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DarthDimi
Behind you!Moderator
We all have our interests and expertise, and even in times of lockdown and whatnot, brainfood is important. This forum prides itself in its many members who know stuff, who write like professional authors and who are not too shy to share thoughts and content with us all.
This thread is an experiment. If it doesn't work, I'll bury it myself. But now, perhaps more than ever, we can use "good stuff" to keep us distracted. So write whatever you have to share, make your posts as lengthy as you want them to be. Essays, fan fic and dissertations of any kind, in any field of interest, are welcome! Thanks in advance for sharing. :)
This thread is an experiment. If it doesn't work, I'll bury it myself. But now, perhaps more than ever, we can use "good stuff" to keep us distracted. So write whatever you have to share, make your posts as lengthy as you want them to be. Essays, fan fic and dissertations of any kind, in any field of interest, are welcome! Thanks in advance for sharing. :)
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The steam rose from the cup in a swirl. The man lifted the cup of morning fuel as he called it. He sniffed the aroma coming from the cup and let out a contented sigh. Damn it still made him so happy to have his cup of coffee.
The man was dressed casually in a light green top and beige pants. He didn't really stand out, except for his blandness. He was retired now and enjoying this new routine that he had settled into. Every day it included a lengthy stop at this café. His table was always empty when he came in.
The man didn't have TV or Internet at home. In fact he eschewed all gadgets and technology. His two kids would hound him. Their refrain was predictable.
"But Dad how are we supposed to reach you if we need you?"
"As Bell used to say why don't you reach out and touch someone. Call me on my phone." Then they would say why didn't he let them buy him a cell phone. He didn't want to feel controlled by a device.
The man had seen the way it controlled his kids and even his grand kids. Visits with them became nothing more then him talking and their looking at their screens. For the first few times he would say something, then he would give up. At least they came for visits. The man was convinced if he had a cell phone he would never see any of his family. After all they would share their lives through Facebook.
The man smiled. Facebook? Who had come up with that name. He chuckled, the guy was probably rich and here he was a retired teacher barely scrapping by. The man pulled out his frayed note book and his pencil. He scribbled a note on a fresh page. He was writing a note to stop by the library and research who started Facebook. Cause for all his indifference to technology, the man had a thirst for knowledge.
The man looked up and caught the eye of the barista. He smiled, she was his favourite. Always a warm smile and a friendly wave when he entered. Even remembered his name and not only that but the name of his kids.
"Hey Bill! How's the morning fuel today?" Her voice was full of energy. You couldn't help but smile when Julie spoke to you.
"It's fuelling me up today! I've got some research at the library today." Bill motioned to his notebook. The pages looked well worn. Julie wondered how and what Bill researched. She had noticed that the man didn't have a phone and never came with a laptop. She guessed that he was old school and probably went to a library to research. Julie pulled her phone out of her pocket and scanned to see if anything was going on today.
Bill frowned. Even Julie was a slave to the device. The power of technology, it could even take a positive bolt of energy like Julie and reduce her to a zombie.
"What time are you off work today?" Bill thought he would try to engage her and break her free.
Silence from Julie. She was intently staring at the screen in front of her. The light in her eyes had gone out.
Bill thought he could shock her out of her state. "I'm thinking of robbing a bank today."
"Oh that sounds nice." Julie was still scanning her phone.
Bill managed to chuckle. This was exhibit A why he didn't want a phone. He was a person not a zombie. He'd seen it time and time again. He shook his head and looked around the café. Yes the coffee was good and the service great. But he came here for another reason. No not here yet. Bill felt himself starting to get anxious. He glanced at his Timex watch. It was still too early. He scanned the café.
The young man had some sort of device attached to his ear. He was talking loudly and excitedly. Bill was amazed that the younger man would have a phone conversation in such a public space. Not that he minded at all. In fact, sometimes this sort of thing became his entertainment. Bill turned his attention back to the man and the phone conversation.
"I told him straight out. I wasn't about to lower my price. You either afford me or you can't." The young mans voice was confident and very assured. "Oh hold on a sec I got another call coming in." The man glanced at his phone. "It's okay it's just my wife calling. Probably wants to nag me about something."
Bill wished his wife was still around to nag him. He had lost her a number of years ago. Bill would now give just about anything to hear her nag him. Nag, such a terrible word. He would never say his wife nagged him. Their love was the great achievement in his life. They had raised 2 wonderful kids and had been married for over 40 years. Marie was the rock of the family and losing her had been tough. A tear formed and Bill sniffed.
"Now Jeanie! That's a fine lady there." The young man's phone call brought Bill back from his memory of Marie. "Listen bud if I wanted to I could have her. I just choose not to." The nerve of this guy. Bill looked around to see if anyone else was listening. All others in the café were either engaged in a laptop or had ear phones on. Doesn't anyone like the music here?
Bill perked up his ears. Nat King Cole was telling everyone to "Straighten Up and Fly Right". Bill grinned and thought old Nat was singing to this young buck, who not only thought his wife a nag, but also entertained cheating on her.
The door to the café opened again and in walked the reason he came to this café. An elderly lady with a younger woman. The elderly lady's face carried a smile and she was talking excitedly to the younger lady. Bill's face lit up and he started to make sure the crumbs from his muffin were cleaned from his lips. Yes, his day had just been made again. Bill watched as the two newcomers got their drinks and a plated cinnamon bun. The young lady looked over to Bill's table.
"Hi Bill, can we join you?" although it was phrased as a question it was more a statement.
"I never say no to a couple of pretty ladies." The older lady laughed. Bill lived to hear that laugh. It was such a warm and contagious laugh.
The two took their seats.
"How are you today Bill?" It was always the same question to start the conversation.
"I'm doing much better now Marie." Bill was so grateful that Marie was allowed a morning visit to the café. Bill would go to the facility where Marie now lived but it was sometimes not a good time to see her. She was under good care but at the café Marie seemed to come alive. This same café was where her and Bill had come every Sunday morning. Bill with the Sunday New York Times, Marie with a good fiction book.
His mind wandered back to that terrible time. They were getting ready to head out to the café. Marie had started to have difficulty remembering basic things. Bill was now packing the book she was reading as their last visit she had brought a book she had already read. Then she had started to forget Julie's name and even one time claimed to not have remembered the café itself. Though they'd been coming for years. Then that one day when an innocent question had brought darkness to their lives.
"What time is it Marie my damn watch has stopped." Bill was taking off the Timex and getting ready to wind it up. "Marie, I asked what time is it?" Still no answer. Bill went to the kitchen and saw Marie standing there staring at the clock tears going down her face.
"I don't know. I don't know what time it is." Marie's voice was timid and wavered.
"Stop fooling around Marie. This isn't funny." Bill knew that Marie loved playing jokes on him.
Marie stormed out of the kitchen and Bill was left to wonder what was wrong.
Bill snapped out of the past to look at Marie sitting in front of him. He smiled and took in her beauty. On the outside she looked just as beautiful as the day they said "I do". She was radiant. On the inside Marie had lost most of the memories of Bill, their kids and their life together. Bill often wondered if Marie even knew how old she was.
"Will you be seeing your children this weekend?" Marie always remembered that Bill had kids, just not that those kids were hers as well.
"Yes, looks like both are coming out to see me. Even the grand kids are coming."
Marie just smiled.
"What have you been doing Marie?"
"Well, today I was happy when..."Marie paused and looked over at the young girl. "I'm sorry my dear I seem to have forgotten your name."
"Don't be sorry Marie. My name is Cathy."
"Well, today Cathy told me we were coming to the café and the first question I asked was if you were going to be here. I don't know if I have told you this before Bill but I always feel like I have known you for so long."
Bill's heart swelled and broke at the same time. He was glad that she felt comfortable and happy to see him. It broke his heart cause the love they once shared was gone. Not that Bill stopped loving Marie, that just wasn't possible. No their love had stopped the fateful day that Marie couldn't tell time.
Bill always thought their love was till death do them part. He held on to those memories, both good and bad. He made another note in his book. Bill had been writing their memoir. It was a tale over 40 years in the making. He had been struggling to come up with an appropriate title. He had just been struck by the perfect title.
Bill wrote one word on the page...Timeless.
Here's something I wrote recently for Hush-Kit, an aviation website, about aeroplanes in art:
https://hushkit.net/2020/03/19/fighters-in-frame-how-art-fell-in-love-with-the-aeroplane/
What a really interesting post on how aircraft have been depicted over the course of history. I loved the WW1 poster!
thanks for sharing that!
Me? Well I created a character and placed him in the murky world of WW2 espionage, around the time when a young James Bond was shooting the Japanese cypher expert at the Rockefeller Centre.
Although my man - Harry Flynn - is about as far removed from Bond as you can get, at least under the surface. He belongs to an assassination and sabotage bureau called Department Seven which was set up on the order of Winston Churchill.
From the book 'An Ungentlemanly Act':
"Department Seven's brief was simple; to assemble a team of men who were capable of carrying out extreme acts of violence under the most challenging of circumstances. In Churchill's own words "Dangerous operations are best undertaken by dangerous men so I want cut-throats and brigands of the most bloodthirsty kind who will strike at the black heart of the beast, butchering the Nazis and their allies wherever they rear their ugly heads with no thought for compassion or quarter."
'Churchill's own words' are of course mine.
This is the part where Flynn is introduced to the reader. Apart from being a very dangerous man, he's also a 'little tinker' when it comes to the ladies.
Harry Flynn regarded himself in the mirror as he considered that last evening’s events then smiled knowingly from beneath the thick white beard. With a few decisive strokes of the razor, the shaving foam was gone. Rinsing his face before patting it dry with the hand towel, he turned and padded barefoot from the bathroom.
She was still in bed, face down and naked, sleeping the sleep of the dead. Flynn gently pulled back the covers to reveal what lay beneath then bent to kiss the base of her spine. Working his way slowly up, he brushed aside the long black hair and set to work on her neck. She was awake now and groaned softly as he nuzzled her ear. She turned to lie on her back and Flynn felt her arms about his bare shoulders.
“Darling.” She sighed as their lips met. Tentative at first, the kisses became more intense as she ran her hands along his back. Flynn pulled away the bath towel to reveal his own nakedness and slid sideways into bed.
Could be that the software doesn't allow it. Can you edit manually?
Sadly I'm teetotal but I know it seemed to work for Ian Fleming and Kingsley Amis. Maybe hard drugs are the answer instead? ;)
I have a friend who similarly is finding it difficult to get any creative work out (and I am as well)... he wants to make a newsletter and I really want him to do it; we've toyed with the idea of carving out very specific time throughout the week dedicated solely to creative efforts but even scheduling that out is difficult. He's also about to have a baby which will of course inevitably make things even more complicated.
It's a hard game, I find it enjoyable and frustrating in equal measure (but I'm speaking about the process of writing fiction). I must say I've always enjoyed reading your articles as they are well measured, thought provoking and professionally presented.
Please note: There's an issue with creating paragraph indents. I hope it doesn't detract too much.
If you have further questions after reading the file I shall endeavour to answer them.”
“Thank you, sir.” Replied Flynn as he got to his feet. As he turned to leave he got his first glimpse of Miss Golightly.
He didn’t know what to expect from the Colonel’s secretary, but he certainly didn’t expect this.
She was tall, with flowing blonde hair set in the latest fashion. Her hair framed her impeccably made up face before cascading in soft curls about her shoulders. The prim black crepe twin set was decorated by an expensive looking gold necklace and matching brooch, while the cut of cloth barely hid the subtlety of her curves.
Flynn enthusiastically followed on behind as she turned to lead him along the hallway towards the foot of the staircase.
“Miss Golightly.” Flynn opened. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Veronica Lake?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact they have.” She replied indifferently as she ascended the wooden stairs to the first floor landing.
Flynn remained in hot pursuit and could not tear his eyes away from her flanks as they moved hypnotically beneath the skirt.
“Tell me.” He continued. “What do people call you, other than Miss Golightly? I mean, it’s rather formal to address you as Miss when I rather fancy you have a lovely Christian name.”
“They usually call me Ma’am or Second Officer. Take your pick.”
“Ah, a Wren eh? Splendid. I’m army myself.” Flynn enthused as they reached the landing and he followed her along the corridor
“Are you indeed, Mister Kelly?” She replied flatly.
“Please, call me Sean.” He let his words hang unfinished, waiting for her to pick them up, however, she failed to return the ball.
“Here’s your room, Mister Kelly.” She said, pointing to the last door on the right. She handed him the file and, looking him square in the eye, said.
“Please study this carefully and return it to me in its entirety once you have finished. No notes or such are to be copied from it and no entries made on it.”
Flynn held her gaze, looking deep into the vivid blue eyes.
“I’d like to read this outside. Do you have anywhere I can sit?”
“Yes.” Replied Golightly. “There’s a terrace at the rear of the villa.”
“Good.” smiled Flynn. “Could you also see to it that my bag is brought up? It’s in the boot of my car.” She nodded in reply before walking away. Flynn watched her retreat, delighting in the way she moved and all the while hoping for the unspoken sign which would tell him what he needed to know.
As Golightly got to the head of the stairs, she stopped and turned to look back at him. Their eyes met again and the growing smile on Flynn’s face was reciprocated for a fleeting moment before she was gone.
And Later, during another encounter
After checking all points Flynn climbed carefully out of the window, his fingers feeling among the flowers of the shrub covered trellis until they found a hand hold. He then swung himself away from the ledge to begin his decent.
Once on the ground, while staying close to the wall, quickly but silently he made his way around the corner and across the terrace then forwards into the deep shadow offered by a large ornamental bush. There he waited expectantly at the crouch for a couple of minutes or so.
Soon - as Flynn expected - the dog and its handler hove into view. They were about forty yards away, moving from left to right across his field of view. The beast was working off the long leash and had its head in and out of the undergrowth at the base of the perimeter wall as it sniffed its way along the edge of the lawn. The handler looked alert and had a Sten gun dangling from a sling over his right shoulder.
The regiment of crickets providing the background music to the scene were in fine voice, chirping loudly enough to disguise extraneous noises even from the sensitive ears of the slobbering hound.
Flynn remained perfectly still until he lost sight of the dog team as they passed behind the Nissan huts. Just to be sure, he waited a few seconds more before sprinting low and fast the fifteen yards to the target building.
His casual questioning earlier had also allowed him to identify Miss Golightly’s apartment and, hugging the building for cover, he trod quietly along the cinder path to the farthest door.
The windows were shuttered, but the light and sound of a wireless peculated from within. Drawing breath, Flynn rapped softly on the door.
“Yes?” The chocolate smooth voice that was unmistakably Golightly’s spoke out from behind.
“It’s me,” Flynn said, sticking to his cover name “Sean.”
He heard the click of the latch and the door opened just enough to allow her face to appear.
“What on earth?” She said.
“Please let me in” Flynn continued “before I get eaten by that damned dog.”
She stood aside and swung the door ajar, Flynn needed no further invitation and he was inside, closing the door behind him.
“Ava” Flynn said, knowing her Christian name after hearing it during the formal introductions at dinner. “I just had to come.”
She had changed into a white silk dressing gown which was low cut at the cleavage and tight in all the right places. She seemed unperturbed enough by Flynn’s presence not to care about her immodesty.
“Don’t you know that had the guards seen you, you probably would have been shot?” She said testily.
“I didn’t realise they were under orders to kill anyone who tried to come knocking at your door after dark.” He replied, gently ribbing.
“You know full well what I mean. They would have taken you for an enemy.” She snapped.
“Oh.” Flynn smiled. “I’m anything but. I can assure you my intentions are friendly”
“Though not honourable.” Ava retorted.
“That, my dear, is a matter for speculation.” Flynn said. “I’m going away tomorrow. You know a little of what I am about to face, so is it a crime to want to spend a little time enjoying the company of a beautiful lady?”
“It all depends upon your definition of ‘spending time’.” Golightly crossed to the corner and opened a small drinks cabinet. Flynn watched her all the way. She produced a bottle of Glendronach and two glasses.
“A drink?” She purred.
“Yes please.” Flynn replied. “I must say you have impeccable taste in whisky.”
He watched her pour two generous measures.
“I don’t have any ice, I’m afraid. Would you like soda?”
“No. Thank you.”
She picked up both glasses and held one out to Flynn, forcing him towards her. Flynn obliged, taking the glass and a long pull from it.
Golightly regarded him as she sipped her own drink.
“Are you afraid?” she said softly, momentarily shedding some of her defences.
“No.” Flynn replied, his expression deadpan. “I have been alone with a woman before.”
“Damn you!” She said. “You know very well what I mean. Afraid about your mission.”
“Apprehensive perhaps. No use being afraid because once you let fear get hold of you, you’re finished.”
“I’ve seen the file.” Golightly continued, her voice etched with concern. “I know who you are going up against and they sound incredibly dangerous. We’ve lost two of our men to them already.”
Gently she put her hand over Flynn’s.
“Please promise me you’ll be careful.”
“That’s the one thing I can’t do.” Flynn said truthfully.
He laid his empty glass onto the cabinet and gently relieved Golightly of her own, setting it down beside his. He gently stroked her face, tracing a line from her cheekbone to her chin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, exposing her neck in invitation. Flynn bent forwards and kissed her. She responded, reaching up to put her arms around him. Flynn’s hands were in her hair before falling to her waist. Then, in one move, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
It is a hard game and I'm sure writing fiction is harder still as you're creating something basically out of nothing. I used to write stories with my own spy series character when I was a youngster but I find writing fiction too difficult now. I prefer non-fiction as there is at least something to quote and work with and the page before you doesn't seem so scarily blank as a result. As one of my old History lecturers (and mentors, really) said, "Writing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration." It's so true.
Thank you so much for your support and kind words about my blog over the years, @stag. You've always been very kind and positive feedback like that makes me want to keep on writing. Making content for an audience who will find my articles interesting is ultimately why I do it so it's always good to hear back from readers. I wish you all the best with your own fiction writing and hope it continues to do well for you.
Wish I had the time and energy to write like I used to. I still have so many different projects in the air, things I tried but didn't like how they were coming along and abandoned, or analyses/reviews that I just never got polished enough to want to share. That is the quagmire of the writer, though, constantly at odds with your own expectations.
Me? It was having my imagination fired by Enid Blyton books when I was a young boy. Reading them under the bedsheets by torchlight was the most magical experience. Every evening I was transported to some faraway land to 'participate' in some fantastic adventure.
Those books, and the others I subsequently read are still in my possession. Just holding them in my hands brings back so many fond memories.
It was then that I first began to write little stories of my own. As an adult my career and marriage meant that it was shoved to the back of my priority list. However, after I retired I slowly began to rekindle my passion for the black art of fiction writing which culminated in the work I've previously highlighted.
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't Fleming and Bond that really sparked an interest for me, especially the essay Fleming wrote that I posted in the Interviews with Fleming thread. It does just seem like a good way to live life if you can make it work... always open to your surroundings, its solitary work, and stories are so important and have such high intrinsic value I think. Of course, like everything else, I'm sure the reality of it isn't as romantic as the idea of it...
I wish I was a writer! I was an actor for awhile but I don't do much of that anymore, but I'm thinking about making films; might scratch that itch a little.
Here is one such piece, please be kind as this was a first draft!
The man stared at the thin stripe of white paper. His mouth crunched the fortune cookie.
"The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."
Maybe this would make more sense on a clear head. The man was in a fog.
He'd reluctantly agreed to be wined and dined by his client. The last of the fortune cookie was washed down with his third rum and coke. He pondered how he had ended up here. Doing the same job as his father. He resented his Dad for always being away.
"Sorry son, business calls" Such bullshit. What had it got his Dad? A pocket watch and a year of jams in the jam of the month club.
Now as he stumbled towards the hotel door he realized he was his father. Jesus, how had this happened. He glanced at his watch. At this very moment his son was dancing in the Nutcracker. "Sorry son, business calls" He hkated himself for saying it.
He needed to be the second mouse and get the cheese. Enough of chasing his Dad. It was time to start his own legacy and put family first. He texted his boss. "We need to talk" The man smiled, time to enjoy some cheese!