You’ve been lied to. Yes, ending with a preposition is perfectly acceptable and in fact, encouraged in fictional writing. Often, when writing a story, unless you do end with a preposition, it may not make much sense. This may not sound like such a big deal, and I’ll explain after. Oh my goodness. I’ve been let loose with prepositions that end my sentences and I’m wetting my underpants beneath.
My high-school teacher would want to murder me for the blasphemy that my writing has become.
What is a preposition anyway? It’s words that in the Latin language, weren’t suited to end a sentence with. For example, my high-school teacher would have probably shoved a ruler up your bum if you’d written anything like I do that end with such words as; beneath, until, on, off, to, until, after, across, toward – to name just a few. Luckily, she doesn’t know where I am – as I look over my shoulder to make sure…
So…?
However, in today’s modern English language, they are not only acceptable, but necessary for a story to work with. Sometimes they don’t sound right, but in many cases, they sound like natural language. There are many benefits to ending with a preposition.
“I’d be done for” is an excellent phrase that is common in the English language, yet, it seems to really piss grammarians off. Which has in fact become one of my new, favourite past-times that I look forward to. I’m going out of my way to end sentences with prepositions. In fact, I’m going to start a preposition ender’s club right after.
Don’t believe me? Go to Google and type in “ending sentences with prepositions”. Do it now. It’s in the Oxford dictionary as well.
Therefore, there is a lot to be happy about. This will render grammarians insane. Use it. A lot. Because the alternative would be to say something like…”there is a lot in which to be happy.” Ew. Are you in?
What’s the big deal anyway?
The more grammarians who are stuck in the 20th century that get over it, the better the world will be.
Here’s some examples of prepositions at the end of a sentence and how they would sound without.
My way: There’s much to be happy about.
The highway: There is much with which to be happy.
My way: I wondered where he’d come from.
The highway: I wondered from where he had come.
Personally, I’m for (if you couldn’t tell) sentences that end with prepositions and do feel that the English language can often sound better with them ending with a preposition.
We live in a modern world that no longer speaks like Shakespearen times. So why the hell should we gramatically crucify as though we do?
This is a side post to my Permesso di Soggiorno which I’m currently acquiring in order to regain Italian citizenship. And boy, what a ride it is. From being sent to one office to another – and being told several conflicting stories after another – my journey isn’t one I’d recomment if you’re considering the same avenue just so you too can start living la vida Italiano.
Italy is an amazing country for food, for lifestyle, for creativity and simply for a cultural break – especially if you’re a fan of Italian history. What it isn’t, is a country that is organised, politically stable or without corruption. Living la vida Italiano is quite simply hard work.
The Italians are compassionate and friendly – this is of course a generalisation – as of course just like with any country, there’s fucking idiots too. Some of those may or may not work for certain government offices that you have to rely on as part of your requirements to stay in Italy.
Because I lost my Italian citizenship as a child in order to gain my Australian citizenship, I have the opportunity to live in Italy for 12 months – without working – and I will automatically get my citizenship after that 12 months. That doesn’t stop the government trying to send me on the stock standard courses which other migrants need in order to fulfill a 30 point criteria. Even though I don’t need 30 points – because my citizenship is guarranteed – I attend anyway because I don’t have anyone I can argue with and because, It’s a good opportunity to meet other people. This is something that is hard to do when you spend a lot of your time alone, writing all sorts of interesting things such as books. When you have limited opportunity to meet new people in a new country – because you don’t go to an office and interact with others – you have to take any opportunity you can to meet others. So if the government thinks I should go and spend two days learning about civil life in Italy, I will go. I even got talked into doing an exam which costs me 30 euros and proves I can speak level 2a Italian. Oh what fun living la vida Italiano is!!!
Getting through to the Commune in Italy, is next to impossible. If you try and ring, they will hang up. I even had an Italian friend try and call on my behalf and they just simply hang up. Here’s a sample conversation when I called them (translated in English):
“Hello, I’d like to speak to someone regarding further information on my Permesso di Soggiorno. Have I called the right office?”
“Yes”
“Oh great. Would you like my reference number?”
They hang up.
I’ve done this several times and I’ve called various offices and that’s exactly what happens. They don’t seem to like phones here. So, I go into the offices and try and find someone I can talk to. They quickly tell me to go online and to find the information myself. When I ask for further information on where online specifically – because I’ve already been online 10,993 times – I’m told, “the website”.
When I had a good, Italian speaking friend call them, he got the same response.
You cannot get frustrated. You must simply accept that things are as they are and that no amount of jumping up and down is going to help your cause. Unlike the United Kingdom or Australia – both places I’ve lived – that won’t get you far. In fact, it will work against you. Italians are super-chilled about a lot of things and that’s what makes the Italian culture so interesting and lovable.
My advice to anyone that is coming to Italy for long-term stay, either with a Permesso di Soggiorno or citizenship purposes like I am, relax and expect that you are going to get frustrated more often than not and that the best way to deal with it is to sit back, have an espresso and a cake and look at the beauty around you, of which Italy is has a lot of.
I’m at a point of the Permesso di Soggiorno – three months after I applied for it – where I’m still waiting for it. My 6 week application has been “processing” for about 3 months now. I knew from the beginning that living la vida Italiano was going to be interesting and I never for a second thought that it would be anything but hard work.
I’m pleased to say that nothing surprised me and that I’m also pleased to say that either I’m becoming more Italian by the day or I lost my mind somewhere along the way because, I actually don’t give a shit.
Are you an artist? I can assure you that it is a country filled with inspiration. I’m pumping the books out now and get some of my best ideas while I’m walking around Florence. I’ve even met drug dealers in pubs.
Feel free to comment and let me know how your experience is going if you’ve come to the great Italian land or if you’re considering doing it.
I’m off to get a cappucino and a cake…Living la vida Italiano…ah…it definitely has its perks!
The following is an excerpt from Mr 303, my new book which was released on March 31st, 2016. Available now on Amazon.
Herbie drove along the freeway heading south while feeling a combination of excitement and apprehension. The drive from Perth to Mandurah should take just under an hour, but he was not ready. As he neared the exit towards Mandurah, he had an impulse to continue on a little further as he suddenly remembered a special place from his past.
A few minutes later, he drove towards the coast and stopped at a set of traffic lights. His thoughts were in too many places and he was finding it harder to focus; he really needed to stop and take a short break. As he rounded the bend on the winding road, a sign informed him that he was close. He had known the area well once, regardless of the development that had changed the landscape since.
He parked his Ute, opened the door, and took off his shoes and socks. He didn’t care if anyone saw an otherwise well-dressed man strolling along the beach barefoot. After locking the car, he headed to the pathway that led to the beach itself and walked along the sand. Herbie’s thoughts were mostly of her. She’d broken his heart once, and he had taken a lifetime to get over it. In fact, he often thought that he’d never gotten over her.
Once, a sweet young girl he’d dated for a few months had screamed at him during a heated argument. Her parting words were that he would never be able to love anyone because he was still stuck on his childhood sweetheart. How true that had been.
The light blue Indian Ocean reflected the sun’s rays; they bounced off the waves and made it difficult to look towards the distant horizon. He walked along and felt the heat from the sand almost burn his feet as he pondered the recent events which had given him cause to both celebrate and to be cautious.
“It’s taken me twenty-seven years to realise it. It’s been a life full of pain and suffering because I realised that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life leaving you. If my life can have one regret, it would be that I hurt you. That I left you,” she had told him with genuine tears. He believed her; he always had, because she would never lie to him…he knew that. He also understood that her life hadn’t gone the way she’d wanted and that the circumstances that’d brought them together had been based on the very circumstances that had pulled them apart.
Seagulls squawked above and startled him a little, though his thoughts and his concerns were too deep to be distracted for more than a few seconds. He walked to the shore’s edge and put his feet in the cool ocean. For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of his reflection off the water before the waves pushed it away. It was enough— he had seen who he had become. He knew that time had ravaged him, as time does. It had changed him so much; he was no longer that handsome teenager who’d been full of life and longing, filled with inspiration and drive. While he wasn’t unattractive or unsuccessful, he was older and wiser and certainly no longer willing to throw caution to the wind and repeat the same mistakes.
But he loved her. She still controlled his heart. Herbie felt as though she always had, and that is why he could truly never love another.
And now she was back, thanks to her ex-husband, that bastard. Herbie would happily kill the guy and send himself to jail. He’d been lucky to have been married to the girl of Herbie’s dreams and didn’t even appreciate it. He’d shown her abuse and anger when all she’d shown him was love and understanding. I’d fucking kill that guy …if opportunity ever arises… I most definitely would.
Months earlier, during an after-work party in which his colleagues did their usual drunken pranks on the newest members of staff, Herbie had decided to leave his car in the underground carpark in Perth and walk to a nearby bar and meet other friends. Not that he didn’t like his work colleagues, but there were times when he’d had enough of seeing the same faces he spent all week with. As an insurance broker, he spent far too much time in one office and with the same people. The bar he’d gone to was lively and vibrant. He instantly felt uplifted and saw friends there he’d rather drink with.
That’s when he saw Kayla. Her dark hair, cut short, was shiny and well-kept. But despite some aging, she was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her eyes danced on their own… she always had eyes that told stories. They had locked gazes, both of them frozen in time, neither able to speak or move. 27 years had disappeared in an instant, and for a brief moment, they were teenagers again. He had known right then that her feelings for him were still strong by the look she gave him.
“You look amazing. It’s been so long… I think about you all the time.”
“You too. It’s good to see you, I’ve been thinking about you too,” she’d told him.
Within minutes, they had established they were both single, and like a dust-storm carrying unwilling leaves in its direction, they were transported to the outskirts of the city for a walk. They’d walked all night in fact. At 6 am they’d found a little café and sat to take a break. Through the course of the night, she’d declared her love for him and told him that if he would have her, she’d like to start again. He’d agreed too quickly but knew he had no choice. His mind screamed for him to be cautious, but his heart answered yes.
He kicked a large dry seashell into the water with the heel of his foot and smiled. Herbie had every reason to be happy. Kayla was his again and since that night many weeks before, they’d gotten closer and closer. They both had kids; all of which were almost teenagers themselves.
What worried him more than anything wasn’t Kayla’s love for him, it was this flu. It had been creeping up on the country’s radar for a few months. There’d been talk of it in New York, then in London and other parts of the world. Then it had appeared in Sydney and Melbourne, followed soon by Brisbane and Adelaide. Then Darwin and Perth began reporting cases. At first, it was the usual stories, often being sensationalised by the media. Then the deaths started appearing on the news. Dozens…then hundreds. City and regional hospitals all over Western Australia had joined the rest of the world in declaring a global pandemic.
He turned and began walking towards his car with every intention to drive to see Kayla in the hospital. He worried that she’d deteriorated, and his heart beat wildly.
“Please, God, no… I’ve lost her once before, please don’t let her return only for me to lose her again,” he said out loud. A young boy carrying a surfboard glanced at him curiously, as though he were crazy. Herbie thought that he probably was. Crazy in love.
The sun beat down on the back of his head and he felt it beginning to burn. Stupidme,not wearing sunscreen outside and it’s 40 degrees Celsius. He jumped in the car and rolled the windows down while he started it, hoping any breeze might help the car cool down while he waited for the air-conditioner to kick in.
With a heavy heart and a troubled mind, he drove to the hospital to see Kayla.
It’s an exciting day for an author after many months of writing, re-writing, editing, re-editing, re-writing, re-editing, deleting, re-writing…ok you get the picture. Months of perfecting a story finally comes to an end. The book is ready for others to judge. Insert visual of said author biting fingernails. Does it suck? The Apocalypse book release on the book called Mr 303 is hitting shelves around the world and I’m wondering if I made a big mistake. Will others see what I tried to do? Will the characters jump off the page as they did in my head? Will the scenery play itself out as I intended? I guess we will find out soon.
The inspiration behind the story
I’m a bit of a fan of the Sci-fi /Apocalyptic and Dystopian genre already and I’ve read some pretty good books and watched some really good movies on the topic. To try and compete with that, you’d have to have a good angle, a good take on the idea to even try and compete. Writing isn’t a gift, it’s a life of learning. You continually write and re-write and eventually improve. When you try and combine that into a story, such as this apocalyptic tale, you really need to make sure the story is going somewhere. Mr 303 – The Virus Part 1 is definitely going somewhere. In fact, I’d already written half of the sequel before I went ahead and released Mr 303 on preorder. I like where it’s going, we have a group of key people who are suddenly faced with a changed world. When I read apocalypse related stories, I often find myself frustrated and wondering, ‘Would people really behave that way in that situation?’. So that’s why I found myself writing an apocalypse series.
What happens in Part 2?
Good question. I can tell you that you will discover why the book is called Mr 303 and why he is so important to this world. I can also tell you that the survivors are going to be faced with some very tough decisions. You are going to read this and hopefully feel like the decisions they make are ones that you would make. How would you react to a real end of the world scenario? When the SHTF – Shit Hits The Fan – will you find yourself hoping there’s a Mr 303 around? Do you think the SHTF is likely? I wrote a post about that here…lots of people seem to think so.
The survivors of Mr 303 are going to be people just like you and I, who find themselves without the modern comforts of home and trying to work out what next. What needs to be done to live life again.
I hope you enjoy Mr 303. Please let me know what you think and pleasereview the book wherever you brought it from.
It is so easy to tell someone that they are a piece of shit human being when you are hiding your own ugly, puss-filled face behind a keyboard. You’re completely anonymous – so therefore, it is your God given right to slam anyone that you want, anytime, anywhere, any way you fucking want. There are no repercussions and no accountabilities for your actions because on the web, you are anonymous. Such is the way of Trolls on Forums.
My willingness to interact with such internet Trolls on Forums and other shady characters is dwindling by the day – and this comes from someone who spent over two decades helping to build the internet to what it has become. And I don’t regret it, not one bit. What I do regret, is giving more than a second of my time to the countless trolls who trawl Reddit, Amazon, Google+, Yahoo and many other forums so they can show someone else, how much they loathe themselves, how despicable they can be and how quickly they can bring someone else down.
Trolls on Forums, give yourself a pat on that hairy, hunchback flesh of yours – I say flesh because you already know you don’t have a spine. Excellent work – you have succeeded in upsetting others. Now go and celebrate by decorating your favourite Fried Brain Sandwhich with some dead flies – flies which have been gathering dust on your window sill – which itself has been shuttered closed to prevent daylight from ever hitting your monitor and giving you a ghastly reflection of your putrid puss-filled face. Drain that last cheap beer – cheap because you haven’t been able to get a job in a very long time and have thus resorted to life online and have to watch your meagher pennies. Pennies which have been graciously provided by your government, who in turn were funded by those very people you go and bring down. The irony isn’t lost on you because you perpetuate a belief system that God must exist – yet has failed you – why on Earth would he make your life so miserable after all – and has absolutely nothing to do with the reality that you are in fact, a scum-bucket filled cunt who God turned his back on a very long fucking time ago.
Fear and discontentment are fertile breeding grounds for malicious thinking and troll-like behaviour.
Is this you? Did you get your hair done Troll?
Unleash your fury on innocent others. Do it! You will feel sooooo much better once you’ve brought down some innocent person. Don’t worry yourself about whether or not they have financial problems and are simply trying to put on a brave face, don’t consider for a second, whether someone close to them has died and they’re online reaching out for someone to talk to, do not for a split second even think that maybe, just maybe, that person feels even lower than you and is doing the best they can. Trolls unite! Bring them down, surely you have the power to make others feel sadder than you could possibly feel? Do it you spine-less under-arm hair. Trolls on Forums do not give up your cause. You are slowly succeeding in making others feel as miserable as you deserve to feel.
Thanks to Gucomics.com for letting me use this graphic.
For the rest of you, who are not Trolls in Forums, but have been victims of such crimes, I’d like you to save the above graphic to your PC; perhaps make it your desktop. Compliments of Gucomics who have also understood the very important work that Trolls in Forums are doing. Do not despair, use this image to remind yourself that you are not a Troll and therefore, do not deserve this behaviour.
As a former hacker and IT nerd, I have occasionally had the pleasure of tracking IP addresses of such Trolls on Forums and making note. Just in case one day, I decide to retaliate. Which I hope to never do. I must take my own advice and understand that these pathetic losers who make unnecessary negative comments online, are filled with their own hatred. If I attracted a troll, I must have done something decent. Trolls do not generally attack poor work. Trolls have respect for one another’s work and will only troll beauty.
If you’ve been trolled, rest assured that whatever you did was so amazing, so light-filled and magnificent, that it was like a beacon in the dark sewers where the trolls live.
So, over the last few months, as I’ve been writing a book about a bisexual prostitute living in Barcelona, I did a ton of research on sexuality and sexual identity and became a little confused myself. I’ve also written a short tale about a young guy who experiments with another guy for the first time. In this story, he addresses the need for a label in his world and does not identify with any of the existing labels because he’s neither gay, nor bisexual, nor straight.
If like me, you’d like to remain politically correct and show respect, then you might find it difficult to also remember the correct acronym.
LGBT has changed. It changed to LGBTQ – Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer. There’s since been an adoption of Asexual into the acronym, so we have to adjust it again to LGBTQA. Let’s not forget Butch, because there are those who don’t identify as Queer. Then there’s Demigender – a term used to define those who only partially connect with one gender.
Along the way, we have also coined Intergender – although used primarily by those Nonbinary gender identity (either male or female), it is also used by those who were born with Intersex bodies.
No sooner had I revised my acronym to include all people to ILGGBTQDA, that I discovered I’d missed a couple. Nonbinary is for those who do not identify as either male or female. Then there’s Cisgender – denoting for those who self-identity with any gender that corresponds to their biological sex at birth but do not consider themselves Transgendered.
I quickly amended my notes to – ICLGGBTNQDA.
Alas! Apparently – Enby came to my attention. It is the Nonbinary gender equivalent of the proper nouns “boy” or “girl.” Also Enbies – Plural.
Genderfluids quickly jumped in as I was doing my research and wanted to be identified. Genderfluids are happy to assume male or female/ boy or girl one day and change the next. If you are Polygendered then you have multiple sexual identities – often at the same time – and do not fall under the other categories.
IPCLGGGEPBTNQDA.
Vaguegender popped up before I could save my changes and is a gender identity that is highly influenced by being neurodivergent. Those that are Vaguegendered feel undefinable or only partly definable because of their neurodivergence. In Japan, they use the term X-gender which is similar to the western term – Transgender. The Chinese have Yinyang ren – to define those that are both male and female equally or for those who do not conform to a gender and/or are bisexual and/or Intersex or Transgendered.
Let’s not forget the largest demographic, who need to be included because if we are going to self-identify, then we need to put it out there. Straight. There’s plenty of that being claimed and I’m happy to include it in the reference guide.
It was at this point that I was beginning to struggle to remember the various acronyms without disrespecting any sexual identity and wondering what a better way would be to summarise this, especially when I discovered a dozen more and my head began to spin.
The answer came to me in the middle of the night. As answers often do. Ever been in a situation whereby you struggle to remember something poignant at that very moment but cannot? Then hours later, long after you gave a fuck, the answer suddenly pops into your head. You can wake up at stupid-o-clock and think, “that’s great. But I don’t need that now,” and promptly go back to sleep.
My answer is simple, and I feel…very effective. I’ve redrawn the acronym to suit my purposes without offending any sexual identity – with a slight modification. Because I’m a little OCD about certain things and do like a sense of tidiness, I thought I’d go ahead and put them alphabetically.
Voila! I unveil my sexual identity label – for those that really do prefer to have a label – hey, no judgement – personally, I go with the flow and take what I’m told as gospel.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
Tada! What do you think? What will probably work best for any sexual identities, would be if you simply choose a letter that corresponds with your sexual identity and identify with it. You can completely keep this to yourself or you can reveal it; that is up to you.
I’m so happy with this solution! From now on, every time I think about what the current acronym is, I just have to remember my alphabet and I’m no longer in fear of offending anyone or leaving anyone out.
Now I just need to remember my alphabet. As I get older, I’m finding that trickier each day. Perhaps there’s a label for that? Oh wait, I’ll just pick A for Alzheimers from the acronym!
For those of you who are looking forward to Toby coming out, you’ll be pleased to know that Toby has chosen not to disclose his sexual identity and is happy with the alphabet choice available to him.
I hope this helped you as it did help me enormously.
Regards
Fox
*This blog was written with a humorous tone, but not with the intention of upsetting anyone. Please accept that this was written in a non-disrespectful and light-hearted tone*
*A big thanks to Nonbinary wiki for the A-Z of sexual identity information*
Whether you’re 25 and starting to get concerned with some hairloss, or 45 and worrying about bags under your eyes…oh and let’s not forget about wrinkles, at some point, the majority of us will become concerned about Getting Old and Looking Older.
As soon as I finished writing Toby, who is with my wonderful editor Wendy, I began Mr 303 Part Two and in both books, the ageing thing came up. Toby is only in his 20’s, so ageing isn’t a huge concern, but he did start to think about it. In Mr 303 Part Two, Sian – a pop star – is one of the few survivors. You start to understand that even before the world went to shit, she was already dying a little inside from watching those who are much younger than her, become more successful. She’s so obsessed with ageing in fact, that it’s a part of her personality.
Like most, I’m not immune. As soon as I hit 40, I began to avoid looking in the mirror because I still see myself doing handstands after a few drinks or being that 20-something in a bar, telling hilarious jokes and thinking I’m kinda funny and I don’t want the mirror to remind me that I’m getting old and looking older. My physiotherapist does a good job of that already with, “you’re not 21 anymore Fox.” I’ve since switched Physios. I’m kidding.
The sheer terror of waking up one day and noticing that your beard has grey specks in it – I’m not talking like a strand here and there – I’m talking, it is a grey beard with some specks of black in it. Desperate measures needed to be taken because while I’m not obsessed with ageing, I do realise that with a white/grey beard, it gives my entire face a really pallid look. Especially in winter.
I brought some beard paint and decided I’d paint away. I don’t know if this is a guy thing, but I don’t bother reading instructions for things that look pretty intuitive. I painted it on, noticed some grey hairs around the sides of my head and on the top, so I decided to dab a bit here and there too. Then sat at my laptop and responded to some emails for a bit. I eventually got up and showered and got dressed. Unlike most people, I don’t bother to look in the mirror before I leave the house. I know what I look like and I don’t have hair to worry about, so I don’t bother looking. Besides, on this particular day, I had to get a train from Florence to Pisa, then board a flight to London, then get a train from London Gatwick to my other home in the West London area.
I’m at the airport in Pisa, I’m boarding the plane and I walk past a vending machine and catch a glimpse of my reflection and FUCK! Holy shit! I have black stains around my head, face, temples. Then it dawns on me, people have been staring at me and laughing at me and here I am, the journey from Florence to London looking like a chimney sweep boy who got sent into the future and aged accordingly along the way. There was nothing I could do about it except put my beanie on and try and look away from people so I wouldn’t get noticed. That did not work.
There’s no fix, there’s no cure…yet. We just have to look at others around us and realise that we are not alone. This is the circle of life, we get old and we die. The end. Up until then, do things that matter, be the best you can be. Don’t do stupid things like I did and fly across Europe with a black stained face and head. I can only imagine how I must have looked.
Did I mention the time I read online that you can put hemorrhoid gel under your eyes to reduce bags? I thought I’d give it a shot…several hours before an important work function. Needless to say, I am clearly gullible and stupid. Hours later, my flaming red bags were a beacon and conversation starter. When I looked in the mirror, I had highly irritated eyes – we’re talking, zombie kind of red – and bright pink under-eyes.
Don’t get me started about the time I read online that you can put garlic in your ears to…I’ll save that story for another time. My point is that Getting Old and Looking Older can cause you to do stupid things.
So, before I go, here’s a couple tips I recently discovered both men and women can do to reduce under eye bags and wrinkles:
Salt dries your skin – duh – so therefore, reduce salt in your diet and hey presto, less wrinkles
Sleep face up – when you sleep on your face, gravity pushes down so…
Cold things reduce puffiness under your eyes, just don’t use a cold jar of chili like I did…
Don’t smoke – smoking is one of the biggest contributors to premature ageing
Water – drink your body weight in water, you might spend your entire day on the toilet, but…
I think I of all people have learned a valuable lesson from my own trials. Enjoy the now and don’t fret about the future; you can’t change the future but you can sure as hell change the now!
Would love to hear your comments below on Getting Old and Looking Older.
When you were a kid, you learned to walk, you fell out of tree houses – scraped your knee, maybe even broke a limb or two. You got up, continued to perfect this thing we call trying-to-grow up. Along the way, you accumulated some stories. Now you might be thinking about How to Write Your First Book and tell one of those stories and what the hell growing up has to do with writing your first book. Btw, If you’ve already done this, congratulations! You did an amazing job! Writing a book is the closest a man will come to having a baby.
My point is, learning to write a book is just like learning to walk. There are plenty of people that helped you master this ‘walking‘ thing along the way and to some degree, there are plenty of people who will help you with learning to write. Though sadly, most people want to charge you. I’m not one of those.
A long time ago, to get published was a very difficult thing to happen to a good writer. These days, your dog can have his/her own book and be published within minutes. The difference between books that sell and books that don’t? It isn’t just in the writing. It’s in the marketing and promotion. And the cover. Someone needs to know your book exists. Do you honestly think that you’ll write a book, pop it up on the internet and one person will read it then go ahead and recommend it to 10 others? People don’t do that anymore. 1 out of 100 people will review a book on Amazon. Just sayin’.
So, here are some things I strongly recommend that you start with. Write every day. Whether it’s a blog, a journal/diary, love letters, penpal letters – do they still exist? – emails, envelopes – ok now I’m going too far…but you get the point. Write something every day. Your brain is wired to think a certain way and when you are taught to write as a child, you are taught to write things exactly as you see them.
What’s really important here is training that writing muscle to think a certain way so that you can write something that’s worth reading. There’s no point writing something – if you want an audience – if it isn’t something that at least one person will want to read.
I wrote as I started learning to walk, I wrote when I was bored as a young person and had been grounded for something trivial like, setting the living room rug on fire – but I digress, I wrote as a teenager, through University and at work, I learned to write documents and emails. Then I began submitting to various online writing forum websites and got rejected for nearly every single one. For every single one that got accepted, a thousand had probably rejected it. Did I give up? Did you give up trying to learn how to walk? The ones that said no, taught me to try harder. To analyse what was wrong with my writing. My desire to write better was born out of all those hundreds of rejections. My writing improved because a thousand people said I sucked.
Practice every day and think about what you are good at writing in. For example, do you like Zombies? Try writing an original Zombie short story. What about weight-loss? Do you think you have a fresh angle or a new perspective that others could learn from? What about a how-to book? There’s always demand for those and if you know how to do something, you can put it in a book and teach someone else.
Don’t do it for the money. Writing books today – forget it if you’ve disillusioned yourself you will make money – is not about making money. It’s about enjoyment. I’m talking for 90% of writers who have been at this for years and made very little money; certainly not enough to earn a living. Perhaps enough to buy a cup of coffee. You might be lucky and your work could be in that 5-10% who earn a living from writing. Most writers don’t and I know some fantastic/amazing writers who have a career other than writing or they would starve. Maybe the extra money from writing might buy you a new car one day. Now that’s your goal, but not your motivation.
First, we’re going to run through some daily exercises on learning How to Write Your First Book.
As I said, write very day. Write about things you like, things you know and things you’d like to do one day. Write mantras, write letters that you’ll never send. Write blogs. Experiment with wording. Grow your vocabulary,
Read more. To be a good writer, you need to be a voracious reader. Every good book I’ve read, I can tell the author reads a lot by the way they describe things, characters, scenery. Read the cereal box – I’m not kidding! Some smart cookie was hired to write for cereal packets and it just so happens I’ve done a few of those marketing blurbs in my time!
Start writing sample chapters. Understand how your story could flow; how to describe people
Research your demographic. Understand your audience…blah blah blah, whatever you want to call it, you need to know who’s going to buy your material, write for them
Start reading blogs like this one; there are a ton of good bits of free information on the internet but often hard to find. My advice is to research thoroughly and understand what those who have gone before you have to say,
Get it proof-read by someone other than a family member or a friend. If you aren’t ready to go to an editor yet to get it professionally polished, then join Writer’s Forums and ask others to help you,
Understand that writing and selling a book is a business. If you want to sell books, you need to act and think like a businessman. If you aren’t prepared to learn marketing, accounting, PR, sales and promotions, networking, SEO etc… then don’t waste your time learning How to Write Your First Book. Unless you’re going to pay someone a lot of money to do that all for you, then ignore me completely and listen to them. They probably know more than I do.
Now you have a completed manuscript that you think is pretty amazing, what next?
Editing. Oh yes…that old chestnut. Your book, no matter how fantastic grandma and Uncle Joe think it is, will definitely need an editor. It needs to be checked not just for grammar and typos, but plot holes, character flaws, structure and theme. It needs to be perfect. If your book is good, then it isn’t good enough. With the competition out there – approximately hundreds of millions of books being published every single year – you are going to need to get your work to be beyond perfect; it’s going to need to stand out amongst some pretty tough competition.
Again, there are a ton of editors out there and most of them are expensive. Generally, a manuscript of 80,000 words will cost you $1000 for two passes. That’s a rough and average estimate. Do not get your mother, school-teacher friend etc to edit your book. Trust me, this doesn’t work. Their input is valuable but you should take it with a grain of salt. Whether you like it or not, someone who knows you will always hold back a little tiny bit about what they really think to prevent hurting your feelings. I can send you a recommendation or six, just ask me, but they all charge. You may never make your money back on your first book. Know that now before you learn How to Write Your First Book.
Get an amazing book cover done for your book. Your book cover is what everyone sees first. Now, let me put this into perspective for you.
For your first book, only concentrate on digital ebooks. Don’t worry about paperback. Yet.
When you look at Amazon’s book list, as an example, you will see billions of books – zoomed out. All you’re seeing is a thumbnail of the actual cover. Now tell me, which one of those books stands out to you and why?
There’s your book cover. It needs to be amazing from a distance – thumbnail – and it needs to be amazing when people look up close. The font needs to truly reflect what’s on the inside and the cover image must really grab someone’s attention and be related to the content. There’s no point having a pair of sexy legs with red heels as your cover if you’re writing a manual on dog grooming.
How to groom your dog with a heel
If you’re doing this on a budget, check out Fiverr – be warned, there’s a lot of dodgy people on Fiverr with 99% fake reviews so make sure you check out sample work before you pay.
Once you’ve got your cover and text looking so glamorous that you want to buy a copy yourself, you’re ready to add it to presale. Yes, I recommend presale on Amazon because it’s smart. You might make some sales before your launch date that will count towards your rankings on the release date. Don’t rush your release. Do it carefully and do it intelligently.
Now, we’ve run through How to Write Your First Book, we’re going to run through how to get it to sell.
There’s a lot of authors who will tell you that the best strategy is to make your book free. I am not one of those. I don’t think that’s a good strategy for your first book. Firstly, you won’t even make enough for that cup of coffee which will dis-hearten you before you even began. Secondly, what’s the point of writing a book and going through the costs and efforts to get it out there only to give it away? Unless you’ve got other books that you are promoting, then I wouldn’t recommend this. I know a lot of readers who agree that a free book is not worth reading. There’s exceptions to the rule, but that’s outside of the scope of this blog. For your first book, I recommend that you don’t.
Let me tell you a secret. Readers do not look at the name of an author when they got the book free. They will look at the author when they had to pay for the book. And let’s be honest, most people will spend 99c on a book if they like the cover, the biography and the sample first pages (which you get to read for free on Amazon).
There’s literally hundreds of websites that promote cheap and free books. If you make your first book initially at 99c – a strategy I do recommend for your first book – then you can get listed on many of these for free. There are just as many who will charge you, but for now, I recommend ignoring those. You can adjust the price of your book later, once you understand a little more about pricing and competition.
I may do a follow-up post about those, but for now, I will just tell you that Google ‘selling your book at 99c’ and you will see many.
Plan the launch date with your marketing efforts. Pick a date – usually at least a few weeks into the future – and submit all of your marketing efforts for that release date. You can shout about it on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Instagram, the front of your street, the nearest Starbucks etc.. that it’s available on presale but don’t expect any sales from social media – again, I can cover that in another post. Social media is supposed to be social, people don’t go on there to buy, so they tune out to any marketing. There’s some exceptions, but as a rule, it’s a bad strategy that will get actual readers unfollowing you. And if you did it in Starbucks, you might get people following you. But they won’t be fans.
When you have dozens of online resources – such as websites – all pointing to your book on your release date, you are going to have the best chance of success that there can be with an ebook today. When a book goes live, all of the presale figures finally count towards your day 1. Also, every single person that buys your book on that one day – your launch day – helps you get up the charts on release day. You want to be as high as possible on launch day. If you make modicum sales on your launch date, forget it, your book is consigned to the billions of others gathering dust. You might sell a copy here and there but you will not be making more than enough to buy a cup of coffee in a year.
There’s a ton of other advice I can give you, about SEO, your website, marketing strategies, which websites to avoid and which ones to target etc… but that would make this post too long. Perhaps I’ll put it in a book; we shall see.
For now, you can do me the greatest honour of at least checking out my books. You can go back to ignoring them after, but at least have a look.
I really hope this blog on How to Write Your First Book has helped you. Please also take a second to throw in a comment and let me know what you think about this and whether there should be a follow up with marketing stuff I have learned.
You know when you go to download a book on Kindle? And that thing happens where Amazon goes, “Oh hey Fox, you’ve already downloaded that book,” and then you remember, that’s right, I downloaded that a year ago. Sometimes it takes reading the first chapter again before you remember. Even on the first couple of times this happened, I could tell that Amazon thinks I’m an idiot.
Literally days later, I’m excited by this new book I want to read and rush to the ‘1 Click Button’.
“Just a gentle reminder Fox, you’ve already downloaded that book. Here’s the proof, you got it waaaaaay back in 2013,” crap, great, let me now scroll through my huge library and try and find it so I can re-read it. Given I’ve forgotten the cover, name and author, I’m guessing the contents are going to be new to me too. Perhaps I can read it again and it will be all new material to me.
So I’m back on Amazon minutes later looking for that fantastic read; I’m curled up on the sofa with a glass of – I won’t lie and say coffee, it was wine – and ready for a good read. Find the most awesome sounding adventure by Matthew Reilly – an author who always guarantees I’ll be up reading all night, and glued to every page. “I’m sorry dear Fox, you seem to be having some memory issues because you’ve already read that one too.”
Fuck it. I’m getting pissed off, not at my own lacking ability to remember anything I’ve apparently digested, but at Amazon’s oh-so-condescending-tone-of-voice with those automated messages.
Let me try again, Paulo Coelho – ah yes! I definitely haven’t read that one, I can’t have! “I’m sorry Fox, perhaps you should do something else, reading really isn’t your strong suit is it?” comes Amazon’s message.
Ok, even though I know that Amazon thinks I’m an idiot, those messages are my summation of what it is really saying to me, not what they actually say. Even Amazon’s algorithm wouldn’t dream of actually saying what it thinks of me or my memory. Or lack of.
This happens to me time and time again. I forget a book – please other authors, don’t be offended – it’s me, it’s not you – because the reality is, I have a poor memory.
Just the other day, I found a referral on Goodreads for a great read. I jumped on Amazon and found the book and hit that magical oh-so-easy 1 Click Button with my heart a-fluttering and hopeful that I’m going to get to read a book that just got raved and 5 starred…
“Fox, you are a fucking idiot, please stop trying to download books you already have, you imbecile.”
There you go, Amazon thinks I’m an idiot and I have to be honest, the amount of times I try and download a book that I’ve already brought, I should be ashamed to be anywhere near that 1 Click Button.
I’ve since discovered the wonderful world of Goodreads ‘Yet to read’, ‘Currently reading’ and ‘You’ve read it already you fucking moron’ buttons. Now I can confidently waltz over to that 1 Click Button with slightly more confidence that Amazon isn’t going to think I’m an idiot.
In case you missed it, People Seem to be Getting Grumpier Part One started…I don’t know, a few weeks ago. Back up and read that first here or this won’t make any sense to you.
Several things happened at once; I realised that they weren’t somethings…they were zombies! Secondly, I realised that Monique was struggling to breathe and holding her very pregnant belly as though she was in pain and thirdly, I realised we were fucked. We had just been cornered by these somethings…zombies.
One of them must have been behind the main door to the kitchen we had just rushed through. Something pushed into me from behind, just as we heard a shrill scream. As I spun to see what had pushed me – hands automatically adopting a karate punch mode – I saw one of the women who had been in the cafe being pulled aside by the doorway zombie wearing a blood-stained apron. Her scream was pointless, the cook-zombie pulled her head back and bought his teeth down hard and took a big bite out of her neck. Blood spurted everywhere. As the other women poured in from the cafe, they all saw the scene and began to back out, back towards the cafe. Like dominoes, they pushed back into each other until I could just make out the last one falling.
Other zombies who had previously been eating people on the floor, suddenly thought we all looked tastier because they simultaneously stopped and jumped up and began to rush towards us.
I had seconds – probably less – to come up with a plan or I knew we were about to be the main course. To my left – slightly behind me – was a large, walk-in freezer. Thinking quickly, I grabbed Monique and pushed her in front of me, not as protection, but because I knew she would be too slow to react on her own. As she nearly hit the freezer, I opened the latch and pushed her inside ahead of me. As I rounded the door, ready to enter, I looked towards the doorway and saw that most of the other women were trapped. Zombies descended on them too quickly for them to move. I saw their wild eyes – filled with panic – desperately looking around for help. One of them locked eyes with me for a second and they pleaded with me for help. Even though I knew there was nothing I could do, I still felt guilty. Two other women managed to get away from the door and ran towards me. A third tried but at the last moment, was sideswiped by a zombie; pushing her to the floor. He was all over her within seconds.
The two women came at me and I pushed the freezer door open wider and let them in. As soon as I realised there was no way for the others to come in, I jumped into the freezer and pulled the door shut. There was no lock inside, but I did notice a latch that I could pin to the handle, which I did.
We all shrunk back away from the door and suddenly realised that not only was it freezing in the freezer, but it was also so well sound-proofed that we couldn’t hear anything that was going on out in the kitchen.
For the first few minutes, all I could hear was the three women’s heavy-breathing; including my own. As we calmed a little, we were able to make out some sounds from outside. We heard moaning and softer sounds; perhaps the sound of eating. It was impossible to tell. There were definitely no screams.
Monique looked calmer than she had earlier, though her eyes were wild and she continuously had one hand on her chest and the other on her belly.
“Are you ok?” I asked her.
“Yeah, what the fuck is going on?” as if I could possibly know.
The other women looked at me too then, as though I might actually be withholding some information vital to our escape plan. I shook my head at them.
“Well, one thing’s for sure…” I began, as my own breathing finally got under control, “you were right about one thing. People Seem to be Getting Grumpier!” Not that I expected much of a reaction to my dull stab at humour, but I was a little disappointed with the blank look by both Monique and the other two women.
It dawned on me that none of us were wearing jackets and the freezer was…well, it was freezing.
“Now what?” the voice was one of the women, but the question represented what they were all thinking. Whether it was because I was the only guy or because it had been my idea to run to the freezer, it was clear the expectations were that I was going to get them out. I looked around the freezer and noticed the stacks of food all around us. Mostly meat, but also vegetables and fruits as well as containers with pre-made foods.
I thought long and hard before providing them with an answer. The events of the past hour had taken it’s toll and I was exhausted and unable to focus on simple things as thoughts. My body was in fight or flight mode. Currently on Flight mode. Or rather, hiding.
Now and again, someone comes along that just makes you proud. I’m not one to brag, but I have met a few famous people, millionaires, top thought-leaders in their fields and some people I would say are pretty inspiring. I’ve also met some real-life dickheads who I’d rather forget. When I meet someone who does something exciting, I can get a bit like that energetic-happy dog who annoys the shit out of you he’s so damn happy and excited. But you love him right? I said right?
I’m going to introduce you to an inspiring commercial photographer by the name of Charney Magri. I’m super-happy to know her and I’m honored to call her a friend.
Portrait Photography Dubai Charney Magri
Charney is a woman to be reckoned with. A wife, a mother and a commercial photographer with a very impressive resume.
Originally from Perth, Western Australia – Charney left those sunny shores to build a name for herself out in the world. And that she most certainly did.
Who else receives a letter from Hillary Clinton thanking them for sending her a book? Charney. Yes – she produced a fantastic book titled “Women of the UAE” and it is stunning. You can grab a copy on Charney’s own website.
Tinsley Mortimer – Just one of many who have worked with Charney
Know many women who have worked in Dubai, Paris, London and built up a star-studded list of contacts that resemble the credits for a high profile fashion show? Now you do.
Nikon School of Photography
This week, Charney Magri has partnered with Nikon School and will be hosting 6 workshops in 6 major cities throughout the Middle East. Starting in Bahrain, Charney and Nikon will provide DSLR camera owners with an understanding of ‘end to end’ commercial photography. There’s a bit of a following from those who appreciate the time that she’s taken to give them some pointers. And of course there’s Nikon, I mean WOW. Getting to work on a project with such a major world-player in photographics.
The sessions will be held in Oman, Bahrain and Qatar and has already attracted several hundred enthusiasts who are equally as impressed with such an inspiring commercial photographer such as Charney. You can follow the adventures on Twitter with this hashtag: #CharneyNikonME from the 10th to the 12th of March.
A Star Studded List of Who’s Who in Fashion Commercial Photography
Behind the scenes professionals like her, don’t have their name up in lights. But you can be assured that you’ve seen her work. From Louis Vuitton to Estee Lauder, British Vogue to British GQ ,Ponds, Guerlain, L’Oréal and Volvo. Let’s not forget Massimo Dutti and Mattel. Oh and Juicy Couture and Leo Burnett.
Did I mention MAC?
Now she’s working alongside Nikon on commercial photography workshops. Who will such an Inspiring Commercial Photographer work with next?
Check out Charney Magri’s facebook or Instagram for some delicious images to brighten up your day. I’m sure you’ll agree she’s an inspiring commercial photographer too!
This story I’ve decided to call The Pigeon Drugs n Mafia in Florence started at my local pub on a Wednesday. My mate Pete had just arrived from the UK and was staying with me. So, as a good host, I showed him around to all the good places to drink. This included my favourite pub which I have the ‘occasional’ sneaky pint or two.
Around 6pm, Pete and I decided to sink a couple before we had a nap – yes, life in Florence really can be exhausting – at the local. Two guys sat near us kept coming up and borrowing a lighter. They were clearly pissed and wired and were obviously Italian.
In broken Italian, the first guy asks for a lighter for the fourth time while his mate scolds him for bothering us.
“No it’s ok, here, use it,” says Pete.
“Thanks,” says the Italian guy.
“He has a lot of money, he could just buy his own,” explains the other Italian guy. We joked with them a little and they introduced themselves as Mario and Luigi – I kid you not.
Mario tells us that he was dragged there by Luigi at 10am for a ‘quick’ drink which had apparently lasted 8 hours. I joked to Luigi that I would buy him a lighter because he looked so poor while Mario shook his head and assured me that he wasn’t poor in the slightest. To prove that he wasn’t poor, Luigi raced in and brought both of us a pint. Spur of the moment, I raced into the nearest tobacco shop and brought him a lighter. He was so grateful, they came and joined our table.
Mario and Luigi are best friends from school it turns out and they catch up periodically in Florence. As they continued with what I can only call the ‘Mario and Luigi Comedy Show’, we are entertained by their amusing broken English and stories. Then Luigi tells us that Mario had given him far too much cocaine – indicated by putting his finger against his nose and sniffing – and that he felt a little ‘wasted’. No shit. Evidenced a few seconds later when he swiped his pint off the table. Then disappeared inside to get another one. Then knocked that one over and brought yet another.
When I asked them what they did for a living, they looked at each other and laughed. One began to make up a profession while the other was a little more…um, candid.
“I go around and I pick up money from people,” Mario explained while Luigi tried to tell us he was a doctor. Then said he was a transport driver, then a cook. Mario told us that the cocaine in Italy is the best, “all of Algeria, Russia, every country comes here to get the good stuff! If you go elsewhere, you pay too much, when here, you can buy it for this much.”
I’m impressed but uninterested, though given Pete had just been telling me how much he loves The Sopranos, he was fascinated that we seemed to be in the company of knowledgeable drug dealers. He also tells me he thinks these two must be Mafia.
“How do you figure that?” I ask him.
“Look at them, they are clearly Mafia! Selling drugs, roaming around Italy with no proper job, going around to ‘pick up money’, come on! What else can they be?”
I concede I have no idea and assume he must be right.
It gets better.
Somehow Luigi manages to convince Pete that he should try some of this amazing world class cocaine and gives him instructions to go to the men’s bathroom after him, where he would leave a line for him on the toilet. My friend goes off to the toilet and comes back a few minutes later sniffing his nose and looking remarkeably much more alive. In fact, he begins to suggest we should go to a nightclub. I laugh and suggest he finish his beer first, knowing full well that within half an hour, he would come back to Earth and get back to his normal self.
Mario and Luigi suddenly need to leave to go and ‘pick up some money and do some business’. But they assured us they would be back and if we could wait for them, they would return with presents.
A little while later, Pete is finally back to Earth after a period in which I couldn’t actually have a conversation with him and tells me he’s almost ready to go get some food.
Then suddenly a scooter appears out of nowhere and slams its brakes on outside the pub, near where we were sitting. It turns out it is Mario and he’s halfway through his ‘jobs’.
“Where is Luigi?” we ask him.
“He is a little fucked. He is sitting at home on the couch, he can’t move. His eyes are wild, he looks like a pigeon,” he then tucks his elbows in and puts his hands together, fingers down and pushes his head forward. He bulges his eyes and tries a good impression of a pigeon.
“You know, the pigeon? He looks like this,” and he does it again. We are laughing at this as he then offers us lots of ‘presents’.
We thank him and tell him we are fine and ask him if he would like to join us for a boring beer instead. He tells us that he has to tour some pubs and nightclubs and that if I ever want to find him, he will be situated outside a statue in a square nearby between midnight and 4am. Apparently that’s where I can buy drugs. I thank him for such invaluable information and he revs his scooter and almost knocks over a few tourists as he zigzags his way away from us. Presumably to go and look after his pigeon. His parting words were even more amusing, before he disappeared off to do his business. He’d told us, “don’t worry about me, I have a good lawyer. I pay him 20,000 a year to protect me so I don’t go to jail.”
That’s my amusing Wednesday which I decided to turn into this post, The Pigeon Drugs n Mafia in Florence.
An hour later, as we decided to get a kebab – cos that’s what you do when you’re in Italy – we watched the server – who was clearly brand new, judging by the way he burned someone else’s Pitta bread – get brutally fired by the manager. “Va fan gulo,” he said. I translated this to my friend, he said “Fuck off,” but it literally translates as, go do something in bum.
Daylight dispels the deepest shadows and as such, John found that his fear melted under the light of the sun.
John spent the day shaking off his horrific first night in the apartment by shopping for things he might need. After stocking his food cupboard and fridge, he took a trip to a hardware store and brought candles and torches, just in case. He wished he had friends to confide in, in this strange new city he was going to have to call home for at least a year. A lifetime.
By late-afternoon, he’d all but forgotten his terrifying experience and chose to attend his local pub and see if he couldn’t make new friends. He entered and noticed the atmosphere was vibrant and fun; it definitely felt as though some of the patrons were preparing for more than a couple of beers.
John sat at the bar and ordered a pint from the friendly bartender and placed himself so that he could view all of the establishment.
“Are you new here?” the voice came from behind him.
He swivelled on his stool and was confronted by a smiling, friendly looking, younger guy.
“Yes, in fact I just moved here yesterday. I’m John, from London.”
The guy extended his hand and shook John’s firmly, before announcing that his name was Adam and that he was also from England and had moved to Florence 3 years previously.
“It’s probably a bit too early to tell, but how are you fnding it so far?”
John began to tell Adam that things were wonderful and that he was excited about getting to know the exciting city, but suddenly found himself revealing his experience from the night before. As he talked and realised how foolish he must sound – vocalizing his fears – he also noticed how enraptured Adam seemed to be with the story. As John finished with the details of how the lights had eventually come on and he’d spent the remainder night hours pacing, he noticed Adam looking as though he was desperate for John to finish so he could add something. John immediately wrapped up his tale and took a sip of his pint.
Adam seemed excited as he began, “wow John! That’s insane! Though I’ve heard similar stories being told about the nearby apartments over to the west.”
“To the west? You mean those cream coloured buildings next to the statue?”
Adam nodded.
“That’s where I live.”
“Oh.”
“What about them? You obviously know people who’ve had similar experiences there?”
Adam suddenly looked uncomfortable and said nothing for a few moments. Eventually, he said, “I don’t have a lot of time now and to be honest, I’m a little creeped by it. Why don’t we meet in the next few days and I can give you some information? I’ll introduce you to a couple of your neighbours.”
John agreed and quickly changed the topic to other things of far less supernatural origins.
By the time John had finished his beer, Adam had given him his number and offered to introduce him to a few other ex-patriates that lived nearby and they also arranged to meet a few days later for more beers, then rushed off.
John walked the short walk to his apartment with a smile; making a new friend was always worth smiling about. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so alone for too long in Florence, he thought as he climbed his stairs and entered his apartment.
After a healthy dinner, John retired to bed. With his battery-powered lamp by his side, his Kindle on his lap and a glass of wine at the ready, the night proved to be relatively uneventful. After an hour of reading, he eventually decided to get some sleep. He left the light on.
A cold shiver woke him. Instantly alert and suddenly afraid, he opened his eyes and noted it was dark again. Fuck. Hey lay for a while listening out for noises; anything. But none came. As much as he dreaded it, he looked towards the window and saw the curtains move slightly. No shadows were pushed in further by the strong moonlight and he calmed somewhat. He reached over and tried the lamp; nothing. He checked the LED on the battery and discovered it had run out. He put the electric powered lamp on and was suddenly feeling better to have it dispel the remainder of the shadows. He checked the time; 1:54am.
He read a book and retained nothing, while his ears attuned to sounds all around him. Around 4am, he grew too tired to remain awake and fell asleep undisturbed.
I write a lot and most of it is here, for free, on my website. Now and again, I write a book. Have a look at my books. You never know, you might just like one.
My ABBA Day started off much like many others, except I had an Abba song stuck in my head. Tiger. That’s how I woke up; to the tune of Tiger by Abba. No idea where it came from, but I woke up singing words to a song that had been sung over 30 years ago.
Let’s put you in the picture, back up a little. Picture the Earth from out in space. That big blue planet, filled with oceans and seas and land. Zoom in a little, towards Europe. Now let’s scan over Sweden and Norway, Switzerland, Austria and let’s settle on Italy. Towards the center, perhaps up a little, there. See it? That’s Florence. Zoom in a little more. That’s it, now you can see the statue of David, all those Piazza’s and near to Santa Croce, where Dante’s statue stands, my little apartment overlooks an internal courtyard.
It’s 6am andmy Abba day started with that song stuck in my head. Now let’s play a soundtrack, because that’s what I did. As soon as I woke up, I lay for awhile and I played over the events of the past few days. I tried to think about where Abba had appeared for that song Tiger to get stuck in my head. So I reached over and opened my laptop and typed in Tiger into YouTube.
So that’s how it started – my Abba day. I then played Dancing Queen, SoS, Waterloo, Money, Money, Money and for several hours, I played Abba tunes as I thought about these people, who at the height of their fame, suddenly chose to step out of the limelight and voluntarily entered obscurity. They shut the doors on public adoration and stepped off the world stage into a different life of Nordic simplicity in complete obscurity. Especially Agnetha, who refused to speak English or accept any form of fame, for decades after the band split. All this shit is going through my head at stupid-o-clock.
Then I start thinking about how much our world has changed so much since then. I look at those innocent adolescent faces of the young Abba members and I wonder what they see now. This world of social media and selfies. This harsh world of wars and terrorism and anxiety and fear and I wonder, do they see what I see? Do they also long for simpler days of the 70’s and innocence and love for one another. Has our world changed them too?
Am I the only one who watches these people who come from an era where things seemed so much more innocent and friendly and loving and think, can we go back? Can we step back in time to a world where we don’t fuck each other over for a dime?
There’s so much struggle for power; which isn’t new. Though these days that power seems to be in the hands of the wrong people. Terrorists and money hungry, greedy conglomerates who will stop at nothing to corrupt our youth all to make a quick buck. Sparing no thoughts whatsoever to the long term repercussions of their actions. Would-be presidents in the world who won the selfie contest, making me wish the entire world could vote on the new US president candidacy.
Let’s step outside of my apartment now, zoom back out. Above Italy and Europe. Zoom all the way out and back into space. See again that blue Earth? Now look around you at all the other planets. All those inhospitable planets and stars that are supposedly devoid of life. In comparison, Earth is so alone and so small. From out here, our planet looks so innocent and inviting. Yet it is filled with people – in bathrooms, taking photos of themselves for Instagram and Twitter and Facebook and Snapchat. Photos they will probably regret one day. Scientists and physicists and theorists spend countless hours trying to find out how our world works and trying to understand the quantum theory of entanglement, while countless others stand in bathrooms taking selfies and wonder if their bums look big in that picture.
And I wonder if from this vantage point, from this view in space, if the former members of Abba look at our planet and wish the same thing I do, that it was more simple and filled with love and a lot less self-involvement.
I decided that given Rome wasn’t built in a day, I couldn’t come up with a solution in a day either. So back in my apartment, I played Tiger again and resumed my Abba day, while my neighbors cooked pasta and hung laundry out on their balconies and looked towards my apartment with judgement in their eyes and wondered, ‘who is that idiot playing Abba at this time of the morning?’.
Annie lifted her eyes up toward the ceiling but registered nothing other than the tongue that was deep inside her. She felt him slightly pull it out, cool air rushed in before he suddenly pushed it in deeper and she enjoyed the sudden warmth as well as the sensations his tongue bought to her body. The sensations catapulted throughout her body and she unwillingly held her breath. The thick, warm tongue wiggled around and each movement sent more shock waves of pleasure throughout her body. She felt him pause, so she exhaled finally just as he forcefully pushed his tongue in, deeper yet again. She held her breath as her whole body felt ready to explode. Then she did, she felt it and knew she’d made a mess and that he’d copped most of it. His warm breath making her juices feel cold. She briefly thought about the Bored Housewives and Sexy Moms forum she’d been spending too much time on and the dangerous game she was playing.
His face appeared in front of hers suddenly and he kissed her. His mouth wet but his kisses warm, his tongue knew how to work her mouth just as well. It was soft, thick and delicious inside her mouth. She felt more than an attraction to him and a combination of lust, love? and guilt, which confused her.
He rode her again – his thickness didn’t hurt because of all that loosening up he was so good at. He kissed her mouth – so sensual, then his lips were on her neck and he put all of his weight on her as he pushed himself even deeper inside her.
A mere twenty minutes later, she lay exhausted and unable to move as Toby quickly dressed and left her spent body on the bed as he left the room. She watched his firm ass strain against his blue denim jeans as he bent over to pick up his shirt; thrown casually earlier. His muscles so defined and glistened with the thin layer of sweat which still covered him. Then he smiled back at her, took the envelope on the wooden dresser and disappeared around the corner. Minutes later, she heard the front door close and knew she was alone again. So much for Bored Housewives, I’m not bored at all, she said to the empty bedroom. She glanced at the bedside clock and noted the time – 2:35pm, she had half an hour to clean up then pick up the kids from school. She began to compile a list of ingredients she would need to prepare dinner for that night. Pete was on a health-kick, so she knew her options were limited. Difficult bastard.
An hour later, she tuned out her boy and her girl who were rattling about things she cared little about as a deeper guilt took hold of her. She reflected again on her afternoon with Toby. Annie thought she might have detected that he had feelings for her too. The sex…no, the love-making, it was heaven. It was too passionate to be routine. The way he worked her; she was sure. He was perfect too, not just physically, but his eyes, that electric blue. The way he smiled at her cheekily before he kissed her. The way he undressed her when he first walked in. The few words he said, they seemed to be driven with fondness. Or am I making all this shit up?
“Will you two just shut up! You’re driving me insane!” as soon as she yelled at her children she was instantly regretting it. The downside to cheating on your husband and kids was the price you had to pay afterwards. Was it worth it? What now? Her mind raced even though it didn’t need to. Toby had his place, he had his time and it didn’t need to interfere with her real life. She needed to be strong.
“I’m sorry Lee, I’m sorry Amber. Mummy’s had a bad day. Want some ice-cream?”
Bribery always worked; not the smartest strategy but one she knew worked well. It didn’t erase the guilt but it pacified her kids.
She wanted desperately to go on the Bored Housewives and Sexy Moms thread and talk to Toby.
Did he feel it too? Would he be as eager to talk to her there as she was? Would he be waiting for the chance for her to appear or was she over-thinking it again?
The end of part one
******
Tune in soon for Bored Housewives and Sexy Moms Part Two
Ciao, Fox
This story is a side project to my current book Toby. Whether it will end up inside the book when it is published, I don’t know yet.
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