A very short one today. Emily is a story about a boy and a girl (for all intents and purposes). World War 1 was the fiercest conflict humanity had ever brought upon itself up until World War 2. Between 1914 and 1918, more than 100,000,000 lives were lost directly and indirectly. Heroes emerged in its wake, but so did broken men and women; soldiers, factory workers, logistics teams, operational staff, ration makers, bread bakers, seamstresses, clerks and tellers. This is, in a way, for them.
The bulk of my writing is done at night. There's a calmness to having dark blanket the world; no one needs me for anything, work is most definitely over, I can exist, just exist, in peace. It doesn't last long, the peace, because my brain starts asking questions, questions like: why aren't my fingers typing, or why am I wasting perfectly good writing time? It always wins in the end -- no rest for the wicked, as they say. But with my digits in motion and half an idea in mind, what do I drown the uneasy silence out with? Music, of course.
I weep, but not for me Flesh and bone, flesh and bone Turn my sorrow into lead Pull salt from sea Rip cloud from sky I'll tear it all asunder Moon is rising Light is fading Blood is spilling Revenge is my name Daughter of the damned Do you hear my howl? Do you see … Continue reading The Wolf That Lived: A Poem
Allow me to set the scene: The First World War's been over for thirteen years, America's still in the depths of of The Big Sad, crime and Gangsters have swept the nation, but in a quiet part of Brooklyn, behind the blinds of an unassuming, dimly lit office... Violet is finished entertaining her latest client.
Oh, Elke. Were you tangible, were you as real as the reader, as real as me who wrote you, I wonder what you’d say having read your unwarranted biography? Would you be satisfied with its ending? Would you keep going knowing what you must go through, what you must endure to reach the end? If our own life stories were available in local libraries to be read at our leisure, would we? Is life kept interesting by not knowing what comes next?
Another short one today, this time about a young, Cthulhu-obsessed girl who purchases an ancient tome online with the intention of summoning Santa Claus. However, what she actually summons couldn't be further from St. Nick!
A contender I had written for another short story competition. It takes place in the immediate aftermath of a large 15th century battle -- two enemies remain in the wake of 20,000 fallen soldiers; Ruelle De Saincourt and Vernon Valcante.
A while back, RTE (Ireland's equivalent to the BBC) were holding a short story competition. Being the intrepid author that I am, I came up with a cracking little story and sent it in with the highest of hopes. This would eventually become a harsh, but necessary lesson.
It's hard to stop once you get going -- a fear in me that, if I do, I'll lose whatever momentum I was riding on. Glimpse'll be a year old in March and, in that mercurial year, I sent it to every publisher I could with little luck. Sure, I had offers from vanity presses, … Continue reading What’s Next?
Stiff the breeze, cold my fire Not even bones left on my pyre Trees, lucky ones with patience Patience enough for time to scatter me To those trees I hope my ashes are enough I’m sorry I wasn’t more More for you to feed and grow So eat me, digest me Return me to dust … Continue reading Thank You: A Poem
AJ Carney 