This is the "blurb" for novel written by a friend of mine, Gary Murning.
"Price is used to living within the shadow of threatening friend George - forever in the fear that not to follow his lead will end with a beating. However, new developments mean his life finally seems to be moving from the dormant and gaining some positive development. Before long, though, George is back and Price finds himself following his friend once more. But this time it is different - secrets are discovered, decisions are to be made and life and perspective will never be the same again. "If I Never" is a novel about asking questions but being unsure if you want to know the answers."
It is to be published at the end of August by Legend Press Ltd and can be pre-ordered on http://tinyurl.com/mklp6e from www.amazon.co.uk
ISBN-10: 1906558140
ISBN-13: 978-1906558147
Gary is a very talented new author, with a lively mind and fantastic perception of the human condition. From extracts that I have read of his writing, I can't wait for this book to come out - I'm sure that it will be wonderful read!
Thursday, 4 June 2009
Sunday, 31 May 2009
My Secret Garden
Writing Adventure Group Exercise
“WAG #14: Do-Overs” Thanks to Carol for the topic idea! (This one is more of a mental/emotional exercise than observational, but you get bonus points if you can somehow tie this to a person you can see and describe OR a physical object.) Think of a time where you’d like to change what happened - whether it’s to get that witty retort in or to say something you never got the chance to say. Write how it should have been and compare it to the reality.
My Secret Garden
I have just rescued my potted fig tree from under a blanket of convulvulus, and moved it to a space next to the front porch. This represents an admission of defeat. It was meant to be the centre-piece of a little hideaway garden between the side of the house and my neighbour's fence, screened from the rest of the back garden by bushes, and from the prying eyes of passers-by with some bamboo fencing. The plan was to create a little Mediterranean haven in rural Worcestershire where I could sit, protected from the world, luxuriating in the perfume of honeysuckle and lavender.
Sadly, the dream has never become a reality. The lavender bushes died in one of the wettest summers on record. The bamboo fence blew down in the winter gales, and it half stands, half lies on the ground, a monument to my idleness in not removing it. Beyond it the little square of ground, for which I had such great plans, has been taken over by nettles, feral aquilegias and the smothering convulvulus. Only the honeysuckle climbing up the fence blooms bravely amid the chaos, and I can take no credit for that; it was planted by a previous occupant of the house, and survives in spite of not because of the present one.
I should not be surprised at yet another failure to realise my plans for a garden. I have an unbroken record of horticultural disaster stretching back nearly four decades, but I continue to live in hope that, one day, things may be different.
“WAG #14: Do-Overs” Thanks to Carol for the topic idea! (This one is more of a mental/emotional exercise than observational, but you get bonus points if you can somehow tie this to a person you can see and describe OR a physical object.) Think of a time where you’d like to change what happened - whether it’s to get that witty retort in or to say something you never got the chance to say. Write how it should have been and compare it to the reality.
My Secret Garden
I have just rescued my potted fig tree from under a blanket of convulvulus, and moved it to a space next to the front porch. This represents an admission of defeat. It was meant to be the centre-piece of a little hideaway garden between the side of the house and my neighbour's fence, screened from the rest of the back garden by bushes, and from the prying eyes of passers-by with some bamboo fencing. The plan was to create a little Mediterranean haven in rural Worcestershire where I could sit, protected from the world, luxuriating in the perfume of honeysuckle and lavender.
Sadly, the dream has never become a reality. The lavender bushes died in one of the wettest summers on record. The bamboo fence blew down in the winter gales, and it half stands, half lies on the ground, a monument to my idleness in not removing it. Beyond it the little square of ground, for which I had such great plans, has been taken over by nettles, feral aquilegias and the smothering convulvulus. Only the honeysuckle climbing up the fence blooms bravely amid the chaos, and I can take no credit for that; it was planted by a previous occupant of the house, and survives in spite of not because of the present one.
I should not be surprised at yet another failure to realise my plans for a garden. I have an unbroken record of horticultural disaster stretching back nearly four decades, but I continue to live in hope that, one day, things may be different.
Monday, 25 May 2009
Ooh la la!
“WAG #13:Dress for Success” Thanks to Peter Spalton for the topic idea! For this week, find yourself a stranger (Yes, we’re all turning into a bunch of WAG stalkers!) Notice what the person is wearing, and then imagine the process they went through getting dressed. Peter suggests: Add lots of detail so we understand what sort of person they are and where they’re going after they’re ready.
My opportunities for people-watching in my day-to-day life are limited, because I know most of the folk in my villages, and have a I privileged relationship with them as their Vicar. I have to confess, therefore, that I probably use more imagination that I am supposed to for these exercises, thinking myself into people-watching opportunities that I get when I am away from home. One very good place is on the quay waiting to board a cross-channel ferry, and this rather cruel portrait is a composite picture of numerous ladies of a certain age that I have seen in that context.
Ooh la la!
Glenys looked into her wardrobe, thinking carefully about what she should wear. She wanted to look attractive and summery, but she wanted to be comfortable too. And she had to bear in mind that the weather might change before she had the chance to. Well, at least she knew where to start; she had bought those lovely, stretchy flowered trousers especially for this trip. She had been really lucky to get them, they had been the last pair of size 20 in the shop. What should she wear with them, though? That green polo-necked jumper picked out colour in the leaves, but the weather forecast had said that it would turn sunny in the afternoon, and she didn't want to be too hot.
She rummaged in her drawer and found the perfect thing, the new fuchsia coloured vest that she had bought at the end of last summer, just before it turned cold. It was the exact shade of the flowers in the trousers; it would be lovely and cool if the weather turned warm later - and it was the same pink as her sun-hat. She needed a hat, being a fair-skinned natural red-head (well it was natural originally, although she admitted to giving nature a helping hand now that she was past 50). The trouble was, at the moment there was no sun, and even the possibility of rain. Glenys looked at her collection of fleeces. Yes, the bright yellow one matched the spots at the centre of the big pink daisies on her trousers; she did think that it was so important to be colour-coordinated, she could never believe the combinations that some women put together! The fleece wasn't waterproof, but she had her folding nylon mac, and she shouldn't need to spend much time out of doors if it rained anyway.
Now, shoes. It was most important to have comfortable feet. The most comfortable pair were the turquoise canvas deck shoes, but they didn't match the outfit, and were no use even for getting across a car-park in the rain. No, the obvious choice were the pink and white leather; she had been delighted when she had seen them in the shoe catalogue, real sensible lace-ups, but in such pretty summer shades. As Glenys was putting them on, her husband called up the stairs "Are you ready? The van's packed, and if we don't leave soon we'll be cutting it fine for the ferry."
"Just coming" she called, picking up her sunhat and large white handbag.
John patted her flowered bottom affectionately as she climbed aboard the camper-van. "I am looking forward to this holiday," he said "I so love the way that you show all those French women what a well-dressed lass should look like."
My opportunities for people-watching in my day-to-day life are limited, because I know most of the folk in my villages, and have a I privileged relationship with them as their Vicar. I have to confess, therefore, that I probably use more imagination that I am supposed to for these exercises, thinking myself into people-watching opportunities that I get when I am away from home. One very good place is on the quay waiting to board a cross-channel ferry, and this rather cruel portrait is a composite picture of numerous ladies of a certain age that I have seen in that context.
Ooh la la!
Glenys looked into her wardrobe, thinking carefully about what she should wear. She wanted to look attractive and summery, but she wanted to be comfortable too. And she had to bear in mind that the weather might change before she had the chance to. Well, at least she knew where to start; she had bought those lovely, stretchy flowered trousers especially for this trip. She had been really lucky to get them, they had been the last pair of size 20 in the shop. What should she wear with them, though? That green polo-necked jumper picked out colour in the leaves, but the weather forecast had said that it would turn sunny in the afternoon, and she didn't want to be too hot.
She rummaged in her drawer and found the perfect thing, the new fuchsia coloured vest that she had bought at the end of last summer, just before it turned cold. It was the exact shade of the flowers in the trousers; it would be lovely and cool if the weather turned warm later - and it was the same pink as her sun-hat. She needed a hat, being a fair-skinned natural red-head (well it was natural originally, although she admitted to giving nature a helping hand now that she was past 50). The trouble was, at the moment there was no sun, and even the possibility of rain. Glenys looked at her collection of fleeces. Yes, the bright yellow one matched the spots at the centre of the big pink daisies on her trousers; she did think that it was so important to be colour-coordinated, she could never believe the combinations that some women put together! The fleece wasn't waterproof, but she had her folding nylon mac, and she shouldn't need to spend much time out of doors if it rained anyway.
Now, shoes. It was most important to have comfortable feet. The most comfortable pair were the turquoise canvas deck shoes, but they didn't match the outfit, and were no use even for getting across a car-park in the rain. No, the obvious choice were the pink and white leather; she had been delighted when she had seen them in the shoe catalogue, real sensible lace-ups, but in such pretty summer shades. As Glenys was putting them on, her husband called up the stairs "Are you ready? The van's packed, and if we don't leave soon we'll be cutting it fine for the ferry."
"Just coming" she called, picking up her sunhat and large white handbag.
John patted her flowered bottom affectionately as she climbed aboard the camper-van. "I am looking forward to this holiday," he said "I so love the way that you show all those French women what a well-dressed lass should look like."
Sunday, 10 May 2009
A Worried Man
Writing Adventure Group Activity
"WAG #110: Scaredy-Cat” Another people-watching exercise! Choose a stranger and observe him/her for a little while. Now give them a phobia. A full-on, jump on the chair, scream like a little girl, unreasonable fear. (Or however you imagine them to respond.) Try to choose something that fits the person you’re watching, and let us know what it is about them that clued you in to their secret fear. The object is not just to describe the fear, but to make us understand why it fits with this particular person.
A WORRIED MAN
The man with the spectacles sat in the cafe, drinking his capucino and idly looking out of the window. Suddenly he became tense, barely perceptibly, but the change of mood was there. Had he seen something outside that disturbed him? I looked but there was just the usual ebb and flow of people up the pedestrian walk-way outside. No-one had even stopped to read the menu stuck on the window. Yet still the man looked anxious, as if he'd rather be somewhere else. It was as if something in here was worrying him. I looked around. The cafe wasn't exactly full. Two elderly ladies were chatting over tea and scones; a young mum was trying to persuade a reluctant toddler to eat a bit of her jacket potato; and I was pretending to read my newspaper while watching the comings and goings around me.
The ladies and the mother and child had all been in the cafe when I had come in; if the man was upset by them he would have shown it before. The only change that had occurred was my arrival, and why should he be upset by me? Was he anxious that, as a woman on my own, I might make a pass at him? I felt suddenly irritated! He wasn't bad looking, and about my age, but why do men always assume that every woman finds them irresistible? But no, that didn't fit either. He had looked perfectly relaxed as I had walked past him, sat down and and ordered my coffee. The only other thing that I had done was taken the paper out of my bag and unfolded it. That was it! He was upset by the newspaper.
Feeling suddenly excited, I looked at the front page. Was this one of those situations like on the old films, where the wanted man suddenly sees his face on the paper the person nearby is obliviously reading? What should I do if he turned out to be a terrorist? But no, the only pictures on the front page of my paper were the Prime Minister and the winner of "I'm a Celebrity.." Perhaps I was imagining the whole thing. I looked at the man as I refolded the paper, and he seemed more unhappy than ever. He had finished his coffee, but made no move to go, almost as if glued to the chair in fright. He was looking straight at me as if I was pointing a gun. Suddenly an idea struck me.
I went to the counter and paid, and as I walked back past the man towards the door, I held the paper out to him and said "I've finished with this, would you like it?" I thought that he was going to faint. Whoever heard of someone who was terrified of newspapers?
"WAG #110: Scaredy-Cat” Another people-watching exercise! Choose a stranger and observe him/her for a little while. Now give them a phobia. A full-on, jump on the chair, scream like a little girl, unreasonable fear. (Or however you imagine them to respond.) Try to choose something that fits the person you’re watching, and let us know what it is about them that clued you in to their secret fear. The object is not just to describe the fear, but to make us understand why it fits with this particular person.
A WORRIED MAN
The man with the spectacles sat in the cafe, drinking his capucino and idly looking out of the window. Suddenly he became tense, barely perceptibly, but the change of mood was there. Had he seen something outside that disturbed him? I looked but there was just the usual ebb and flow of people up the pedestrian walk-way outside. No-one had even stopped to read the menu stuck on the window. Yet still the man looked anxious, as if he'd rather be somewhere else. It was as if something in here was worrying him. I looked around. The cafe wasn't exactly full. Two elderly ladies were chatting over tea and scones; a young mum was trying to persuade a reluctant toddler to eat a bit of her jacket potato; and I was pretending to read my newspaper while watching the comings and goings around me.
The ladies and the mother and child had all been in the cafe when I had come in; if the man was upset by them he would have shown it before. The only change that had occurred was my arrival, and why should he be upset by me? Was he anxious that, as a woman on my own, I might make a pass at him? I felt suddenly irritated! He wasn't bad looking, and about my age, but why do men always assume that every woman finds them irresistible? But no, that didn't fit either. He had looked perfectly relaxed as I had walked past him, sat down and and ordered my coffee. The only other thing that I had done was taken the paper out of my bag and unfolded it. That was it! He was upset by the newspaper.
Feeling suddenly excited, I looked at the front page. Was this one of those situations like on the old films, where the wanted man suddenly sees his face on the paper the person nearby is obliviously reading? What should I do if he turned out to be a terrorist? But no, the only pictures on the front page of my paper were the Prime Minister and the winner of "I'm a Celebrity.." Perhaps I was imagining the whole thing. I looked at the man as I refolded the paper, and he seemed more unhappy than ever. He had finished his coffee, but made no move to go, almost as if glued to the chair in fright. He was looking straight at me as if I was pointing a gun. Suddenly an idea struck me.
I went to the counter and paid, and as I walked back past the man towards the door, I held the paper out to him and said "I've finished with this, would you like it?" I thought that he was going to faint. Whoever heard of someone who was terrified of newspapers?
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