Good News, Everyone!

I have my first actually-in-a-book-made-of-paper-got-paid-for-it-‘n’-all-publication!

It’s not Nocturn. No, the world isn’t quite ready for that one just yet 😉 But my journey to the lofty heights of writerdom is underway and, like most things in life, it starts with a bit of zombie erotica.

Hold up – what?

Okay, let’s backtrack a little. A few weeks back I mentioned that I’d come up with what I thought was the best piece of poetic writing I’ve ever done. Well, turns out a few other people think it’s not all that bad either, and so the piece has made its way into Rigor Amortis, an anthology of zombie sex, horror, and for my part at least, wry comedy. ‘There’s Plenty of Room in my Heart’ (such is the title)  tugs – hungrily – at the old heartstrings, and ponders whether love can conquer the occasional over-enthusiastic love-bite and the odd bit of exposed viscera. ‘Tis a charming tale!

More details as and when the date of publication approaches, but there we have it – no longer just a writer, but an author. How about that, eh? 😀

Much Mochage

Free wifi cafés are wonderful places. Let us take a moment to appreciate their gracious offer of potentially limitless internet access (so long as you sip your iced mocha really, really slowly).

I think I wrote my best piece of poetic writing ever yesterday, while on the train to Leicester (successfully managing to get the connecting train from Derby, natch).  The tale of a forbidden love between one man and his zombie sweetheart, entitled ‘There’s Plenty of Room in my Heart’ (in reference to the Dawn of the Dead line, “When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the earth”), it’s a deadly serious piece…

Other than that, a T-shirt that I’d ordered online arrived, which was good… However, over the  duration of the day I had to fend off two people who wanted to buy it off me, and one who wanted to do a straight shirt-swap, right in the middle of the train. Hands off!

For those curious, the T-shirt says this:

*Chuckles*

Anyhow, this is the beginning of my last week here in Leicester, and it feels very strange. After six years, the time to move on seems to be approaching with all the serene patience of a speeding freight train, so I’d better stop writing, drain the 1cm of mocha I’ve been carefully maintaining for the last half-hour, and start packing!

Hm, lots of train-centric things seem to happen to me. Wow. To paraphrase Kim Pine, right now, if my life had a face, I would punch it. I would punch my life in the face.

One Night in Derby – Part 2

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I wandered lonely as a cloud, along the Derby streets

As if I’d fallen from the sky, shaken free by techno beats

(If you will remember, I had left the warmth of Fusion,

With three hours still to go before the night reached its conclusion…)

 

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Salvation came in the shape of a bar which was named the Flaming Fox

Referring, I supposed, to the barmaid, whose smile could have melted rocks

I settled myself at the edge of the room, and got out my notebook

Figuring I would do some work, make the most of my bad luck

 

But it wasn’t long before I was approached by one of the in-house bouncers

Who’d seen me writing in a book, and had come looking for some answers

“Are you an inspector or something?” He asked me, to my surprise

“No,” I responded, then instantly thought of many better replies

 

About ten minutes later, it was the barmaid who ambled over

And we chatted nonsense for a while, me glad that I was sober

She went away for a few minutes more, and then, upon returning

She turned my head and kissed me, leaving my cheeks fairly burning

 

“Keep up the good work,” she said with a grin, and slinked back to the bar

While I smiled like a lunatic – best moment of the night by far!

‘On par with Zeppelin Dude at the least’, I thought, and began to wonder

If any other strangeness would emerge from out of the thunder

 

Lo and behold, the night indeed had one more thing in store

Blasts of cold wind filled the room, and a midget walked through the door

He wandered round the room a bit, and passed me once or twice

So on his third pass I said “Hello”, trying to be nice

 

He said hello back and so I made polite conversation

Feeling rather sorry for his slight air of desperation

However this backfired when he asked me “So… wanna come back to mine?”

I managed to say, with contained shock, that I’d have to decline

 

After that he turned away and left without a word

Just as the dreaded call ‘It’s closing time!’ was heard

Thusly did I head out again into the Derby night

And trudged back to the station, which was a very gloomy sight

 

The only passenger was I, on a train so quiet and dead

That never so eager have I been, to see my single bed

And when finally I did get home, at around half-past seven

The cloudy grey of Leicester dawn looked like the plains of heaven

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—————–

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So that, then, is the story, of what happened on that night

Of shocks and laughs and oddities, and the occasional fright

But should I ever find myself once more stranded in that hell?

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I think I’ll do the sensible thing, and find a good hotel.

One Night in Derby – Part 1

A few entries back, I mentioned that there was a tale-in-waiting which deserved to have an entry dedicated to it. As it turns out, it needs more like two, so here’s part one of that story, dragged out of the dungeons of my memory, 100% true. To set the scene: I was travelling back to Leicester from York by train in horrendous weather, and arrived at the station of a small, grimy town called Derby, where I was to change trains to continue my journey…

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It was a dark and stormy night; I think you know the kind

I watched my connecting train depart… while I’d been left behind

And the story of what happened next I wrote out for you all

But the tale came out so long it would’ve filled the entire wall

So here instead are the events, rewritten in poetry form,

Of what can happen stranded in Derby, in the middle of a storm

Oh, and just one crucial point – to add to my bad luck –

My phone battery had up ‘n died (Yeah I know; I suck 😉 )

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———-

Time: 9:00 pm

At nine o clock I missed my train, the connection had been late

The next one? Half-past five AM; so now, I’m thinking ‘Great...”

Then I saw a pub nearby, and headed towards the lights

To be told: “Closing early, love. Sorry, it’s one of those nights!

You’d best head into town by foot – it’s only half an hour.”

Which was fine, ‘til five minutes in, the sky began to shower

So watch me leg it down Main Street, while folk in taxis gloat

(I’ll leave it up to you to guess, whether I had brought a coat.)

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10:00 pm

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Thankfully I soon found a bar, sporting a sign which said:

“SUNDAY NIGHT IS BAND NIGHT, SO COME IN AND ROCK YOUR HEAD!”

“Band night eh, that doesn’t sound bad,” I thought, with optimism

Then discovered that ignorance is bliss, faced with Nu Metal rhythm.

However there was entertainment to find, in braving these aural assaults

By talking snobbily with some guy, about each band’s musical faults.

He’d been a friend of Robert Plant; so I ensured that we shook hands

While he reminisced about Zeppelin – “So much better than these shitty bands…”

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12:00 am

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That place closed around midnight, so time for some more bar-hopping

But now I had to hurry it up, with the temperature rapidly dropping

And it seemed that a club called ‘Fusion’ was the only available place

So I lingered in its doorway, spine shaking along with the bass.

I was just minding my own business there, when one of the bouncers asked

If I was coming in or not, and I had to convince him fast;

I didn’t have much money left by now, and less desire to spend it here

So I explained myself and pointed out that the weather was quite severe

The doorman laughed at this and then, after talking to his mate,

Suggested I help out on the door – “Beats freezing, at any rate!”

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2:00 am

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So I became a Fusion bouncer – well, at least for a while

Until the nightclub had to close, and I continued on my trial.

Through rain and wind and metal and bass, so far I had survived

I could only hope to hold my ground, until the train arrived.

But there were strange things waiting to happen in the intermittant time

And they my friends, will be the subject, of the next entry’s rhyme…

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