the rover returns (part two)

Not happy with this at all really, but I banged it out in about 40 minutes this morning, and it’s the first creative writing I’ve done for a week – so I’m just chucking it up there anyway.

Several hours before Alistair’s summoning by Fudd; Marguerite, was meeting a contact in an expensive pavement cafe outside the Theatre Royal in Newcastle. She watched the cafe first from the window of another cafe upstairs and across Grey Street from the theatre. About ten minutes before the scheduled time a woman in a maroon headscarf and classy tawny rain coat and dark glasses took a seat at the pavement cafe. She had moved quickly, jerkily to get to her seat looking around and making little darts to her target. It reminded Marguerite of a small bird avoiding hawks. Continue reading

the rover returns

A very quick one, but my first creative writing in a few days

“You bastard.” She set her mouth in a straight line, almost parallel to the frown that hooded her eyes.

Alistair shifted, try as he might he couldn’t give the response she wanted, no. Needed.

“You look amazing.” He knew even before he finished saying it, that it was the wrong thing to say. Of course it was. Idiot.

“Not one word, not one email, or text, or even a fucking poke on fucking Facebook. Did you think I was going to welcome you back with open arms?” As if to underline her point she crossed her arms. Continue reading

quantum physics and coffee

This was written this evening after a couple of prompts/challenges from a friend. It had to feature physics (a weak subject for me), a Big Bang Theory reference, and budding romance… About 920 words in around an hour. I’m not unhappy with the outcome.

Kevin grabbed the coffees after Dolores paid for them and steered past sitting mothers, bulging strollers, and sharp elbowed, shaven headed twenty something’s with laptops and massive black americanos. Dolores signaled him from the furthest reaches of the shop, she’d bagged a tiny round table between the toilet and a dark green pot plant.

“It’s free because there’s no phone signal back here and the Wi-Fi is down.” She took the coffees from him so he could sit down.

“You’d struggle to get a baby buggy in here as well.” Kevin raised his cup to his mouth and cautiously stuck his tongue out just above the scalding brown liquid. Damn he always did that, weird habit. Of course it was too hot to drink yet. Continue reading


I doubt there is anyone reading this who hasn’t heard of Nanowrimo, if there is click the link. In brief every November those who choose get to write 50,000 words in one month. Quality, subject matter, daily rate, etc don’t matter what matters is that you write the first draft of a “50,000 word novel” in one month.

It’s an intriguing approach and I can totally understand how it appeals to people – it forces you to write a substantial amount of words to a deadline. Great. More power to the founders and any participants sore elbows. 

Seriously though – do I want to do it? No thanks.

I write because I enjoy it, as soon as it becomes a chore, a millstone around my neck – I don’t want to do it any more.

So please don’t ask me if I’m joining in because no.

I’m tempted to start a rival called ‘NaJoywri’ National Joy of Writing Month. 30 days, you have to write as much or as little as you like that inspires you to love writing again, write nonsense, write poetry, write surrealism, write limericks, write comedy sketches, write a story about jam and sunflowers… ahem, where was I? Ah yes, my point is write for the hell of it. Don’t be a slave to word count.

And if you want to get published (and who doesn’t secretly if not openly?) Then practice on quality not quantity.

Antiques Roadshow in WalthamstowSo I popped along to see the Antiques Roadshow being filmed round the corner this morning. My partner is still there… We didn’t have anything to take but watching a series of middle aged and elderly women queuing up to have their jewellery appraised by the experts made me think, how easy it would be watch them, then follow them off the site and take their things for yourself. 

If you were an amoral character in a short crime story anyway…. Might have to write that later…

The Ludlum Inheritance (part one)

Ludlum first noticed the journalist or cop on Wednesday, the day after he took 30k from Hausmann. She was late thirties, in a smart jacket and a suit skirt that finished pleasantly above her knees. She walked past his table and he appreciated the rear view as she turned and made a beeline for an empty snug across the way.

Ludlum hadn’t got where he was today without learning how to identify the tell-tale signs, the smart not too expensive suit, slim, reasonably attractive, confident. Journalists, plain clothed cops, feds, etc etc they only had two templates; male, or female. The same seemed to be true in most countries Ludlum had visited, but she was a fellow American not a Brit. The JC Penny suit was a dead give away.

Kenny’s was a comfortably appointed wine bar a few blocks away from Oxford Street and somewhere that Ludlum always paid a visit to when in London. It had nice worn leather armchairs and brown and grey snugs with dim orange lighting and few windows, mercifully blocking the cold drizzle outside.

Continue reading