This is a quick update. I’ve hit 10k on this, so about a third of the way through. It is a different texture and style for me, so presents some challenges which are part of what makes the work enjoyable.
Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere is out now. I hope you all take the time to pick it up, either in paperback or ebook. It is a book I am proud to share with you all.
My experience and passion can help your writing take form and meaning. I provide analysis, a report and suggestions which will show you the issues with your piece and then the solution.
Picture this.
The woods at dusk. Tired birds sing overhead. Grey squirrels cross your path, as you bow to the magpies.
One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret which has never been told.
Your heart still skips at the sight of a pair. It seldom comes, but still, in your heart, magic blooms. Sense and experience refute it, but you continue to believe.
The dog gets a scent, pulls at the chain lead. The extendable leash is as much use as a wet fart in a space suit, broken by the force of canine instinct.
You can relate to it.
Through the trees, the glimpses of gleaming horn. Sybaritic lips, curled into a smile.
If you do not meet his eyes, hold a breath until you can find a turning back to the street, you get another day.
These ironies shouldn’t escape you. They do, but they shouldn’t.
He would love to talk to you. You would learn a valuable lesson but the cost, well, you know what it would cost you.
Keep walking. His breath caresses the nape of your neck, but you tell yourself it is the breeze. Twilight is crueller than night, and here he is strongest.
Not as strong as you, though.
There is time to compose yourself, dry your eyes and take deep, steadying breaths.
She says you were gone a long time. You aspire to nonchalance and go through to the living room, the dog looks at you, wishes you’d let him loose. You ruffle his favourite spot between his ears and use the bathroom.
Where no one can see your tears.
My hope is you’ve enjoyed the stories and poems here and you’re interested in more of my work.
If you’re looking for where you can read my books, here are the links. I value your support and in return you’ll get stories which will entertain and engage you as a reader. If you’re a reviewer, get in touch and I will be happy to offer a copy of these in exchange for a review across the internet.
My first book
As Dahlia Bliss
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B089TWR21J/ref=cm_sw_r_other_apa_i_LAa4EbKXFYG00 In paperback now.
A gripping tale of passion, redemption and secrets from the author of 51R and Lessons and Tests.
John is a self-improvement coach giving a speech at a conference when he meets Andrea, an ambitious MMA fighter. When their passionate physical relationship leads to professional disaster for John, he finds a path to redemption through his involvement with Andrea and the training team she has built around her. When John’s past returns to wreak more havoc on the new life he’s built for himself, he must decide whether his love is enough to make him stand firm or run.
An excerpt from something new. Also new Dahlia Bliss is coming as well.
Zephyros ran through the night, calling The Lightning until his head pounded with the effort of speaking it.
The thumping hooves of their horses and the joyous, terrified cries of men going to war.
As a sixty feet column of brilliant white and blue light sliced through the trees in a serpentine arc, Zephyros Barak prayed for Ansel Mercer’s men to give up their pursuit.
He had shared his circumstances of birth with Mercer over dinner that same evening. Hatched from The Divine Egg, stolen from a dragon goddess who was tricked into surrender by his father. Mercer had sputtered on his wine and sat back aghast.
Zephyros remembered the statutes in the hallway. The shard of diamond around his neck, hung on a length of cord. He believed they were affectations, not beliefs held without shame.
Zephyros put his hands up, spluttered something about being house trained.
Humour, he discovered, was another skill he lacked experience in.
When Mercer reached to slash at him, screaming the word, abomination, Zephyros realised he had been too honest about his circumstances. Taking a wound to his forearm had distracted him from the concentration used to Speak, so instead he had ran, relying on surprise to make it out of the chamber, and then the courtyard before Mercer could act on his outrage.
Zephyros remembered the papers he had left behind. A modest proposal to fund an expedition, researches and cataloguing the unknown lands to the south. He had planned to appeal to Mercers noblesse oblige but then he had plans for all sorts of things.
His left forearm was sodden with blood, soaking through the sleeve of his robe and each step made it sing with pain. The wavering edges of his vision spoke to a blood loss which would overcome him faster than the men at his heels.
Ahead, the forest was growing thicker, and he continued his frenzied retreat as he heard arrows fly ahead.
Zephyros prayed the assertions of a greater destiny were not his moment of ironic demise. Which was when the arrow slammed into his left shoulder and he cries out with shock. He reached out, tested the shaft where it had gone in and his fingertips were sodden with blood.
Each breath was a furnace in his chest, and The Lightning slipped from his acuity.
Zephyros tried to keep up his pace but his wounds were bold with exhaustion and soon, he was staggering and stumbling over his feet as the shouts grew muted behind him.
Let me know what you think.
So, I have a mailing list as a place where you can find out what I’m doing and thinking. It’s becoming increasingly attractive as a place to share.
If you’ve not been in a cave, then you’ve seen the way platforms change who they want to speak there.
I would like it if you signed up.
She looked at him across the dancefloor. Plucking up the courage to say hello again. The lights are kind to everyone in here, but she still feels a small shame at how time has left its mark on her.
She walks across the dancefloor. When he smiles at her, it’s twenty years gone in an instant.
‘Hello, stranger.’ he said. Jovial, like they’re old friends.
She goes to speak, but the words don’t come out. Again.
The world goes black, and words float before her.
INSERT COIN TO CONTINUE.
In conversation with a good friend, and what came up was a question which was worth asking:
What stops you from supporting my work? Or engaging with me on here?
It sounds awful doesn’t it? However, in my defence, a writer wants to be read. If you’re a parent, it relates to that combination of intense protective instinct and also narcissistic validation but without the raw biological wonder of it.
Still, no one owes me anything. However, there’s a few of you out there and whether you’re reading or not, 1300 plus people is a good crowd. The analogy of a gig comes to mind, I’m on stage and in front of the microphone. (Good writing is a lot like burlesque but that image is too distracting) and I’m wondering who’s listening. Who goes home and posts they enjoyed it or it sucked.
Indulge me, if you’d be so kind.
There is also the mailing list which is here:
https://tinyletter.com/mbblissett
And, of course, books.
https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/contests/43/submissions/17850/
Please go and read, show your support for the story.
