Things that I've written

[Rich Pearson]

So, yesterday I kind of broke ten years of being self concious about things and I actually published something on Kindle. It took a lot of time, effort and head scratching to come up with something that wasn't totally awful and that I could just about live with the world seeing, and amazingly when I came back after work the response had been pretty positive. The main reason I'm posting on here is that the majority of people who shared the amazon page for my collection of short stories were trials riders, so in an effort of some vain self promotion I thought it was probably a good idea to post it up here. It costs 82p, and you can read it on pretty much any device. Go have a look. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DYZJE3C/ref=r_soa_w_d

Beyond just trying to get the word out there about my work even more, I wondered if there was anyone else on here who writes stuff like this or even stuff that's not like this? Trials riders are generally quite a creative bunch, and as I know how it felt to be concerned about what people would think if I put all these weird thoughts of mine online, it just occurred to me to consider whether there was anyone else out there who wrote in their spare time, or even professionally.

If you're out there, please feel free to share with the rest of the class, and if not, I hope you enjoy the stuff that I've written.

Cheers all!

[Revolver]

Barely a glance at the preview on amazon but it looks good, I might give it a go.

Dare I say I prefer your writing to the other dude who wrote a novel on here.

In fact I read the whole preview and it's weird, but intriguing.

Edited July 18, 2013 by Revolver

[Max Quinn]

Haha I enjoyed what I could get from the preview man, I'll get round to a proper read when I got some time; too many books on the go at the minute. How's it going so far?

I write, hardly professionally but I've made a bit of pocket money through spoken word poetry in my time and am about 20,000 words (probably all to be scrapped) deep in a novel. Here's a poem and an excerpt for you...

Poem

Lives in glances.

Wine glasses delay times passes.

Fate harnessed in the rabbit trap.

Para cats swing drifting. Push harder.

Feel the rhythm. Circle the top.

Lofty ambitions dampened by the clock's tic toc.

Stop the watch slowly learn to be a dickhead.

See red cos of blues. Choose colours wisely.

Sample the spectrum. Wretch out the rectum.

Microplasms of the toilet bowl, learn the lesson.

Truth of the night in puke, look alive.

Try and compute the morning, balling inside.

But every day's a lucky one. Suck it up carry on son.

Seek love, amalgamate conscience.

Break monotony. Praise endurance.

Race softly, wait properly and times will come.

Your turn, line up hear the gun.

Real bullets though, one take no chances.

Tales of the rabbit hole, questions untarnished by answers.

Nine to five cyanide, night time psychedelia.

Wide retinas line up ambitions.

Taste the system, then back to really livin.

Wake up, empty glasses.

Dredges never go far taste catharsis.

Dogs hair thick and pungent.

Scrunched noses, stale air.

Bottle bank ashtrays growing through the night.

Pick one. Hear the fizzle of delight.

Smile belatedely.

Culinary masterpiece cheese on toast.

Scrape the carbon on dirty dishes.

Curse fissures in paradise, care in apathy.

Absent mindedly succeed by the wrong rules.

Live calamity, the presence of the present.

Soar happily through these pleasant digressions.

Time bends the essence. Life in a sentence.

Pint glass refraction.

Action. Take two. A new script.

Go down the paths you resisted.

Remember it this time.

Excerpt

I suppose you could say it was just one of those nights; drum and bass pumping out of two turntables in the corner of the room where a slight young man stood blowing dust from the labels of old vinyl records, seemingly completely absorbed in the music he was selecting for the merry band of delinquents sprawled around the room behind him.

When the first spliff was rolled hours earlier, carefully crafted as if the prime entertainment was in the build up, a volley of shotguns had echoed around the room, with the slowest to open their lips forced to run downstairs to find an ashtray. Now however, the bearer was spoilt for choice, surrounded by empty beer bottles, mugs and food wrappers that would all provide ample containment for the carbon remains of her favourite substance.

Delicately blowing the side of the large cone in her hand, she laughed as the fiery embers caught the eye of a man in the corner of the room who’d been immersed in his own twisting fingers for the past half hour.

‘Back in the land of the living Jas?’ She mocked, a wry smile twisting the side of her mouth and exposing one half of a gleaming white row of teeth that seemed almost defiant of her smoking habit.

Receiving only the expected mumble, she reached out towards the desk and chose a large Peroni bottle (hazily remembering someone saying ‘let’s live the high life tonight’ while selecting alcohol under the offensively bright lights of the local corner shop) to deposit her ash in, expertly flicking the end against the bottle’s rim.

Watching a hot rock sizzle in dregs of beer at the bottom and enjoying the fizzing hiss, she smiled as if content with her choice before passing the spliff over to Jason, something he accepted with a seemingly unnatural burst of gusto. Leaning back, she gently let her head rest on the shoulder of the man sitting behind her, his sharp, chiseled features softening under her touch as he opened up his body to accomodate her.

The fifth and final body in the room, that of a petite blonde girl with a slightly flat nose and pixie-like wide eyes, suddenly regained it’s mind at that point, sitting up to adjust her top and hum along to the jazzy melody the DJ had just faded in. He was juxtaposing the dark, syncopated beats of his previous tune to devastating effect and her gaze flitted between his hands, admiring the way he carefully faded between the tunes.

She watched patiently and waited until she was sure he was finished before carefully standing up from the bed and sliding across the room to peer over his shoulder.

Standing on her toes and holding his shoulders, she nodded towards the half open window at the side of the room.

‘You’d go on forever if they let you, wouldn’t you Murphy?’

It was a window that constantly toed a line between two sides of a dilemma, sometimes open and risking the wrath of the neighbors as almost constant noise floated out of it, sometimes closed, allowing the steady streams of smoke to stain the walls and cling to the curtains. The latter of these was a fear only Murphy, Jay and Becky shared, being the only three who were official residents of the downtrodden house they were in. Although their landlord was nice enough, they knew from past experience that as soon as the return of their deposit was being negotiated things would change.

Murphy smiled in coy acknowledgement and, taking her hint, turned to offer the headphones to Jason, who shook his head and mumbled something about being too ‘wavey’. At this, Murphy lazily slowed the vinyl down to a halt and smiled to the girl behind him.

‘I’d go on forever if YOU let me Jess’, he threw back through a mischevious grin.

Affectionately brushing her aside he walked over to the desk where he instead pressed play on his laptop, surrounded by a lightbox, pens neatly arranged in rows and various books, pausing a moment to identify the pianos of the mellow, jazz infused hip hop mix that began to twinkle from the speakers behind him.

This transition from vinyl to laptop always changed the mood of these long, hazy nights they’d began spending in Murphy’s room almost a year back, generally encouraging the night to wind down. Those not in permanent residency would either reluctantly take their leave or, in most cases, simply drift off in situ, sprawling out over unwashed clothes or whatever they could find, truly adding the final touch to a room that already resembled an artful crack den.

Tonight however, conversation slowly ignited as the two girls began to mock the boys around them, insisting they couldn’t handle their alcohol, or herbs for that matter, which they knew full well was the equivalent of a red flag to a raging bull.

Substance tolerance is a fiery subject around any young man, whether the accusations are true or not. In this case, it certainly wasn’t, with everyone in the room being seasoned clubbers, so naturally even more seasoned drinkers. Both sides knew this, but the mere suggestion was enough to subconsciously encourage everyone to slide a little higher up their seats and with that, the night was given a second wind.