.

I hope that you've enjoyed this piece and Halloween this year.

Roald Dahl's Hundred Birthday

This year is the hundredth birthday of the children's book author, Roald Dahl.

Born on the 13th of September 1916, to Norwegian parents in Cardiff, Roald Dahl's early life did have some downs (such as the deaths of his older sister and father in 1920) and ups (such as the playing a trick on a shopkeeper by planting a mouse in a gobstopper jar).  In 1939, the Second World War broke out and Roald Dahl joined the RAF, fighting over Greece in early 1941.  After the War, Roald Dahl married Patricia Neal in 1953 an together had five children before their divorce in 1983.

But it is his writings that has made him more famous.  Books such as James and the Giant Peach, Fantiastic Mr Fox, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The BFG and Matilda have been a success and have been adapted into films (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory twice, the first with the late Gene Wilder and the second with Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka, and Disney has released Steven Spielberg's adaption of The BFG earlier this year) and stage plays.  Matilda the Musical won many Olivier awards when it first performed in 2010 including Best New Musical, Best Actor and Best Actress (one for each of the four girls who performed Matilda).

One short story I read involved a driver who picks up a hitchhiker on his way to the horse races, who encourages the driver to speed along the road on a dare when the driver (who narrates the story) tells of how fast the car can go, before being stopped by a policeman who takes notes, gives a ticket and lets them go.  The hitchhiker reveals that he's a "fingersmith" (another way of saying pocket-picker) and that he's got the policeman's notebook and the story ends with the hitchhiker suggesting that the amazed driver stops so they can get rid of the notebook.

Roald Dahl wrote film scripts for many films, such as Ian Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in 1967 and You Only Live Twice in 1968.

Roald Dahl sadly passed away on the 23rd of November 1990.

Roald Dahl will always be remembered for his children's books, all of whom filled with colourful character, (such as Willy Wonka, Charlie Bucket, Grandpa Joe, Matilda, Miss Trunchball, The BFG, Sophie and Mr Fox) funny plots and the many words Dahl made up.  I hope that his books will continue to entertain children around the world.

15th Writing Blog - Some of my ongoing projects

Hi all, I thought you might like to know what I've been doing. 


In one of my previous blogs, I managed a project that was personal to me - it is nearly completed (on my last chapter, then there will be the need to correct mistakes).  This story was inspired by my friendship with a good friend with an interest in trains.  I have set this story into a Christmas setting with a couple of Scrooges.  I hope to expand my work on the story. 


For the Battle of Svalbard, I'm hoping to expand the world a bit more and explore some the world's history with a few more characters, and try to fill in some of the history between them. 


For the Runcorn Organisation piece, I'm hoping to expand that too with a new team for Jaguar (who is called Kelly Jones), who will be renamed Lion, and I might bring a mysterious lady into the storyline who follows the team and has, for some reason, Jones's full trust. 


I hope to bring some pieces I've worked on so you can read it as soon as possible. 

Arkwrights and TDP

I'm hoping to start a new project someday soon which is set in space and involves a couple of characters by the name of Arkwright and another character known as TDP. 


The characters called Arkwright will be a human characters who travels through space, helping and saving all that is good in the galaxy on a spaceship called the Red Kite.  TDP will be an unknown character who's name and deeds is unknown, but I hope to slowly reveal more about the mysterious TDP and the relationship with the Arkwrights. 


I drew my inspiration of TDP from the final scene in the finale of the seventh series of Doctor Who. 


I hope to whip something up for you to have a read soon. 


Happy readings. 

New Update on The Battle of Svalbard

I know that it's been a while since my last blog, but I have been busy with this story and other projects (one of them had personal reasons and connections). 


So far, I have rebooted the start of the story and have past the point when HMS Steel is sunk in battle.  I have done some further research into the era the story is based on and have started keeping my notes closer together in hope that I might expand the story, and hint of future stories featuring Captain Theodore Nelson. 


I hope to update you as the story comes along and get the story finished before long.  I even hope to continue my writing blog with other pieces as best I can.