Overhaul

Okay, so I know I suck at this updating business.

Its been far too long since I’ve actually given you all any content.

(Or as my wife has badgered at me- “Any consistency at all.”)

So this is a quick update to give you all notice.

Blake HQ is getting an overhaul.

In other words as any long suffering married man can attest the wife is now involved…

What does this mean for me?

Organising priority writing, nagging from the wife, giving this page more attention, nagging from the wife, finally getting the office space organised in to a usable writing area, nagging from the wife, a real world blog page to let you in on the man behind the page, nagging from the wife.

Sounds pretty good eh?

In short I’m taking life and time into hand to make a better, more exciting. body of work here for your enjoyment.

Also with a lot of NAGGING FROM THE WIFE!

What does this mean for you?

MORE CONTENT!

Yes for anyone who has looked in the long time of my absence, you may have noticed there is a new option added to the top bar. The Fallen.

I will give you more information on that really soon. (I’ll get nagged into it)

But for now I can say I am really excited about this new project. Evil overlord, evil queens, amnesia. Life will really get interested for this new character I’m introducing to you.

November will see some changes happen to the web sight.

As the changes happen I will update you here at the home page.

That’s all I have for you right this second but not for long.

Keep checking back, comments always welcome, and as always I appreciate the support.

(wish me luck I’m about to go get nagged at again.)

Artie x

Prologue from Deathworlds

It was cold bitter and dark. We could barely see from the shadowy corner we hid the freezing rock sapping all our warmth. Flickering torches set far from us cast the only illumination in the cavernous room. A high vaulted ceiling amplified every small sound so that we feared to move lest we give ourselves away.

Others were nearby, clustered together under one of the torches. They argued, but the same trick of sound that threatened to reveal us distorted their voices so much we could only guess at what they said.

My companion huddled closer to me, sharing what little heat we could. We both knew we shouldn’t be here, and if we were caught it would mean trouble. Still we didn’t leave, to curious at what was unfolding in front of us to have the sense to run.

The group began shouting, their angry voices bouncing off the cold black walls so much it began to hurt. One man, dressed in black from head to foot, stood separately from the other two. Waving his arms as though he was dismissing what was being said, then walked away.

My companion and I ducked back down behind the rock we had chosen as our hiding place. The dark man would pass inches away from us, he always did. Yet still fear raced through every part of my body, I could feel the person beside me trembling in time with my own shudders.

Soon it would be over, this nightmare, in a flash of cold light, violent shadows and searing pain. But it would be over.
Still I took her hand, as I always did, made the motion to keep quiet and slipped closer to whatever was going on.

Maby one day I’ll listen to the insistent tug trying to stop me. Or the horrified screams of the others spotting my dash to wards certain doom. But not this time, this time it played out as it always did.

The dark man turned to see me coming, the wall pulsed and cracked, light emanating from the fissures, and something monstrous reached out for me. Its claws slicing in to my skin as I tried to get away.

Too late.

Every time too late.

Still alive.

So it’s been some time, I know I know. I say that every time. But unfortunately that’s the way life seemes to take me. One day I’ll be able to spend lots and lots of time updating this page, amongst other things, but until then I’ll just post whenever I can.

So, what have I been up to? Now there’s a bloody good question. It seemes I’m always on the go. Wether it’s working or chasing the chaos that’s an autistic tornado around, I never really seem to stop. The few moments I have with my jailer ( wife ) seem few and far between. And the even rarer times alone I tend to spend sorting through the rest of the house.

At this very moment in time I’m busy cooking a roast dinner, so I have a few minutes to pen this little piece.

But with all this chaos and craziness I am well and truly happy. My son is coming on in leaps and bounds, surprising everyone he meets.

With the turning of the seasons we’re turning the pitiful concrete yard in to a garden full of fruit and veg, the weirder the better. And even trying to encourage birds to visit with feeders full of tasty treats. Though in all honesty we’re probably just going to end up with a very fat pair of cats.

I finally managed to complete a romantic gesture without being found out. In the form of several new Pandora charms, thinking my self rather clever in doing so. Mind you I chose them from her internet shopping wish list. And then to my surprise she presented me with a truly amazing manual pocket watch, engraved with the dates we met and married. And a mark for each year I’ve served of my life sentence.

Well that’s it for this time, hopefully the next post won’t be so far inbetween.

Do you come through?

So I’ve got a quick question I want to ask everyone creatively inclined.

When you work do you find, despite your best efforts, that somehow your personality appears on the page?

No matter what I write my own peculiar humour seemes to appear. Whether I’m trying to do something light hearted and fun or dark and serious.

In truth I’m probably overly sarcastic and lean towards the darker aspects of humour. I tend to get great enjoyment making my characters suffer, and though that can sometimes help my writing I have to wonder if it can also hinder it.

Darkness

It’s strange, how small sentences can have the biggest impact. I love you, I hate you, he didn’t make it. Just a few words and your whole world can change.
The world ended.
That’s what they told us. We were eleven, soon to be taking our places on the ship as crew. We found out that day that we once had a whole planet to call home. Where we could go outside whenever we wished. Going outside now meant something rather more final.
They showed us pictures of fields, oceans, towns and cities, most of the names long forgotten. They showed us people, white people, brown people, people with different shapes eyes. Some were big others small, there were fat people who some how managed to eat to much, and skinny people who were supposed to be pretty in a plastic way. We were all pale and thin. The adults were wiry while the children were just bony. Women’s hair was short and men’s shorter still.
The next pictures the showed us weren’t as nice. Blood, screaming children, panic and riots. The moon closer and closer with each slide.
A rogue asteroid had impacted the satellite hard enough to shatter it, the smaller chunks falling to earth killing millions in the first day. But it was the loss of the moon itself that caused the worst of the damage, the tides changed causing tsunamis and earthquakes , disrupting the whole ecosystem until the planet was nearly uninhabitable.
Every country scrabbled to put ships together, the richest soaking up resources as fast as possible, no longer caring what they did to the planet, but they went to fast. Nearly half their ships crashing down or exploding soon after take off.
Those of us who finally managed to escape began as a convoy. Nearly one thousand ships limping their way out in to the great nothingness. Years and years went by, ship after ship failed or fell behind. We scavenged what we could from the ones we could , whether it was food, resources or parts. Eventually only three ships were left, and those were soon built in to one.
Crime and violence were rampant, brutality the norm. For generations only the strong survived, racism wiped out religion and race until we were almost all that was left. Then the soldier’s mobilised, overthrowing what remained of the government and established the new order. They emerged from sealed sections of the ship and quickly routed out dissidents, establishing the new order. They brought order and structure to our failing society .
After our “induction” we were all separated in to groups, then tested both mentally and physically. Our results collated and finally we were given our assignments. Being children most of us were assigned to work in the air shafts, and soon knew the ship better than ever before. The smartest of us were trained in the technical aspects of repair work, the others sent to clear blockages and other dangerous work.
My brother Marcus and I ended up working with our father on general maintenance, at least we did until the section he was working in breached. After that we were left to fend for ourselves. Marcus soon fell in with the cargo rats, a group of orphaned children who stole and smuggled anything they could and were constantly looking for boys like us.
I spent my days working, keeping myself below the radar. Avoiding the gangs and soldiers alike. I explored the air ducts and service tubes extensively, discovering passages long forgotten. It was there I met Athena. She was small, even for a orphaned child like myself, living off scraps and the rodents abundant in the area.
It took weeks for me to gain her trust, bringing her food and supplies, even a teddy I’d found abandoned. I kept her hidden from the others, knowing what they would do if they discovered her. Crumb by crumb we built trust, each day strengthening our relationship. She was smart, knowing how to bypass almost all the ships security and other systems. I wasn’t as strong as the other boys my age but I was fast, together we became an effective team. We thought we were unstoppable.
The Marcus was caught.
He had been caught carrying contraband and arrested, his execution was to be carried before the day ended. I made my way to the holding cells, Athena guiding me with the coms we’d pilfered. But I got sloppy, and in trying to free him I was caught myself. Then they traced our signal and caught Athena .
That was probably my darkest point. My family all dead, my only friend captured trying to help me. Both of us most likely on the way to the airlock ourselves. I could have given up. Gone and curled in to a corner of my cell and waited for the inevitable end. But I didn’t.
I threw myself at the walls, searching for any sort of escape. I ripped my nails off trying to pry the grill from the air shaft. Bloodied my knuckles attempting to break the small glass window in the door. On and on until I blacked out.
The next thing I remembered was being dragged, two soldiers held me up by my arms as they marched down the corridor. Even as damaged as I was tried to break free, only to be thrown to the floor and knees pressed in to my back, and the telling pressure of a gun jammed against the base of my skull.
We it would be quicker than being thrown in to space.
“Don’t hurt him!”
I froze at Athenas shout. She’d been behind me the entire time. I was stubborn, stupid, suicidal even. But I wouldn’t let her face what was coming alone. I let them pull me up, found my own feet and limped on as straight as I could
It’s strange, how small sentences can have the biggest impact. I love you, I hate you, he didn’t make it. Just a few words and your whole world can change.
The world ended.
That’s what they told us. We were eleven, soon to be taking our places on the ship as crew. We found out that day that we once had a whole planet to call home. Where we could go outside whenever we wished. Going outside now meant something rather more final.
They showed us pictures of fields, oceans, towns and cities, most of the names long forgotten. They showed us people, white people, brown people, people with different shapes eyes. Some were big others small, there were fat people who some how managed to eat to much, and skinny people who were supposed to be pretty in a plastic way. We were all pale and thin. The adults were wiry while the children were just bony. Women’s hair was short and men’s shorter still.
The next pictures the showed us weren’t as nice. Blood, screaming children, panic and riots. The moon closer and closer with each slide.
A rogue asteroid had impacted the satellite hard enough to shatter it, the smaller chunks falling to earth killing millions in the first day. But it was the loss of the moon itself that caused the worst of the damage, the tides changed causing tsunamis and earthquakes , disrupting the whole ecosystem until the planet was nearly uninhabitable.
Every country scrabbled to put ships together, the richest soaking up resources as fast as possible, no longer caring what they did to the planet, but they went to fast. Nearly half their ships crashing down or exploding soon after take off.
Those of us who finally managed to escape began as a convoy. Nearly one thousand ships limping their way out in to the great nothingness. Years and years went by, ship after ship failed or fell behind. We scavenged what we could from the ones we could , whether it was food, resources or parts. Eventually only three ships were left, and those were soon built in to one.
Crime and violence were rampant, brutality the norm. For generations only the strong survived, racism wiped out religion and race until we were almost all that was left. Then the soldier’s mobilised, overthrowing what remained of the government and established the new order. They emerged from sealed sections of the ship and quickly routed out dissidents, establishing the new order. They brought order and structure to our failing society .
After our “induction” we were all separated in to groups, then tested both mentally and physically. Our results collated and finally we were given our assignments. Being children most of us were assigned to work in the air shafts, and soon knew the ship better than ever before. The smartest of us were trained in the technical aspects of repair work, the others sent to clear blockages and other dangerous work.
My brother Marcus and I ended up working with our father on general maintenance, at least we did until the section he was working in breached. After that we were left to fend for ourselves. Marcus soon fell in with the cargo rats, a group of orphaned children who stole and smuggled anything they could and were constantly looking for boys like us.
I spent my days working, keeping myself below the radar. Avoiding the gangs and soldiers alike. I explored the air ducts and service tubes extensively, discovering passages long forgotten. It was there I met Athena. She was small, even for a orphaned child like myself, living off scraps and the rodents abundant in the area.
It took weeks for me to gain her trust, bringing her food and supplies, even a teddy I’d found abandoned. I kept her hidden from the others, knowing what they would do if they discovered her. Crumb by crumb we built trust, each day strengthening our relationship. She was smart, knowing how to bypass almost all the ships security and other systems. I wasn’t as strong as the other boys my age but I was fast, together we became an effective team. We thought we were unstoppable.
The Marcus was caught.
He had been caught carrying contraband and arrested, his execution was to be carried before the day ended. I made my way to the holding cells, Athena guiding me with the coms we’d pilfered. But I got sloppy, and in trying to free him I was caught myself. Then they traced our signal and caught Athena .
That was probably my darkest point. My family all dead, my only friend captured trying to help me. Both of us most likely on the way to the airlock ourselves. I could have given up. Gone and curled in to a corner of my cell and waited for the inevitable end. But I didn’t.
I threw myself at the walls, searching for any sort of escape. I ripped my nails off trying to pry the grill from the air shaft. Bloodied my knuckles attempting to break the small glass window in the door. On and on until I blacked out.
The next thing I remembered was being dragged, two soldiers held me up by my arms as they marched down the corridor. Even as damaged as I was tried to break free, only to be thrown to the floor and knees pressed in to my back, and the telling pressure of a gun jammed against the base of my skull.
We it would be quicker than being thrown in to space.
“Don’t hurt him!”
I froze at Athenas shout. She’d been behind me the entire time. I was stubborn, stupid, suicidal even. But I wouldn’t let her face what was coming alone. I let them pull me up, found my own feet and limped on as straight as I could.

Demon Hunter

  So it’s been an obscenely long time since I’ve posted something worth reading. Now anyone who knows any creative types knows that we all need the admiration of others to feed our fragile egos, that or their suffering we’re flexible that way. So in that respect I’m posting a little side project I’ve been working on. I hope you all enjoy it and I look forward to your comments. All criticisms accepted, so go nuts.

Demon Hunter

    I was sitting in a coffee shop when she finally approached. Don’t ask me which or where, after so long they all look the same. I’d chosen a seat at the back, my chair against the wall, the only door directly in my line of sight.

The coffee shop itself was near empty, only a few people at scattered about the room. Each absorbed in whatever was scrolling down the screen of their phones. It really was the definition of irony, all this technology to bring us closer together and yet they all sat as far from each other as they could.

But then was I much better? The only reason I was here was for the coffee. Funny how appetites leave can you as the years pass, but addiction only grows stronger.

    The door opened bringing with it a gust of air. Then she walked in, her dark hair a mess from the wind outside. She went to the counter and ordered whatever excessively sized coffee it was that she drank, pulling her purse out from a battered satchel. From the corner of my eye I watched her survey the room, not for an empty seat there were plenty of those, but for me.

    She’d been following me for a while now; wherever I’d gone she appeared. Always in the same coat, always carrying her beaten bag over her shoulder. She would enter whatever establishment I’d chosen, buy a drink and pick a seat across the room from me. Then she’d drink her drink, stand up glance back over at me and leave. I’d toyed with approaching her myself, but in truth I wasn’t that curious. Eventually she would either give up, come over, or as mortals often did, die.

    It seems today she had finally made her decision.

    ”Is this seat taken?” she asked coming to stand at my table.

    “If it was don’t you think someone would already be sitting there?” I didn’t even bother looking up from my coffee.

    “You could be waiting for someone.”

    “You and I both know that’s not true.”

    She dropped her bag to the floor beside the table and sat down across from me.

    “Who are you?” she asked leaning forwards, her brown eyes begging from behind her glasses.

    I finished my coffee and got up.

    “Please, don’t leave.” Again the pleading stare.

    “Give me one good reason I should stay.”

    “You…you don’t remember me?”

    What was it with women, always thinking they were something special, something to remember. “No.” I turned to leave.

    “I’ll buy you another coffee!” She said, clinging to my arm, “please, I just want some answers.”

    That’s the funny thing about addiction.

    I sat back down, she got up went back over to the counter and came back with a large heavy cup, foam spilling over the sides.

    “Extra-large cappuccino with a double shot of expresso, no sugar.” She recited as she placed it in front of me.

    “Observant aren’t we.”

    “Not really, I just asked for another of what you ordered already.”

    “I take it you expect to be here for a while?”

    “what makes you say that?”

“You didn’t order it to go.”

She looked down at the table, “I guess.”

“Well then, ask your questions.”

She reached for her bag and began pulling out tattered pages, spreading them out over the table. Some were newspaper clippings yellowing from age, others were printouts from the internet.

“Who are you?” she asked again. “What are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

“Well you’re old, and I mean very old.” She sifted through some of the papers, placing several pictures in front of me. “This one’s from five years ago,” she pointed to one of them, “and this one from fifty years ago, and these are even older, yet you’re in each of them. And you haven’t changed in any.”

“And what makes you think they’re me? They could be my ancestors.”

“Well yes I thought about that, but then I noticed they all have the same scar, the one above your left eye.”

“So you’ve assumed they’re all me?”

“Well who else could they be?”

I sat back, taking a sip of my coffee. She’d done her research, looked for evidence and come to the only conclusion.

“My turn to ask you a question.” I said, enjoying the slight flash of panic across her face.

“But…but you haven’t answered mine yet!”

“Do I really need to? You must have come to some sort of conclusion.”

“Well…yes…but, I mean…it’s not possible.”

“Why do you care?”

She froze, looking down at the table again and sifted through her papers once more. Pulling out one of the more tattered newspaper clippings and silently passing it to me. It had been folded so many times the ink was becoming illegible, its edges soft and fragile at the creases. Across the top the headline read, HORROR AT SUBBURAN HOME. The fading picture showed a cluster of emergency vehicles grouped outside a normal house. Police and paramedics were clustered around five large black bags stretched out across the lawn. The picture below showed a young girl with the same brown eyes smiling between to adults. And beneath the caption read, Melissa Jones, eight, sole survivor of home massacre. Culprit still at large.

The article itself speculated about how someone had apparently broken in to the family home and murdered both parents and three others in the dead of night, how the young girl had managed to survive by hiding inside the washing machine. And how it had only been discovered when a local paper boy had come to deliver the morning paper.

“They were wrong weren’t they, the police I mean.” Melissa said. “The culprits were already dead; they were lying next to my parents.”

“Were they?”

“You know they were, you killed them. You saved me.”

Late night thoughts. 

OK, so it’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything and a lot has changed since then. I’m now in a job that I love and my life seems to be moving forward and getting better. My relationship with my family has gone from strength to strength and in general I’m much happier. 

But that doesn’t mean that my thoughts never turn to the difficult times. 

Cheif of which are the events that led me to leave my previous job of nearly eight years. 

First a little bit of background. 

I won’t say what the job was, but suffice to say it took me in to some of the darkest parts of humanity. And though it was stressful it wasn’t the reason that I had to leave. 

No, that in the end was caused by two people who seemed to make it their mission to cause me as much pain, heartache and general difficulty as they could. 

On reflection I know I wasn’t always the easiest person to deal with.  But i always maintained that if I ever caused a problem then tell me, and I would apologise. Along side that, I suffered from a sweating problem, and in a closed windowless room which was always hot and airless could cause a literal stink. Coupled with the fact that I have next to no sense of smell it could really make things uncomfortable.

Still I asked people to inform me if there was a problem and I’d go even further to try and remedy it. 

Despite all this two people, I have named the Gruesome Twosome made it their mission to inflict as much pain as they could. 

Usually it would have been small things, a badly made cup of coffee (petty I know, but it was always obvious) all the way to fabricating flat out lies to report to management in order to try and get me fired.

Allegedly I made highly inappropriate comments, that were in truth innuendos of minor consequence. And despite the supposed discomfort that it caused them, they and others would go in to areas of humour ( both personal and otherwise) that I would never dream of with other members of staff.

One even went so far as to state that my disabled child was not actually disabled, (autistic along with a host of other extras for those who a curious. And an absolutely amazing child) but was just a lazy and bad child, and I was apparently nothing more than a scrounger and bad parent.

And so on. 

I had not one but two full break downs, nearly going so far as to cause myself serious harm to get out of work. I fought their false complaints and won each time, I put in a counter complaint against the pair of them but unfortunately the investigation was led by their friend. So despite an enormous amount of evidence and witnesses it was dropped.

I was sent far out of the way for several months to a different post that added over two hours travelling to my day. And when I was informed I was going back to my old area I was told that the Gruesome Twosome would allow me to work there but that they would not interact with me in any other way. Not so bad until you consider we were a team of four on a good day.

Oh and they’d out in yet another complaint against me, that I’d allegedly breached security by not locking the key safe. A dismisable offence. Oddly enough though they were the only ones to have witnessed that. 

That for me was the last straw. 

I soon found a new job and took great satisfaction in handing my notice.

Though they attempted to cause difficulties right till the last day. Actually refusing to let me in to collect my belongings on the final day. Going so far as to get security (run by a completely different company) to refuse me access to do so. And then coming out to refuse me more so. In fact it took the threat of police involvement to get my possessions back. 

It’s been nearly two years since then. And I’ve seen them about, they always look at their feet when they notice me. 

But still I sometimes I think about it, I guess it always comes down to that one question. 

Why?

I guess I’ll never know. 

And as to why I’m writing this. Well it a bit of advice I’ve given over and over again to others. 

Writing helps. 

Time to take my own advice. 

Flat Earth. Asgard! 

So there’s been some debate lately about whether the earth is actually flat.

Well people I’m here to set the record straight. In truth it matters not, as none of us are actually on earth.

We, and all these who came before us are actually residents of Asgard!

Yes you heard me right, Asgard. We have for many many years now been living under the spell of the trickster Loki, who has as he usually does, decided to cause some mischief.

Is this yet another plot to rule over us all? Probably. But due to how long the spell has been in effect it is now beginning to ware off.

Of course due the this weakening of said enchantment those who are already feeling its effects are suffering under the belief that the earth (Mudguard) is flat. Where in fact they are actually awakening to the truth that we are on Asgard.

Due to this those of us still under the spell now belive them to be crazy and or just plain thick.

But in truth we have begun to awaken.

Do not fight it, do not struggle soon we shall all remember. And have our vengeance against the trickster!!

Why do I write in my Genre

Why do I write in my Genre

 

Ok, so an interesting question this week. As for the answer, well in truth I just don’t like reality. Why should I be bound by the rules of this world when I can change them to whatever I want them to be?

How many of us dreamt we could fly or had superpowers? How many of us has read a book or watched a film and wished we could visit that world? Well that’s exactly what I get to do when I write what I write.

I’m no longer bound to this reality and those that read what I write get to come along for the ride. One second I could be sitting in my cluttered office, with its badly painted walls the next I’m battling the hordes of evil on a blood soaked plain while great bests circle ahead. Or maybe I’m walking through h a forest listening to birds singing while tracking elves, the point is I don’t have to be where my body is, but rather where my mind and heart takes me.

The other side of the coin is a little deeper I guess. For six years I worked among some of the worst types of people, I’ve seen what drugs and alcohol can do to people and how it ruins lives. I’ve seen what’s left of the battered women and abused children. I’ve sat next to people who’ve seen no other way out and even on one who attempted to take that route. And to this day I can still see the patterns of blood over the room, I can still smell it taste it on the air even. I know the feel of a mans pulse as it slows, and how they willingly accept what they’ve done.

Worse yet I’ve seen true evil, not the Saturday morning cartoon type, or even the sensationalized religious type. But true evil, the soulless, remorseless skin crawling evil of someone who truly doesn’t seem to have that integral part that makes us all human.

So sometimes I write to escape from that, and others to make sense or even give some sort of reason to the darker parts of humanity. Because in truth, most of the bad in the world is truly senseless. And when I write It’s not just violence or cruelty for no reason. Heroes can exist in the way’s we all remember form when we were children. They can go through hell and back and somehow survive it all. Rescuing those that need saving with words, actions and magic, and defeating villains who make at least some sort of sense.

In the long run I guess I really write in my genre for me.

Thanet creative Writers

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