25 Dec 2012

Touched

Author: will | Filed under: fiction, LBC, Uncategorized

She was touched to receive the exquisitely packaged chocolates.

Her next of kin discovered that crema was a hazelnut cream and not a vanilla cream. When the nuts touched her throat, it swelled from anaphylaxis shock.

This almost tweetable murder mystery is a Loose Bloggers Consortium post on the theme of “Touched”. And was not written in the local accident and emergency.
To find out that the others in the consortium think, check out, …
Delirious, Maria/Gaelikaa, Maria SilverFox OCD writer, Padmum, Paul, Ramana, The Old Fossil, Grannymar.

19 Sep 2012

From NYC to Galway

Author: will | Filed under: fiction, Galway, humour

It appears that the New York City based missing unicorn meme has made its way to Ireland.

Admittedly its possible, given the high magic fields in the country and the people. Eoin Colfer pointed this out a while back in his first Artemis Fowl book.

It IS non-fiction, right?

7 Jun 2012

You see me never, take me home

Author: will | Filed under: death, fiction

Ray Bradbury, author of some of the finest science fiction died today. It turned out that he wrote a piece for this month's Sci-Fi themed edition of The New Yorker. In his memory, that piece "Take me Home" and his November 1947 piece "I See You Never" are now free to all readers in the New Yorker archives.

Embedded Link

Ray Bradbury in The New Yorker
Ray Bradbury, the author of “The Martian Chronicles,” “Fahrenheit 451,” and many other classics of science fiction and fantasy, died this morning, at the age of ninety-one. Bradbury published two pie…

5 Apr 2012

Crispy

Author: will | Filed under: LBC, story

It seemed like a good idea at the time the wizard quickly mused.
Since the knight is trained to kill the dragon in order to rescue the princess; turn the princess in to a dragon.
It never occurred to him that turning a spoiled and frightened maiden, very used to getting her own way, in to a big flame-throwing killing machine might not be his most effective move.
Admittedly he didn’t get the chance to think about anything for long once she woke up.

This is a Loose Bloggers Consortium post on the theme of “Effectiveness”.
To find out that the others in the consortium think, check out, …
Delirious, Maria/Gaelikaa, Maria SilverFox OCD writer, Padmum, Paul, Ramana, The Old Fossil, Grannymar.

21 Dec 2011

Cruel Yule

Author: will | Filed under: LBC, story

’tis Midwinter, the night that the other Clause brother comes with his twice checked short list and empty sack. Horror for the night that is in it. Thanks to Pseudopod for the reminder.

I hope to get home and catch some time between Christmas and the New Year to recover lost LBC ground.

Merry Midwinter,
Will

24 Oct 2011

Protect. Comfort. Love.

Author: will | Filed under: LBC, story

I awoke while her hooks were still in me.
Pulling my threads through, making my skin secure.
But I was awake, my button eyes, not yet in place may not have seen clearly yet, but I could hear.
My mission: Protect. Comfort. Love. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.

“You’re going to get dizzy if you keep pacing like that.”, sighed my creator. Her voice indicated age, but kindness and concern rang through.
“Its taking too long.” A male voice. Slight panic rising.

“Babies always take their own time. Besides the doctors know what they are doing.”
“But its been twenty hours!?”
The rhythmic click of the hooks stopped. “I remember how long it took for me to give birth to you. You don’t want the story.” Stern.
“Would it help?”
“Its a little early, besides boys always seem to take longer.”
“Its a girl.”
“Shouldn’t you be waiting to tell me until afterwards?”
“You’re going to be the first to know anyway.”
“I’d have used pink wool.” I felt myself being lifted. Displayed.
“I’m glad you didn’t. Nearly done?” Was the subject being changed?
“Just a few more stitches”.

They paused, and the clicking of the hooks began again.
“I’m surprised you have a filling in place.”
“The form is in there in case your little one pulls at the stitches.
Crochet is a little forgiving, but the filling may still leak.”
“Oh.”
“And have you decided on a name yet?”
“Well its nearly Christmas and…”
“Not Noelle!”
“Oh no, we were joking about Holly.”
“That’s worse.”
“But we like Ivy.”
“The Holly and the Ivy?”
“Yes, but Ivy is a short version of Elizabeth. So she will be named Elizabeth, but we’re going to call her Ivy.”
“You compromised?”
“Er… Yes.”
I could hear the smile.

A door swooshed near-by.
“We’re ready for you now.”
I heard rushed footsteps and she sat in silence, finishing my skin.
Getting me finished for Ivy.
Ivy.

Beeping. Whooshes of air. Laboured breathing. Organic squeaks and coos. Muffled voices.
The sounds inside the clear panelled box they called the were varied to my new ears. My eyes, now in place could see a distorted reflection of myself, and something else my size beside me.
Something struggling beside me.
Struggling to breath.
Struggling to live.

“She’ll have to stay in there for a few weeks at least.”
“How long?”
“Its hard to tell. She’s premature, and her lungs haven’t fully formed yet.”
“But she’ll be OK?”
“Babies her age pull through.”
“Why do I think…”
“Don’t think that. We are going to do our best. Everyone is going to do her best to make sure she survives to be a healthy young lady. That includes you.”
“Ivy looks so…”

Ivy.

“I think she’s a fighter. And her grandmother put that teddy bear in there to make sure she’s got company.”
“Did you..”
“It’s been sterilised.”

Teddy bear? That’s me.
And with that thought I felt a hand stretch out and grab my paw.
Then I knew.
The Teddy Bear Code.
I will protect her from her fears.
I will comfort her through her worries.
I will love her with my might.

The alarm sounded.
Light burst around me.
The box opened and practised hands took her from me.
I could hear orders half barked as they moved away.
Away with Ivy.

Its cold now. (I will comfort her from the cold).
Its dark now.
Before, when I was returned to her side, I heard music.
And sobs.
I heard again kind voices, cracked with tears, belonging to those I heard while being made, and while in the clear box.
But I am where I belong.
By Ivy’s side.

I heard earth being dropped on this box as Ivy lies still beside me.
As a teddy bear I will abide by the code.
I will protect her in this darkness.
I will comfort her through the days.
I will give her love.

….

A version of this short story was going around my head for a while for a group Christmas post a few years back. Going around is wrong. More of a “that’s an idea” and then the idea was filed away until later. K8 was its inspiration, but I decided that it wasn’t right for the following Christmas, but with the approach of Hallowe’en, it felt right. (K8, this is the sad Teddy Bear story I mentioned). Also the theme for this week’s LBC was “Crochety”, so its been changed slightly from a knitted bear to a crocheted one.

I just hope it doesn’t come across like a bad greetings card. The technical themed posts will resume shortly.

This is a Loose Bloggers Consortium post on the theme of “Crotchety”; chosen by Padmini.
To find out that the others in the consortium think, check out, Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Delirious, Gaelikaa, Grannymar, Magpie 11, Nema, Noor, Padmini, Paul, Plain Joe, Ramana, Rohit, The Silver Fox Wispers and The Student Diaries.

23 Sep 2009

Sacrifices

Author: will | Filed under: humour, invention, Irish, story

We all have to make sacrifices due to the economic climate he thought guiltily seeing the lost goat posters on the lamp posts.

Essentially this is a one line short story (I’ve tweeted it already) that came to mind after listening to Regulars by Frank Oreto on Pseudopod.

Pseudopod is a podcast series specialising on new short story form horror stories. However this one could have fitted in my lapsed “SouthQuays.com” project.

The plan for South Quays has changed in detail, but it was going to be a fiction blog based on the lives of people on the South Quays of an un-named Irish city. Originally the stories were going to be based on a “house of negotiable favour” as the term itself comes from a polite Victorian term for something frowned upon (i.e. he moored himself to her south quay) and I came across the term in “The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters“. Neo-Victorian fiction I know, I can only assume the author reused the term as it sounds right.

But it moved in my head at least from a single perspective to a wider one. In the last fifteen years Ireland has changed, and the landscape changed with it. But people, on the whole, don’t. The lives lived on the turn of most centuries are similar in loves and needs.

But things have changed.

The hermit no longer needs to be in a cave on the mountain. He can be in an apartment, sealed off from the outside world and living alone. His body found years after his death due to complaints about the smell from neighbours or unpaid bills calling the bailiff around to find the corpse.

People still fall in love and get married, but the details of the courtship and the wedding has changed. Also instead of boy meets girl, boy meets boy is also acceptable.

Immigrants have always come to the country, now their reasons have changed. And emigrants leave (again) and farewells take place.

Which is a better fit than the stories generated by the Wondermark Electro-Plasmic Hydrocephalic Genre-Fiction Cenerator 2000 (also available in automated form).

I’m looking in to getting it going again either this weekend or next weekend. Since I have to do a new WordPress install (I borked the last one after moving servers) I could make it an multi-user version if anyone wants to join me on the South Quays.

take care,
Will Knott

5 Mar 2008

Crossing a line

Author: will | Filed under: blogging, Irish, Irish Blog Awards, irish blogers, irish blogs

Haydn Shaughnessy response to Kathy Foley’s posts on the low standards of Irish blogging has me wondering. Wondering if I am indeed “inward looking, technical or incestuous”. Given that in a single sentence I’ve just linked to two Irish bloggers I have to declare guilty on the third count. But then again, surely bloggers of every country are indeed focusing on their countrymen and women.

The inward looking, well I don’t think I do much of that. Do I?

The too technical claim, well I might be able to do something about that. Fústar is looking for writers. Namely, “being the creation of a horror short story (interpreting “horror” however you wish) of no more than 500 words”. So I might call on my “evil” twin brother Ken to put in 500 words of twisting possibilities. 500 words is… not much. I’ve tried, and it’s hard to limit myself to 500. But it’s a challenge.

So, gentle reader, do you think things should get a little twisted and horror-struck around here?

take care,

Will