I’m Writing, Really, I Am.

Hello people, robots and others,

I’m sorry I’ve been so bad at updating lately. Wednesday I couldn’t write anything and was worried that I might have the dreaded writer’s block. Now, I’m writing like crazy, just not anything that will be posted on the blog.

Why? You might ask. Because I’m writing on a novel. A science fiction novel, to be precise, and I’ve gone on a writing holiday where I hope, no, I’m counting on finishing the first draft.

Yesterday I wrote 8130 words on it and if I just write 6000 words every day the rest of the week, I’ll make it.

So there probably won’t be an update Wednesday either, but perhaps I’ll be ready to write a bit flash fiction Sunday.

I hope you are all still having a wonderful summer.

See you around!

It’s So Easy

No talk

It’s so easy to not talk in bed.

It’s so easy to get up before you wake and leave the house while you’re in the shower.

It’s so easy to ignore your text messages and pretend that everything at work is important.

It’s so easy to drink whiskey at the bar.

It’s so easy to smoke, but through the grey coils from the cigarette, I see your eyes and

It’s so easy to hear your voice, as you tell me that you’re looking for a new flat, and

It’s so easy to wonder whether you ever really loved me, but I’ll never know because

It’s so easy to not talk in bed.

Norway

I went to Norway for two weeks and climbed Snøhetta and Rondeslottet among others, and during those weeks I had no connection to the internet. In fact, most of the time I didn’t even have coverage on my phone. But I was clever and wrote four updates in advance and scheduled them, so that I didn’t miss a single update during my vacation.

(I was on Stortoppen which is the top to the far right.)

(Snøhetta. I was on Stortoppen (2286 m) which is the top to the far right.)

Then of course I missed the Wednesday update after I got home.

Anyway, it was a lovely trip. We had beautiful sunshine most of the time and the one day where it really poured we spent reading in a cozy hut.

One of the first days, we saw the musk oxen in Dovrefjell which are actually not oxen but goats.

We sat down with our guide about 200 meters from them and had lunch. The musk oxen looked at us when we approached and sat down, but at soon as we put down our rucksacks they were back to grazing or ramming each other or in the case of one of the calves, suckling milk from its mother.

(Credit: Randy Kokesch)

(Credit: Randy Kokesch. I didn’t get any pictures myself.)

They are usually very peaceful, but we didn’t go any closer, because if they feel threatened, they ram whatever they feel threatened by, and since they weigh 500 kilos and can run 60 kilometres per hour, it is best not to make them feel threatened.

Well, I’m back now, and I had better get on to writing more fiction so that I won’t miss the update tomorrow.

I hope you’re all enjoying the summer as much as I am.

See you around!

Pride (6 of 6)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt, drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Pride-85079689)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt, drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Pride-85079689)

It was typical, just typical. Leonard rubbed his cheeks. The annual family dinner was coming up and they were down a maid and a cook. He had known from the start that the maid could not be trusted, he had seen the greed in her eyes. But Mrs Monté had said she knew the girl’s family and that they really needed the money, so they should give her a chance. He snorted at the memory. That was what they got for giving her a chance. She could at least have waited until after the dinner before grabbing everything and running for it. She would be picked up soon of course, but although they would get the jewellery back the maid would still be a thief, and a thief was not fit to serve the ladies.

And Henry too. Now that had surprised him. He had thought that Henry knew his place. It was a good thing it was caught before it went any further. Leonard shook his head. Not everyone was as virtuous as the ladies.

He slapped his thigh. Enough mulling over what could not be fixed. As butler it was his job to make this work no matter how much staff was missing. And it was more important than ever to let the poor ladies know that no matter what happened at least they could always rely on him. He just hoped the rest of the staff would follow his good example.

Greed (5 of 6)

The door creaked when she pushed it open and she cursed herself for forgetting to oil it during the day. She stood in the empty hallway listening to her heartbeat and waited to see if someone had heard. She could still turn back at this point; she had not yet entered Lady Aurelia’s dressing room. The hallway remained empty, but was she really ready to give up her position?

She remembered the sting from lady Aurelia’s fingers on her cheek. But that had been the only time and for a maid’s position the pay was quite good and her mother said the money she sent really helped them. Also, she had been lucky to get the position in the first place, since there had been five others at the tryout which the butler and the housekeeper held. Then she remembered the large golden rings on Lady Aurelia’s fingers, the pearl necklace she wore that day and the emeralds she wore the day before and the maid stepped into her mistress’ dressing room.

She crept up to the dressing table and one by one she slid open the drawers and emptied everything of value into her bag. With all this she would become rich. She just had to be far away by morning. When her bag was full, she still had not taken all the earrings, so she put the rest in her pockets. She could begin a new life in France, say she was an heiress. Maybe she could marry a noble’s son?

And when the fuss had died down, she could send her family money again. Of course it might take a while before it was safe, but they should be able to get along on her father’s pay until then. In fact, her father’s pay would probably be enough for them indefinitely, if they were a bit frugal. And of course they would want her to be happy, so there was actually no reason to put herself in danger by sending them money.

She sneaked out of Lady Aurelia’s dressing room, her heavy bag over one shoulder and went on towards Clara’s dressing room. If she was going to be an heiress, she would need some dresses and Clara’s were the only ones that might fit.

Envy (4 of 6)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt,  drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Envy-84326679)

(Credit: DrewTheUnquestioned on DeviantArt, drewtheunquestioned.deviantart.com/art/Manifestation-of-Sin-Envy-84326679)

Gary slumped onto the bed with a grunt. Why did Henry always get all the attention? He wasn’t even that good a cook. In fact, he wasn’t even fully trained because his stupid master died too early. But even though he was just an apprentice the family still agreed to hire him, the lucky bastard. And now Laura was favouring him. And why? Gary had been there longer. Was he not dependable? Was he not always ready to do her bidding? And had he ever complained even when she gave him undesirable tasks? It was unfair, so very unfair! He pulled his hair. If only he has a picture of Henry to rip apart. If only he could rip Henry apart without consequences.

The door to his room slammed open and he jumped. The doorway was filled by a furie, he even thought he heard sparks crackling in the air.

‘Gary!’ said Aurelia.

‘Ladyship,’ Gary went down on one knee.

‘I hear you’ve seen something.’

‘Seen something, your ladyship?’ Gary looked at the hem of her dress with wrinkled brow.

Aurelia looked behind her and his room seemed to lighten slightly. Then she stepped inside and closed the door.

‘At lunch,’ she said, ‘did something happen? Something out of the ordinary?’

He could feel her eyes scorching the top of his head, but suddenly it was not entirely unpleasant. The only question was how to tell Aurelia about the terrible thing he had witnessed. And he would have to suppress the smile until she was gone.

Roses

(Credit: funmozar.com/black-rose)

(Credit: funmozar.com/black-rose)

‘I do love roses,’ she said, caressing the red petals with a finger. ‘Do you love roses too?’

‘Uh, s-sure,’ he said. The fragrance in the garden made him feel slightly light headed.

‘Did you come here to see my roses?’ she asked.

‘Actually,’ he began, but then she threw a black lock over her shoulder and smiled at him and instead of continuing: ‘I was just lost’, he said: ‘I came to see you.’

She chuckled and he was reminded of silver bells.

‘I have white roses too,’ she said, ‘and pink, and yellow and even some that are black. Have you seen that before? Black roses?’

He shook his head, mouth slightly open.

‘Let me show you then,’ she took his hand and he felt a stab in his heart and a numbing thrill spread through his body as she lead him along the garden path.

‘Here,’ she stopped and gestured, but everything other than her had become a blur.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, looking into her dark eyes.

‘Would you like to stay with me?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I could stay here forever.’

‘Forever?’ she placed a hand on his chest, ‘are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if it’s with you.’

‘You probably won’t last forever,’ gently she pushed him into the rosebushes which at once wrapped themselves around him. ‘But then you can be part of the roses. And as long as I’m here there will be roses.’

He hardly felt the thorns.

This sentence was written

(Credit: Matt H. Wade)

(Credit: Matt H. Wade)

On his deathbed the sage said to his student:

Write me an epitaph, when I’m gone. Do not flatter me in it. You can write of my virtues, but only the ones you have seen with your own eyes or felt on your own body. Beauty is truth and truth beauty, so write something true.

Let it be something that people can think on. Something philosophical in nature would be fitting. Make it at least as philosophical as you know me to be. I want people to remember how deep my thoughts were when they read it.

However, do not be too scholarly when you write it, do not make it seem aloof to the common man. That would just make me unpopular among them. People fear or sometimes hate what they do not understand. So write it so that anyone can understand it. And do not use too many long words either. In fact, keep it short all in all. Brevity is the soul of wit, so the shorter the better. As long as it says something.

The sage has now been interred and according to his wishes, his student wrote an epitaph which has been engraved over the entrance of the mausoleum. It says:

This sentence was written.

Rhymes

Kangaroos-jump

Do you still grue

For tomorrow or is it your yesterdays you rue

Or find intimidating? Don’t go through

All the dark times again. It’s a flu

Of the mind, ruminating. If you blew

Your nose more often and looked away from your shoe

You would see that the sky is blue

Right here, right now, coo coo ca choo

It’s true

And you already knew,

But I would still spew

These trivialities at you

Even if you withdrew

All the way to Timbuktu

Even on the loo

I will find you

To remind you

That when you were two

You wanted to be a kangaroo

When you grew

up. And you might say: ‘Screw

That. It was a stupid dream.’ But I dream too

The stupid dream that one day you

Will learn to be here,

In the now

With me.

Can I?

(Credit: 7-themes.com/6968639-sunset-beach-scenery.html)

(Credit: 7-themes.com/6968639-sunset-beach-scenery.html)

‘Can I?’ he asked as the setting sun had painted the sand orange and the grass beyond turned blue in comparison.

‘Can you what?’ she raised her head from her knees.

‘You know,’ he glanced at her trousers.

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said.

‘You know, will you let me,’ he looked up and down the empty beach. ‘Oh, come on, you know.’ He edged closer. Their arms touched.

‘I’m telling you I don’t,’ she said searching his face.

‘Don’t make me say it outright,’ he said.

‘Well if you don’t, you can watch the rest of the sunset alone,’ she pushed herself up.

‘Wait,’ he took her wrist, ‘can I,’ he swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘Will you let me try on your trousers?’

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