Short Story

Here is one of my latest stories. I wrote this recently for a specific magazine. I submitted it yesterday. I hope they accept and publish it. If so it will be my first officially published piece.

Let me know what you think of it.

MOVING ON

She adjusted her mascara, thickening the edges of her lashes, adding just a bit more body to them.

Putting down the brush, she stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. How long had it been since she’d made a sincere effort to look good? I knew that recently it had all seemed so pointless to her. There had been no one to look good for.

But it had been very different before. Years ago she’d always tried her best; when we were dating, and even during our marriage. But I had been too busy to truly notice her efforts; too busy with the bills, with work, and with endless other things – things which have absolutely no meaning at all now. I’d taken her for granted. I realise it now. I never told her how much she really meant to me. I’d always just assumed she knew. Surely she must have recognized that the reason I worked so hard was solely for her, to provide her with all that she could ever need and more; to give her a home she could be proud of; to let her reside in the security of knowing that her man was “taking care of things.” It was my way of proving my love.

How naïve and foolish I was. I hadn’t even noticed that instead of bringing her in closer I was driving her away. And now it was too late. Too late to tell her how I felt, too late to do the things that mattered, too late for anything. Everything had changed.

She had met Brian through mutual friends of theirs. They had struck up an instantaneous rapport, soon becoming fast friends and confidants. He was a recent widower and was looking to fill that void in his life. She too was vulnerable, also desperately seeking a stopper for the hole in her life – a hole through which it seemed her life was seeping, slipping away.

When I saw the way that they looked at each other I knew that there was more on the cards than just friendship. I was proven right when he had called her up asking for a date.

I could tell that she was nervous, apprehensive. She brushed her hair again. When she finished she looked down at her hand, at the ring I had bought her all those years ago. She toyed with it before slowly taking it off and placing it carefully in the jewellery box. Looking back into the mirror she sighed, “It’s not really cheating though, is it?”

The question was more rhetoric than anything else, an effort to convince herself rather than an actual search for an answer. But how would I have answered it anyway, even if I could? My chest tightened and the lump in my throat prevented any sort of response. Cheating? Oh Lord, no. How could it be? I knew that this date would make her happy. And even if I had wanted to stop her, I loved her too much to stand in the way of her happiness. Despite it all, I knew that she still loved me. That was why she was suffering so much. But that was exactly why she had to go tonight. No matter what, I knew that it was too late for us. And she had to move on. The only way I could make her happy now was to let her go.

Standing behind her I reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice and went back to rearranging her hair.

It’s so true, I thought, sometimes if you really love someone you have to set them free. We’re both trapped here by our feelings for each other; trapped by our need to ensure that each other is happy, even though we know that it could never work for us.

She stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror again. The tiny ghost of a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. I knew that there were doubts and uncertainties flashing through her mind. I knew that she was consumed by an inner conflict. Right now, at this moment, she would even be considering if it wasn’t too late to call Brian to cancel the whole thing altogether.

Yes, I thought, it is too late to cancel. He’s going to be here any minute to pick you up. But it’s not too late for you.

I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her that it was alright, that this was the right thing to do, that I was fine with it. But there was nothing I could do or say as I stood there helplessly. I knew that this was the hardest part; the first decision to move on. But I was sure that it would get easier after that.

I finally managed to find my voice, “This is your chance – our chance – to find real peace and happiness. Be smart and don’t let this one go begging.”

But my words were unheard, and just then the doorbell rang. She gave her hair one last flick and went downstairs to answer it.

I didn’t follow her down. I knew that the choice was hers and hers alone to make. And anyway, I couldn’t bear to watch her making it – no matter which path she decided to take. Would she break my heart by seeking comfort in another man’s arms, or would she condemn us both to endless misery by hanging on to something that couldn’t continue to be?

Looking back at that night I see that it turned out that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for. She did make her decision. She went out on that date and had a great time. Even though her relationship with Brian didn’t really develop into anything special, as I had hoped it would, it did give her the impetus to go on looking for something new.

And a few years later she found that something she’d been looking for. He was a very caring, loving man and looked after her very well.

But that first date was the important one. In fact it was the first time I’d seen her smile – really smile – since before the funeral.

But that was all years ago, and she’s happy now. She has a new life and is enjoying it. And I feel that I too, now that I know she’s doing well again, can move on – now it’s my turn.

But I still check up on her every once in a while. And I still love her and know that she loves me. How bitter-sweet it is that she’s finally laid me to rest so we can both live again.

Head in the Clouds?

I've wanted to be a writer since e'er I remember. It's been a dream of mine which I've longed to turn into a reality. It has always sounded to me like fascinating work, living off my creative juices and filling the world with my ideas and inspiration.

But whenever I told someone about what I wanted to do I always seemed to get the same reaction - a dubious look on the listener's face and a wash of comments like "That's nice, but what about doing something serious with which you can eke out a career" or "Head in the clouds again? You know that it's a tough field, millions of challengers, and your chances of success are very small."

For many years I allowed myself to be swayed by these opinions and forced myself to settle down, get a "normal" job, and forgo my dreams. I lived this life for quite a few years and was even very successful at it.

But one morning I was lying in bed and I took a look at my life. I had it all: security, friends, food and shelter, and a job where what I did mattered to people. I had it all - so why wasn't I happy? Wasn't this what I'd worked so long to achieve? Wasn't this the life I was told to expect, the life I had strived to create? Wasn't this the promised land?

It then dawned of me that my peers had been right about one thing: I did have my head in the clouds. But I've had my feet firmly embedded in the bedrock of the promised land. What this meant was that I was hopelessly stretched like a man on the rack, and in the same type of agony. I had gained the customary wealth of a bourgeois society, but lost the light from the treasure of my dreams - and only because I had been too afraid to lift my feet from the stability of the ground and allow myself to fly.

I believe that there's nothing wrong with having your head in the clouds. This only becomes a problem if you have yourself deeply entrenched - irrevocably rooted - in the ground. If you want to aspire to more than the mundane, everyday man, you need to be able to uproot yourself and let your feet leave the ground so that you can soar through the sky of the clouds.

There will always be people who will warn you of the dangers of flight. There will always be those who try to keep you grounded. But if your head is "in the clouds" - and you like it there - then be willing to join it up in the stratosphere. Know the dangers but don't be ruled by them. Take a risk. And fly...

Better Late than Never

So, we're humbly abashed for not having updated the blog yesterday. Sincere apologies all around.

Yesterday was a bit dull. I made a few job applications on the web and followed up on some leads. Nothing solid coming out of this yet. We live in hope, don't we?

As regards the book, I have to design a map of the realm that the characters can explore. It's harder to do that I first imagined. It's one thing to create characters out of nothing, but quite another to make up a whole new world - especially one that the ancients had considered to exist already. The realm that I'm talking about is Asgard and the other eight worlds of ancient Norse mythology.

You would think that something as common as this would have already been explored to the limit but this is not the case. After doing thorough searches and the like I only managed to come up with others' ideas of what Asgard looked like. And a lot of these ideas are strangely fanciful. Take a look at this map I found.

I then found this other one for the nine worlds:



It's pathetic, isn't it? This means that I have to really get creative in order to come up with a world that my characters can really explore.

The only real problem with this is that I need it to be a real representation of the actual realm imagined by the vikings and their contemporaries. In order to do this I am going to have to read every single ancient text on the subject.

To this end I have recently completed reading the Prose Edda (written in the 13th century). The next book will be its companion, the Poetic Edda. Unfortunately, in this small town where I live I have not been able to find a decent version of the translation. So, I went to the library and had to get an inter-library loan from one of the libraries in London.

Once this arrives I'm sure that I'll be able to get a better idea of what Asgard looked like, and then be able to come up with a map that will be realist and believable.

Fingers crossed. I'll let you know how it turned out. And if you have any ideas on an easier way to go about this tast, don't hesitate to drop me a line and let me know.

Norse Mythology - and life...

I thought I would start off the day today by adding a few spice-ups to this blog. That shouldn't really be too difficult. Following that I was to do a bit of research and then get down to the business of writing Chapter 3 of my book.

So, I logged on and got to work. And in the end what really got done today?

To be honest, not that much.

Did I do a lot of creation on my writing? No.
Did I get a lot of research done? No.

So what did I do? Where did all those hours in the day go?

The truth of that is that I spent a large amount of time trying to get my head around the subject of Blogging. For those of you who are relative newbies in this field I think that you will be able to appreciate my frustration.
Let it never be said that I am web-wise, for I'm most certainly not. In fact only yesterday I was very proud of myself for learning how to download videos for my iPod!

Pathetic, isn't it?

Well, the one good thing that happened was that, in researching my story, I needed to look up a number of websites having to do with Norse Mythology.
While I didn't find anything that I was looking for I did find the following site.

This guy's an artist of note. Here are some samples of pictures on his site. Aren't they absolutely gorgeous?!

Site address: http://www.howarddavidjohnson.com

Anyway, there you have it. No actual work done, but I'm happy I had the chance to view these pictures.

What do you think?

Rebuilding a Lost World

This is a brief description of my experiences with internet research. Click on the title below to see the article:

Rebuilding a Lost World

The Beginning...

The start, the beginning, from whence it all came....

Well, let me fill you in a bit. I'm a guy approaching his mid-30s. I live in a quiet and semi-remote town (although its inhabitants would beg to differ) in England.

A couple of months ago I decided that I needed a change in my life. Things had been going pretty well. I was married, had a job I was very good at, had a lot of friends and everything was nice and stable. But I wasn’t happy.

“How can you not be happy? Looks like everything is nice and perfect.”

Well, “Nice” is such a terrible word, isn’t it? I guess that the problem was that it was all too “nice.” I needed change. I needed challenge. I needed to live the life that I wanted to live – not that one I was expected to live.

So, I upped sticks and moved. I decided to quit my job and start doing what I had always promised myself I would do – write. You see, writing has been a dream of mine for such a long time. I can remember back in junior school when the writing bug first bit. I used to create such fantastic and fanciful stories that I even surprised myself. But then I grew older and the pressures of life, the responsibilities of “good, sensible adults” started to bear down on me.

So I cast down my quill and struck forth to earn the bread I needed to eat. But somewhere, deep down in that compartment in which you hide your innermost desires, I still harboured the hope that someday my work would lead me on the path I’d longed to take – the path of a writer.

But alas, it was not to be. Fifteen years later I looked back at my life and discovered that I’d been false to myself. Oh yes, I had everything that I’d worked for. There was a roof over my head and food in my belly. But there was still this hole in my heart. And each time I allowed myself a moment of time to examine it I noticed that it was just getting bigger and bigger.

I decided that as I wasn’t getting any younger, and that I’d already proven it to myself that I could be a grown-up, now was the time to prove that I could also follow my dreams.

So, I quit my job. This, in itself, was a big decision. I knew that my wife would not countenance the change and therefore would leave me if I went through with it. So the choice I’d to make was more than just about work. It was about everything that had ever meant something to me, everything I’d ever thought about myself, everything I’d ever dreamed.

And I made that choice.

So, here I sit today, unemployed, homeless, and without a faithful partner in life. But I’m happy.

“How can that be?”

Well, I might not be living the life I want to lead – being a successful author, rolling in profits and royalties. But I am doing what I dreamed of doing. I’m writing. I’m back to creating worlds of my own, filling them with life and colour, watching them grow before my very eyes.

And I’m growing too.

I’ll be the first to admit that I still have a lot to learn about the art of writing. I have a number of fantastic ideas that I’m learning to put to paper. It’s going to require a lot of hard work and a lot of sacrifice.

But I believe that I’m well on my way.

This is the story of that journey. It's, well, it's sort of a Big Brother-type blog. A Big Blogger - if you will. I’ll try to keep you up-to-date on my activities as I travel down this new and exciting road. I know that I’ll get to my destination in the end. And hopefully my story will provide you with some sort of inspiration to make your own dreams come true.