NaNoWriMo 2014 - Winner!!

I did it. I actually did it.

Today I validated my novel (or at least the story so far) on the official NaNoWriMo site and it currently sits at 50,120 words. 

I cannot begin to describe how I'm feeling right now (great for a writer, well done, genius) as it has been a really tough slog. November has been a non-month for me as my life has revolved around work and my story, so I apologise to all that have missed me in their lives. To all those that haven't missed me in their lives, that think it's actually been quite nice and peaceful, sorry, I'm back now. 

I want to thank really-wife for all the cups of tea and putting up with my lack of patience with anything that wasn't to do with Alfie. Also for listening to the story as it was written, laughing in all the right places and always asking what was coming next. I couldn't have done it without you, thank you, my love.

So, what's next? Where is Alfie and when do you get to read the whole thing? I honestly can't say at the moment. I've done 50,000 words, I've achieved this challenge, but the novel is far from finished. Alfie still has some hurdles to face and I am going to stand tall with him, but I need to re-engage with the world a little. Don't worry, I will finish, and I aim to have a first draft by the end of January, but I'm taking my foot off the accelerator a little.

Once there's a first draft I will be after some readers to give me some honest feedback, so watch this space, I may ask you. Then I'll be knocking on the doors of publishing houses until my knuckles are raw, asking for validation, and who knows where that will lead?

For all those avid readers out there, here are the next two scenes - I couldn't just leave you with a short one. After this, you'll have to wait until the book is in your hands...

If you need a recap, here are the previous scenes:

Week 1 - Alfie sees something
Week 2 - First Aid
Week 3 - Clearing the site
Week 4 - Getting out of the storm

After the ride

‘Woo, what a ride, huh?’

Alfie blinked. There wasn’t anything covering his eyes anymore, and he could move his head. In fact, he could move everything as the grass cocoon had disappeared totally, with just a slight itch on his skin to indicate it had been there at all.

He was sitting on a dusty floor in a dimly lit cavern, leaning against a wall. The surface behind him was comfortable and when he looked, he saw the wall had shaped itself to fit his body. The wall was dark, and seemed to glisten, but when he ran his hand over it he found it was simply compacted soil.

Above him, the same soil curved over to form the ceiling, high above, and continued on to make the far wall, some 100 metres away. The entire space had no other features that he could see, and contained nothing, except one large archway, leading who-knows-where, and one small standing stone, a half-size replica of one in the ancient circle.

He couldn’t make out where the light was coming from, a dim glow seeming to emanate from the soil itself. There wasn’t much illumination, but it was enough to see by, and Alfie could easily see the figure of the old man standing nearby, his white hair once again creating a soft halo around his head. Something about this niggled at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The sound of someone retching made him turn his head, and Alfie saw his parents and Polly lined up, further round to his right. His father was leaning to one size, noisily emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor while his mother patted him on the back, clearly struggling to keep her breakfast down, too.

Polly slapped the ground with both hands. ‘’Gain! ‘Gain!’

‘Nice to see somebody’s appreciative,’ said the old man, walking over and holding out a hand to Alfie. Alfie took it and was pulled to his feet. The old man’s grasp was deceptively firm, with calloused palms.

Suddenly, Alfie knew what had been bugging him about the man, aside from the strange events. He let go of his hand and looked down at himself, feeling his clothes, his hair, wiggling his toes inside his trainers. ‘We’re all dry!’ he said.

‘All part of the service,’ grinned the old man. ‘Be thankful you didn’t need the spin cycle more than once.’

‘What the hell is going on?!’ Alfie’s father roared, staggering to his feet and wiping his mouth. ‘Get away from my boy. Who in God’s name are you, and where have you brought us?’ He rushed across the cavern at the old man and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dwarfing him.

The old man looked amused. ‘Sorry, which god are you referring to? They have known many names in my time.’ As he said this he reached up and touched Alfie’s dad’s ear.

Alfie’s father closed his eyes and gently folded downwards into the man’s arms, a soft snore escaping him. The old man caught him as if it were no effort for such a frail looking person and lowered him down to the floor.

Laura Bird watched her husband so easily subdued and let out a little scream, bending down to pick up Polly and holding out a shaking hand to Alfie.

‘Now, now,’ said the old man, ‘I think we may have got off on the wrong foot. Your husband is just having a little nap due to him being bigger than me, and will wake up feeling wonderful. I’m afraid I don’t do much socialising, so my people skills may be a little rusty.’ He showed his hands, palm up. ‘I mean you no harm.’

He turned and began walking towards the archway, his bare feet slapping on the floor. ‘Come, let’s get a cuppa, I’m parched. I’ll explain everything.’

‘Alfie, don’t you dare.’ His mother’s voice was quavering.

‘You’re welcome to stay exactly where you are for as long as you like,’ he threw back over his shoulder, ‘I’ve not studied all the walls in this chamber, but I’m sure there’s something interesting to read, and you can of course suck the moisture from the soil. Your choice.’

The old man disappeared through the archway, leaving them gaping after him.

Polly waved.

Alfie rushed over to where his father lay and shook him, hard.

The old man’s head popped back into view, smiling. ‘Oh, and he’ll be asleep for a good couple of hours, which is why the light will go out in about five minutes. You can all see in the dark, right?’

Tea?

‘Come in, come in, don’t be shy,’ the old man said, waving his arm at them. ‘Tea?’

They had followed him out through the archway after a couple of minutes, not wanting to leave Alfie’s dad behind, but reasoning that as there were no other doors, or any windows, and even between them they couldn’t lift his sleeping form, that it was probably best for Polly’s sake, yes, for Polly’s sake, that they didn’t spend too long in the dark. Alfie didn’t recall a time when Polly had ever been afraid of the dark, but his mum was very insistent. She had hurried out first, Polly in her arms.

Passing through the archway, a corridor curved off to the right, seemingly constructed of the same materials as the chamber they had just left. Two closed doors were set into the wall of the corridor, both a pale, bare wood. From around the bend had come the inviting smells of freshly brewing tea and a brighter, warmer light.

The corridor ended in another, smaller archway, and through it was what looked to Alfie like the sort of kitchen his grandmother had always had. The walls were painted yellow and there was a blue and white chequered linoleum covering the floor. Against one wall stood a large, shelved unit that contained what looked like bread, cheese, various jars and baskets of unknown goodies. A selection of battered pots and pans hung by their handles from a rail attached to another wall, just to the side of an old cooker that must have been older than anything Alfie had ever seen in his own house, or his grandmother’s. A big black kettle was still simmering on top of it. A perfectly ordinary door stood closed on the other side of the room.

In the middle of the room was a great wooden table that looked like it had been carved from a single piece of wood, and at it sat the old man, on one of half a dozen wooden stools.

‘What, you never seen a kitchen before?’ he said, sliding a tray of chipped but clean mugs into the middle of the table, along with an ancient teapot that was gently steaming.

Alfie’s mother looked at him, ‘A kitchen, yes, but usually in a house, not attached to a dungeon.’ Her tone was acid.

‘This is my house, and that is not a dungeon, it is my front hallway.’

‘Your front hallway?’

‘Yes, as in the place just after the way in. It’s not strictly at the front, and I suppose it could also be seen as the place just before the way out, so not the best description, but I always think of it as my front hallway.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re excused. No harm done. Take a seat and grab a mug.’

‘No, I don’t think you understand,’ Laura Bird said, putting Polly down and giving him that look. Alfie recognised that look. That was the look that made his father go very quiet and then he and Polly would be asked to go and play upstairs. It didn’t happen very often, but Alfie knew that when that look was deployed words were going to be had. ‘You have abducted us,’ she said, ‘and we have been drugged; my husband twice. You have scared my daughter-’ Polly giggled up at her. ‘-and assaulted my family. I do not know where we are, who you are or how you have done what you have done, but I promise you, you will regret-’

‘Hobnob?’ The old man held up a plate of biscuits. ‘Chocolate ones, my guilty pleasure.’ He took one and put the plate down on the table. ‘Look, Mum; may I call you Mum? Splendid. Great. Look, Mum, none of you have been drugged, you haven’t been abducted, and the little one doesn’t seem particularly terrified.’ Polly was standing at the edge of the table, straining her arm to reach the plate of biscuits, a look of concentration on her face.

‘You are currently where you were an hour ago,’ he said, taking a bite out of his biscuit.

‘Impossible. We were at Stonehenge an hour ago and now we are…’ she trailed off. ‘I don’t know where we are.’

‘You’re at Stonehenge, as you call it.’ The old man looked up towards the ceiling. ‘It’s just that you’re now about 300 feet-’ He glanced down at her. ‘Are you a feet or metres person? You look like a feet person.’ He grinned. ‘You’re about 300 feet below it, as the worm burrows, so to speak.’

‘Below?’

‘The grass did it, Mum,’ said Alfie. ‘Don’t you remember? It was like a roller coaster.’

‘Bingo. Give that boy a biscuit.’ The old man pushed the plate towards Alfie, grabbing a biscuit as he did and sliding it towards Polly with a wink.

Alfie’s mother dropped onto one of the stools, her face ashen and a faraway look in her eye. ‘I thought I’d dreamed that.’

‘No dreams, just reality. Want to know how it’s done?’ He was looking right at Alfie when he said this. The grin was gone and Alfie could have sworn for a moment there was a look of pleading in the man’s eyes.

Alfie nodded.

NaNoWriMo 2014 - Week 4

Hungry for a bit more Alfie? Well, here it is, scene 4. And guess what? Due to the fact that November covers 5 weekends, you get another scene next week, you lucky people!

That day, next Sunday, is the last day of NaNoWriMo, so I'll be able to tell you if I have achieved what I've been striving for, 50,000 words in 30 days. It's been hard work, that's for sure, but I'm currently standing at 38,473 words, so I'm on track.

Alfie's life is getting interesting. Hope you're enjoying it as much as I am...

Week 1 - Alfie sees something
Week 2 - First Aid
Week 3 - Clearing the site

Getting out of the storm

The Bird family hurried between the huge stone pillars of Stonehenge, following the strange old man. He stopped as they reached the middle of the circle, the giant carved rocks towering above them, and they slowed, looking at each other.

‘What’s going on?’ Alfie’s father demanded as the man turned towards them.

‘We’re not getting wet anymore,’ his mother said, almost at the same time. She was stretching the hand out that wasn’t holding Polly and her expression was one of wonder.

‘How could…’ Alfie’s father trailed off.

‘It’s quiet in here, too,’ said Alfie, softly, staring at the old man.

The old man merely nodded, his eyes shining.

Even Polly lifted her head. ‘Ki-et,’ she stated, sniffing and looking at her brother. She started to wriggle and her mother lowered her to the ground, to the dry grass.

Alfie’s father was turning, peering out between the stones, watching the sheets of rain soak the last few people that couldn’t move as quickly as everyone else. He looked up at the sky, at the mountainous clouds filling the horizon, then at the portion of sky directly above the circle where they were standing. 

‘But…’ 

Alfie had never known his father to be so lost for words and he couldn’t help but grin.

‘I told you it was the quickest way to getting dry,’ said the old man. ‘Well, actually, this is just getting you into the dry. Getting you dry is the next bit.’ He placed his hand on one of the slabs lying in the circle and chuckled to himself. ‘Now, this may tickle a bit.’

Alfie felt a movement beneath his feet and looked down. The grass had started to grow.

He glanced up at his mother and she had noticed the same thing, moving her feet for a better look. His father was hopping from foot to foot and Polly was on her knees, both her hands buried in the weaving grass, giggling at the feeling of it twining it’s way around her fingers.

‘Gars funny,’ Polly said, laughing.

Suddenly the grass shot up, faster than Alfie could blink, clinging to all four of them, wrapping itself around them, growing up and over their bodies, under their clothes, seeking out the skin, until they were totally enclosed in a soft, warm cocoon. He heard his mother gasp and his father’s wordless exclamation. Polly was still laughing, the grass tendrils tickling her as they moved.

As soon as the grass reached their necks the whole covering tightened, pulling their arms into their sides and going rigid, preventing any movement. Alfie could feel his pulse racing and let out a whimper.

Alfie could only see his mother, a green statue, unable to move or talk, her eyes wide as the last few stalks covered her head completely.

Just before his eyes became fully covered in green, Alfie saw the old man looking at him, still smiling. The old man winked. ‘Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,’ he said, and then all Alfie could see was green. The smell of freshly dug soil came to him then, mixing with the freshness of the grass, and it was a mixture that made him feel strangely calm, in spite of the situation.

The rumbling began deep in the earth, the vibrations travelling up the blades of grass until Alfie could feel his teeth starting to chatter.

The sensation that came next was the weirdest thing that Alfie had ever felt, even after such a strange day. It felt as if he had breathed in one moment and breathed himself out through the top of his own head, before spinning, turning upside down and plummeting back down through his own body and just carrying on down. He was vaguely aware of a rushing sensation, of the damp, cold earth moving all around him, of a darkness the other side of the grass and a terrible weight being held at bay. He was no longer standing on anything and a thought came to him - I’m underground. I’m being swallowed by the ground. Please no, I don’t want to die, I’m not ready.

NaNoWriMo 2014 - Week 3

This week saw me attempt something silly. Remember last week, when I said I'd have to catch up with my word deficit this weekend, due to working last weekend? Yeah, me too. I mean, how hard could it be? It's not like I'd be tired during the week and that word count would slip further, is it. Is it? Oh boy, did it. I woke up yesterday morning in the knowledge that to get back on track I had to complete over 8,000 words over this two days (I managed just over 3,000 on my first weekend).

Did I do it? Hell, yeah. Can I feel my fingers? What fingers?

Alfie is well and truly coming to life for me now, but so is everybody else. The world is getting richer, there are some funny moments and some sad moments. I really hope you are all still with me and wanting to see what the world has in store for Alfie when I've finished this challenge, but regardless, Alfie has a fan in me and I'm itching to see what he's going to do.

Here's the third scene, which follows on from the second scene, last week. And here's the first, in case you missed it. Trust me, this is only the beginning...

Clearing the site

The next few minutes were a blur. Looking back on it afterwards, Alfie realised that what he’d experienced was not what everybody else had experienced, but whichever way you saw it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

The old man had stood up and to Alfie’s eyes he had seemed to grow. It was almost as if the man had breathed in, but instead of just his chest expanding his entire body had filled up. He got bigger. He got taller. Alfie thought that if his father had stood right next to him at that point they would have been about the same size.

The world slowed again.

The old man closed his eyes and whispered one word ‘Ve-or-do.’ The ground reverberated with the word and it echoed long after it had left his lips.

All the pillars of Stonehenge lit up with the same green light that Alfie had seen before, a fine network of filaments emanating from the centre of each stone, but this time they had a purpose. The spider-webs of light crawled to the top of the stones and started to drip upwards, as if gravity had been reversed and the light was a fluid under it’s control.

The man opened his eyes and looked down at Alfie, a knowing smile on his lips.

Distantly, Alfie could sense his father’s grip tightening on his hand, slowly building to what could eventually become painful, showing him that his father was aware of something happening, on some level. The reaction was so very slow, though, that Alfie knew he was seeing things that would be over in the blink of an eye from his father’s perspective.

Behind the old man the upward flow of the light increased until rivers of it were streaming from each pillar, falling away into the sky. A sudden strong gust of wind whipped the old man’s cap off, his white hair flailing around his head, and continued in and around the stones, bringing the streams of light together into a single torrent.

The warm, cloudless sky went dark and foreboding as it suddenly bubbled with energy. A bolt of lightning crashed from nowhere, the thunder rolling over and under it, and huge ferocious clouds boiled into existence where the green light met the colder air high above the monument, hiding the sun.

‘Who else is here, with you?’ The old man’s words were right next to Alfie’s ear, even though neither of them had moved.

‘My mum and my sister,’ Alfie said, wondering how he was able to move his mouth or talk when everybody else was still moving so slowly, or why he wasn’t more scared of what was going on.

The man’s eyes flicked up and Alfie knew that he was registering his mother and his sister standing close by. The old man knew they were the ones and Alfie was aware of this knowledge, and aware of his own certainty that the old man knew it - it wasn’t guess-work, it was an unquestioning reality that was as obvious to him as his own name.

The old man sighed. ‘Of course.’

Time fell back into it’s regular rhythm and Alfie winced as his father’s hand crushed his.

The spectacular light show winked out and the old man was back to his normal size as the heavens opened and raindrops the size of pebbles suddenly hammered down from the dark clouds, drenching everyone and everything.

Somebody screamed as another lightning strike lit up the area, followed almost immediately by an enormous crash of thunder.

People began running towards the exit, trying to seek shelter.

Alfie’s father pulled him around and took his face in one huge hand, looking into his eyes, oblivious to the weather. ‘Are you ok?’ he said, concern etched on his face. Alfie nodded.

Alfie’s father hauled himself and Alfie up from the grass in one movement, looking round for his wife and daughter. They were being jostled by the people running to find cover and Polly was whimpering into her mother’s neck.

‘Laura,’ said Alfie’s father, holding out his hand to her, ‘let’s go.’

‘Yes, let’s get you somewhere dry,’ said the old man, moving up behind them. His hair was plastered to his head and the water was running into his eyes.

Alfie’s mother frowned at him, her eyes signalling her distrust. ‘Well, I don’t think-’ she began, when a huge bang exploded around them and the world lit up once again. ‘Or actually, that’s a brilliant idea. After you,’ she finished, pulling Polly tighter to her.

‘Right, follow me,’ he said, spinning on his heel and lifting the rope, gesturing to them to move under it.

‘What? You’re mad,’ said Alfie’s dad, ‘we need to get out of the rain, away from the storm.’

‘I assure you, this is the quickest way to getting dry,’ said the man. ‘I’ve been here a while and I know all the shortcuts.’

Alfie could see his father hesitating, unsure, when his mother nudged him in the back. ‘Just go, Nicholas.’

Grabbing Alfie’s hand, Nicholas Bird ducked under the rope and took it from the old man to allow his wife underneath while the man led the way.

Wiping the rain from his face, feeling it seeping into his trainers and even through his jeans as they followed, Alfie looked around at the last stragglers as the skies emptied onto them. Not a single one of them appeared to have noticed that there were a bunch of people heading into the monument, between the stones, they were all too concerned with their own wetness. This is a very strange day, he thought. 

Little did he know, the strangeness was only just beginning.

NaNoWriMo 2014 - Week 2

     It's been a tough slog this week. Writing on the train while commuting and every evening after work is exhausting, especially as I've been trying to keep my word count up to a constant level of approx. 1,700 words per day. Even so, I was doing well until this weekend, when I've been at work, with some extremely early starts. I am now dog-tired and falling behind, but my intention is to try to keep to 1,700 words per day during the week and attack my deficit next weekend. I can't be too upset as I do already have over 11,000 words, which is a nice chunk.

     Alfie is doing ok. The story is coming along nicely, the world seems to be building itself and I've met a couple of fascinating characters (they may only exist in my head, but they're the ones living the story so I have little control). Only really-wife and my 10-year old niece have read the story so far and both are fans (no bias, I promise). Here is the next scene for you to digest, following on directly from last week's post. It's not very long, but hopefully it'll keep you wanting more. And there is more...

First Aid

‘Alfie! Alfie, wake up! Are you ok?’

Alfie opened his eyes and found himself lying on the grass, his face pressed into the ground. He rolled over and looked up.

His father was kneeling over him, worry etched on his face. His mother was standing behind him, face distraught, holding a crying Polly tightly to her. There were a crowd of people standing around, too, some of whom were genuinely wanting to help and others who just wanted to see what was going on.

‘Alfie, say something. What happened? Did you fall?’ his father asked anxiously. He started to check Alfie for head injuries, broken bones and signs of bleeding.

‘I’m fine, Dad,’ Alfie said, propping himself up on his elbows and trying to smile at his mother. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what happened, but I feel fine.’

‘Did you fall over? Did someone hit you?’ Alfie’s father glared at a group of older boys that had wandered over to see what the fuss was all about.

‘No, Dad,’ said Alfie. ‘Everything went slow when I saw the lights and-’

An old man in a bright fluorescent yellow jacket and a cap suddenly plonked himself next to Alfie and his father, a green first aid bag in his blue-gloved hands.

‘Lights? You were seeing lights?’ the man asked, nodding at his father. ‘Qualified first aider, mind if I…?’ he gestured with his head towards Alfie.

‘Great, thanks,’ said Alfie’s dad, moving back slightly but taking Alfie’s hand.

‘So, you were saying you saw lights.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yeah, green ones, coming fro-‘

‘Any history of epilepsy?’ the man asked, prising open one of Alfie’s eyelids and taking a good look. ‘Schizophrenia? Madness?’ He took a look in the other eye.

‘No, nothing like that.’

The man pulled down Alfie’s chin and peered inside. ‘And things got a bit slow?’ He leaned forward and sniffed at Alfie’s mouth, then put his ear to it.

Alfie’s father frowned slightly. ‘’Scuse me, what first aid are you qualified in?’

The man ignored him. ‘What about the grass? Did the grass feel different?’ He looked straight into Alfie’s eyes and at that moment Alfie saw the white hair stuffed under the cap and the fact that the man wasn’t wearing anything on his feet, and knew that this was the man that he’d seen across the circle.

Alfie scuttled backwards, towards his father.

‘What do you mean, did the grass feel different? What kind of a first aid question is that?’ Alfie’s dad grabbed the man by the jacket. ‘Who are you?’

The man just looked at Alfie. ‘The grass?’

Alfie nodded.

‘Thought so.’ The old man stood up, brushing off the hand on his jacket. He pulled the cap more firmly onto his head and shrugged the jacket to the floor. ‘Guess we’d better get started, then.’

NaNoWriMo 2014 - Week 1

It has begun. Two days in and so far I have exceeded my required word count on each day (I'm currently at 3,812 words). I am very aware, however, that I haven't been at work for the past two days, so it's the coming week that will show me what I'm made of. 

The hardest part is usually getting started and I did struggle initially, but I think I've found the tone now. Let's see how we get on!

The excerpt below is currently intended to be either Chapter One or part of it. No working title yet, but I'll think of something eventually. Hope you like it...

Alfie sees something

‘Alfie Bird, you get back over here this instant!’

Alfie Bird jumped and looked round guiltily. It was a look he’d perfected through many years of practice and at 12 years old it was his go-to look. He wasn’t yet sure what he was supposed to have done wrong, but when his mother used his surname it usually meant she was pretty cross. Not as cross as she could be, or she’d have used his full name, including the dreaded middle name. When she used the middle name he knew he was in for it and no reasoning or pleading that he hadn’t even been there would help. He always found it best when being told off to start from a position of denying everything and work from there, but when the middle name was used he’d learnt to hold his tongue for fear of making things worse. Adults could be so irrational.

His mother was glaring at him from the other side of the ropes while trying to hold on to his little sister, Polly. His mother was a slender woman, with short, dark hair, a tiny nose and a tendency to wear lots of layers because she was always cold. Polly, by contrast, had a mop of wild, blonde hair, a runny nose and as usual was wearing her favourite scarf, regardless of the warm weather. She was a late starter, learning to walk at almost two years and was constantly running off into places she shouldn’t be. She was straining at her mother’s hand and trying to run under the rope towards him.

Trying to run under the rope towards him.

Alfie looked around, bewildered. How had he got here? He was standing well inside the roped off section, somewhere he shouldn’t be, and he had no memory of crossing the rope at all. No wonder his mother was angry at him.

He ran across the grass towards her and ducked under the rope.

‘Sorry, M-’

‘What on earth do you think you were doing?’ she said, pulling him close, her voice low.

‘Doin’?’ Polly echoed, grabbing his trouser leg and grinning up at him.

‘It’s a good thing nobody else saw you or we’d probably be asked to leave,’ his mother said. ‘This is a national monument-‘

‘World Heritage Site,’ he said, then wished he hadn’t. 

‘-and it’s roped off for a reason,’ her voice was getting lower. ‘We came all this way because you insisted you wanted to see Stonehenge, so don’t make me take you home.’

‘But I didn’t-’

‘Don’t try to pretend you didn’t know it was off-limits.’

Alfie honestly couldn’t remember stepping past the ropes, it was something he was still confused about, but he looked up at her with what he thought of as his best puppy-dog eyes. ‘Sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have done it. I promise I’ll be good.’

She looked at him, holding his gaze.

‘Good,’ Polly said, slapping his leg.

They both looked down at her, her brow creased in mock fury, her lips pursed. Alfie felt his lips twitch involuntarily and heard his mother’s soft snort before they both burst out laughing. He could almost feel the tension draining from her body and started to relax himself.

‘Oh, what’s so funny?’

Polly launched herself at their father, who’d just wandered up behind them, an easy grin on his face. He caught her under the arms and swung her up in the air, to delighted squeals.

Alfie’s mother gave him a peck on the cheek as he threw Polly over one shoulder and ruffled Alfie’s brown hair in exactly the way he didn’t like.

‘Dad!’ Alfie complained, pushing his hands through his hair and trying to get it right just by feel.

‘Polly has just been telling her brother off for going somewhere he shouldn’t,’ said his mother, waving an arm in the direction of the giant standing stones.

His father saw where she was pointing and then looked at Alfie, eyebrows raised. ‘Cool, must look awesome from over there. Could you-’ he recoiled as his wife prodded him, hard. ‘I mean, you should know better, young man.’ He smiled and winked at Alfie.

Alfie grinned.

‘Nicholas.’ Alfie’s mother looked exasperated.

Alfie’s father grimaced. He recognised the name usage, too, and wasn’t any more immune to it than Alfie, in spite of being well over 6 feet tall and very well-built. His middle was starting to soften now, but he had played rugby at weekends until Polly had come along. He had always towered over his wife but he knew when he was being told off and knew not to argue.

‘In’clas,’ came Polly’s voice from over her father’s shoulder. He pulled her back until she was sitting on his hip, a stern look on her face. ‘In’clas,’ she said again, waving a tiny finger at him. They all laughed.

‘I consider myself suitably chastened, dear Polly. Am I forgiven?’ he said.

Polly reached around his neck and gave him the tightest hug she could manage.

‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek before lowering her to the ground. ‘Shall we keep going?’ He took her hand and they started wandering further along the path around the ancient stones.

Alfie’s mother started to follow, glancing back over her shoulder.

‘Alfie?’

Alfie realised he’d fallen into a bit of a daze again, staring at the centre of the stone circle. His hand was on the cordon rope, almost as if he were about to lift it and duck under again. What was the matter with him?

‘Coming,’ he said, and stepped towards his mother.

At that moment, a flash of green light caught his eye. It had come from behind one of the stones on the far side of the circle, he was sure of it. Nobody else seemed to be looking that way, but he couldn’t believe that he’d been the only one to see it.

Alfie wanted to ask his mother if she’d seen it but she was already walking away, so obviously not.

There were people on that side of the circle but they were all acting normally, milling around, posing for photographs. Maybe it had been a camera flash?

The flash came again, this time from behind a different stone. No, not behind, within. He’d been looking straight at it this time. That was no camera flash. Maybe it was part of some new effect or exhibit, something he hadn’t read about.

Alfie shook his head, eyes closed. He’d read everything there was to read about Stonehenge; it had fascinated him from an early age, he’d no idea why. If there was a new exhibit he would know about it. His walls had posters of superheroes and Stonehenge, his two obsessions. He’d watched all the Time Team programmes about the site, even owned them on DVD, something which never ceased to amaze his parents, and there had never been anything about green flashing lights.

He looked up at the nearest stone, a huge, grey monolith, and the world suddenly seemed to go into slow motion. He was aware of people all around him, but at the same time they were distant shadows. Alfie could feel his mother moving away from him, actually feel it, but it was as if she was swimming slowly through the air. A dim part of his mind registered the feel of his father and his sister, further away, warm and familiar.

A calmness came over him, a certainty that this was all perfectly normal, this was meant to be.

A green glow began in the middle of the giant stone, not on the surface, in the middle of it, filaments of light growing from that central point and tracing their way to the edges of the block like bursts of lightning, illuminating everything around with a cool green aura. The grass under his feet seemed to grow, brimming with life, a scent of freshness and promise, and even the air suddenly felt somehow cleaner.

Alfie realised two things at the same time; what he was seeing as a spectacular network of light on the stone block was actually the same flash that he’d seen previously, only very much slowed down (or he was very much speeded up), and he was the only person seeing anything at all. Everybody else was just getting on with the business of visiting an interesting place, but none of them could see what was happening. What was going on?

A figure moved, off to one side, and Alfie stared. His mind was working really fast but his body didn’t seem to be able to respond any faster than anyone else’s, moving as if through treacle, so how was it that the man he could see appeared to be walking normally? He was walking purposefully away from the circle as if he had somewhere very important to be - was he just a figment of Alfie’s speeding imagination, trying to make sense of it all, or was he, as he appeared to be, moving incredibly quickly?

The man stopped, his back visibly stiffening. Alfie couldn’t look away as the man’s head turned, searching. He looked old, with a lined face and a shock of white hair stuffed under a green flat cap, but his bearing was that of a much younger man and he seemed to be wearing a pair of very trendy white trainers. 

The man saw him and went very still, his eyes widening as their gazes locked. His lips moved. From that distance Alfie shouldn’t have been able to hear him, except if he’d shouted, but the low whisper reached his ears as if they’d been standing next to each other in a quiet room.

‘You’re here.’

Everything went black.

Both of my computers are dinosaurs

I’m writing this post on my desktop computer. No special reason, I just fancied using this today instead of the laptop I usually use to write my posts. The two are pretty much interchangeable, do all the same things and are lovely to use.

So why am I telling you about them?

Well, I realised today that my desktop computer is 5 years old. A couple of weeks ago I realised that my laptop is actually 6 years old. In the world of tech that’s a lifetime. Most people would be looking to buy a new machine about now because their machine just stopped working or was slower than a teenager having to admit they were wrong about something. People who worship at the altar of gadgety-goodness? More like 3 years ago, possibly 2.

Hold on, I hear you say, you’re a techno-freak that reads all the gadget blogs and gets excited about the next big thing coming out, so what gives? Why are you 2-3 years behind? Are you tapping away on machines that struggle to do the simplest thing? Are you not the tech wizard we have all believed you to be? Who will advise me the next time I need a phone upgrade? Why am I asking so many questions when really I have little interest?

I’ll tell you, my fabulously inquisitive friend.

Both of my machines are Macs.

I’m not here to try to sell you anything or get you to jump ship from Microsloth, but I felt the need to share because when I realised how old my computers were I was genuinely surprised. 

In my experience of computer buying and building over the years I have never before been able to resist the latest technology and have often tweaked what I have every few months. I had one machine that within two years had been physically upgraded in every way possible bar the motherboard (yep, processor, case, power supply, drives, etc.) and was getting software updates whenever it was switched on. But these babies just work, so besides the yearly operating system upgrade and a RAM upgrade about 2 years ago (didn’t need it, but I had space) it’s not been on my radar to do anything with them. Until now.

Where the magic happens. Well, the writing. And some procrastinating.

My macbook still looks pristine with it’s aluminium body and illuminated keyboard, but it was starting to struggle with some tasks. For the first time I had to think about some remedial work and upon investigation found that I had very nearly filled up the 250GB hard drive. I don’t propose to give you a full breakdown of how a computer works right now, but, on any device, if it’s nearly full you will notice a drop in performance.

My first thought was new machine. My second was no chance, I can’t afford it. My third was I could always go back to a Windows laptop. My fourth was hahahahahahaha. A reasonable Mac would set me back around £1,000, a Windows machine possibly around £500, but I could never go back now, so I set out investigating the possibility of replacing the hard drive.

Now, I like Macs. I think Apple have made some lovely hardware and the software integrates flawlessly, but the prices are enough to make your eyes water. I looked at buying an official upgrade kit. Nope.

I then looked into buying a third-party SSD (solid state drive) as I’d read so much about how much faster they made everything. I considered selling a kidney. But, nope.

I then found a hybrid drive. I read a bit about hybrid drives. I was convinced. For less than £100 I bought a 1TB drive (4x the size of my existing drive) and an external USB enclosure and I was set.

Hybrid drives are a thing of genius. Your average SSD gives you silent running and blistering speeds but also burn a very large hole in your wallet for not much storage space. Normal hard drives (the ones that make all the grinding noises in your machine) are very cheap and come in some very large sizes. Hybrid drives combine the two. A large, cheap, normal drive is supplemented with a small portion of SSD goodness and a bit of software trickery goes to work. The software determines what files you use most frequently and directs those to the SSD portion to speed things up. The drive itself looks to the computer like one drive and nobody is the wiser. Vast storage and SSD speeds. Lovely.

I set up the new drive in the enclosure and firstly cloned my existing hard drive (saves starting from scratch, having to reinstall everything, and realising you don’t have the product keys for any of your software!). This took about 4 hours (on it’s own, I didn’t have to be there). I then put in the new drive and held my breath as I powered the machine on.

Success! It took a few reboots for the SSD software to learn what files it needed but suddenly my macbook was flying along, and upgrading to the latest OS X Yosemite has made it feel like new. How often can you say that about a 6 year old piece of technology?

Don’t get me wrong, there are some nice ultrabooks and spiffy laptops out there, but you will never again get me owning anything other than a Mac. Sure, not all of the programs you use are on the Mac, but the chances are there’s something that’ll do what you need if you take the time to look and have a play.

They’re expensive, but if you’re in the market take a look. If you can make them last as long as mine then you’ll be saving money in the long run…

Take a breath

I’m back. Sort of. I’ve been away, and getting back into real life is proving to be a struggle, including talking to you fair people. This was meant to be a long post about something completely different but I couldn’t get going, so I decided to share with you a poem that I wrote during my time off…

I’ve had some time off as I was busy converting nearly-wife to really-wife, and then we went on holiday as the conversion process can take a lot out of a person. Some people may call this marriage and honeymoon, but I say tomato and you say tomato (a sentence that makes no sense at all in print).

We decided to go off grid to really get away from it all, to spend some time just being together, and the place that we found to do it was perfect. We stayed at a little cabin in the woods of France, about 200km from Bergerac. It is an eco-cabin, which means it has minimal impact on the surroundings. There is a composting toilet, a wood burner to keep you warm and to provide warm water, and a few LED lights charged from a solar panel. No other electricity. There is no internet, no television and pretty much no phone signal. What there is is nature and all the time in the world to chill out, read and share some quality time.

Woodsman's tool on the left, witch's tool on the right - all fairytale folk welcome

Hand-built staircase - a work of art

The cabin is well-built, just big enough for two, with lots of homely little touches to make it feel cosy. It is full of things to do, with a well-stocked bookshelf, board games, painting materials, fishing equipment, a tandem (now there’s an exercise in communication), binoculars, walking maps, and a visitors information book with a wealth of places to visit. But the pièce-de-résistance (look, French!) has to be the setting. The cabin looks out on it’s own private lake, with a sturdy raft and a little boat provided, and to get to it you have to amble past the hammocks strung between the trees. 

The view from the veranda - a natural playground

In the whole time that we were there we didn’t see another soul (unless you count carp and frogs), apart from the owner, Diane (lovely lady), when she delivered fresh bread and pastries, along with some other select goodies, for our breakfast every day. We ate so well for breakfast each day we didn’t eat again until dinner. There is a food market in the nearby town that can provide some fabulous bread, cheese, and of course, wine. What more could you need?

The tranquility was amazing, especially drifting on the raft in the middle of the lake. The busyness of day-to-day life melted away and I, as so many visitors to the cabin before, was inspired to creativity. I crafted a poem, as is my way, and I share it with you below, but the sheer number of paintings, stories, poems and anecdotes in the visitor’s scrapbook was humbling. We looked at and enjoyed every one, and they all showed what an amazing find this place was.

If you ever have the chance to visit I would heartily recommend it. We left feeling refreshed, recharged and relaxed, and we were still talking to each other in spite of the Scrabble scores!

http://www.covertcabin.com (we were in Woodsman’s Cabin)

This is the poem that I left for my contribution to the scrapbook:

Take a breath

Take a breath

Inhale the tranquillity

Inhale the calm

Cover yourself

With the soothing balm

Of the peace of the cabin

Beside the lake

The perfect place

For a relaxing break

Take a breath

Switch off your phone

Leave the grid

Embrace nature like

You did as a kid

Cast off the raft

And float for a day

Let your troubles

Drift away

Take a breath

Look at the stars

Look at the trees

Build up a fire

As tall as your knees

Listen to the ‘bloip’

As the carp come to feed

Lay back in a hammock

Take time to read

Take a breath

Get to know the person

You love most in this world

Let your love blossom

Like a rose that’s unfurled

Re-learn what’s important

What’s precious in life

Remember why you

Became husband and wife

Take a breath

On the horns of a stag

The regular readers among you will have noticed my conspicuous absence from the blog-sphere last week. It was not my intention to miss a week and was, in fact, the first week I have missed since I started writing here, however large amounts of alcohol, some giant inflatable balls and not a small amount of cross-dressing conspired against me. 

That's right, I fell victim to the Stag Do. My Stag Do.

I had always known that it would hurt and that I would suffer humiliation, but no matter how one prepares one is never truly ready.

It began on the Friday night in a bowling alley (not a back alley, a bowling alley, get your mind out of the gutter). For some reason I had thought I might enjoy a game and a few drinks with my mates. This wasn't wrong, but I hadn't envisaged doing it while dressed as a wench, complete with high-heeled boots. Silly boy.

When in Rome...

To be fair, the locals took it rather well; I believe there were only two faintings and one telephone call to the police to ask if this really was the done thing.

I came dead last in the game and am told not to use the excuse of the high heels, the dress, the extremely small, bright pink ball I had to use or the shot I had to drink with every beer. I will accept defeat graciously, knowing that I was only two shots behind someone without those handicaps and only then because my very last bowl was sabotaged (you know who you are).

Time moved on and we headed for dinner. I had to be reminded of this later as I had no recollection of food at all that night. The patrons already eating found the whole scenario highly amusing, which was a shock to us - it's amazing how quickly a group of lads can become normalised to one of their number being in drag. Not sure if that indicates all-embracing acceptance on our part, or simply too many beers for the human brain to handle.

The evening was rounded out with a poker tournament and smoking some of the biggest cigars available. Seemed like a great idea at the time. I'm pretty sure I can still taste mine now.

Now, I have a routine after a heavy session that involves rehydration salts and ibuprofen. It has a high success rate in at least stopping the pain monster from jumping on my head the next day. I didn't do that. Oops.

The following morning saw a lack of appetite, bright bursts of pain and the instruction that I'd be wearing the dress again for our first event of the day. When booking Zorb football it looked like an amazing idea (look it up on YouTube). Confronting it with a hangover (not the only one, thankfully) was a whole different kettle of fish. Squeezing into a rubber tube with only your own sweat and morning-after breath for company, while having to run around and trying not to hurl when you get sent somersaulting down the astroturf pitch, is not the best start to a morning after.

Saying that, it was quite simply hilarious fun. Every person there has stated how much they enjoyed it, despite the whiplash and full-body aches of the following days.

Alas, the dress did not survive. Much to everybody's disappointment I was given permission to wear my own clothes for the next event - it was felt that showing my (pert) rear-end through the gaping hole in the back of the dress would only lead to jail time and the irreversible scarring of many an innocent.

Lunch was consumed and we headed to a tour of a brewery. The beer was lovely, and the instruction/history was excellent, but the toll of our previous activities was weighing heavy upon us. Many a drooping eye was seen, and ridiculed, and it was agreed between the strapping, manly hunter-types that made up our number that perhaps we should have a bit of a nap before we went out for the evening. What warriors are we.

The nap never happened as we'd all shaken it off by the time we returned to dress for the evening. We were strong. We were invincible. We were stupid.

Night-time was to be clubbing, to let our hair down and dance. I was then informed of the theme (which everyone else had prepared for). It was Star Trek, a not very secret interest of mine. My friends arrayed themselves before me, resplendent in their Trek uniforms, some with phasers, some with funny ears. 

I was Lt. Uhura.

The high heels I'd gotten used to from the previous night. The tights were warm and snug. The wig was long and luxurious. My beard was shiny and full. The dress was so short it barely covered my gentleman vegetables.

What a night.

Hold on, weren't there lots of people here a moment ago?

Fisticuffs nearly erupted before we'd even had a drink. We entered an Indian restaurant for dinner and were applauded by somebody that was clearly on another stag do. He then started to state incorrect things about the colours of the uniforms that we were wearing. All looked to me as the font of all geekdom, and what's a girl to do? Never challenge a man, 6'3" in heels, full beard and a very short dress, on Star Trek facts unless you can hold your own.

Dinner was great; lots of appreciative waves from other diners; the occasional high five. 

There was a moment of concern when we were asked if a young lady could have her photo taken with the 'Trekkies'. To be recognised as being out on a stag do is one thing, but no-one had thought that we might just be seen as a bunch of Star Trek fans out for dinner. Dressed up. With a cross-dresser.

Awkward.

We adjourned to a bar across the street. We were booked into a club just down the road, but we fancied a few drinks first. We never made it to the club.

The bar had a dance floor, quite a range of shorts and shots (beers were so last night) and a healthy blind eye to the way we were dressed. It was fairly empty when we arrived but the dance floor soon filled up, and it amazed us all how comfortable young ladies seemed to be around us. Perhaps it is a lack of threat implied because we are celebrating an impending marriage. Perhaps we just looked fun. More likely they just reasoned that Trekkies are Trekkies.

We gained a small following of ladies that danced with us for some time, and I was used on more than one occasion to fend off an overkeen predator. Imagine being confronted with me, I repeat, 6'3" in heels, full beard and a very short dress, tattoos on show, and being told with a straight face to "keep walking". To be honest, I jumped when I saw myself in the mirror.

I had my bum pinched a few times, I'm not entirely convinced always by women, and fun, jocularity and much dancing occurred. Drinks of many flavours were consumed and many men were traumatised when I stalked into the gents toilets.

We left there about 3am. I think. I distinctly remember stating that I couldn't dance in those heels any more and being quite a diva. Well, it was my night, after all.

We got a cab, I removed my heels and we headed back to the hotel to crash. This time I remembered my tablets and salts and promptly passed out, my bruised and blistered feet carefully positioned to avoid contact with anything heavier than air.

Morning broke and we all met in the corridor to head down for breakfast. Well, some needed a little more encouragement to rise and answer the door...

Some of our number now had to leave us, but the final, stoic four set out to find crazy golf for one last hurrah. We travelled for miles to locate the perfect spot. It was shut.

We had a frisbee and attempted to throw it to one another, but that only works if any of you are willing to move your feet. We weren't. It was pathetic.

And then someone found a golf ball.

The idea was born that we could play the pitch 'n' putt course with our new ball. We didn't have clubs, but since when have such things defeated such towering intellects? We'd throw it.

We all collected markers, and so the games began. Each would take a turn throwing the ball, it would be marked and then thrown back for the next contestant.

All was going well, it wasn't too strenuous a game, when the inevitable happened. The ball was thrown, badly, back towards the start. The previous thrower was making his way up the field, head down. Garbled warnings were shouted, ball connected with head, and the first blood of the stag do was drawn. The pain, apparently, was minimal. So was the proximity to the eye. Another inch lower and things could have been a lot worse.

Apologies were made, the blood flow was stemmed and we did the only logical thing we could. We continued and finished our game.

All that followed was the drinking of coffee, the eating of cake and lots of reflecting on the tendency of the body to resist recovery as age takes hold. People were deposited at train stations and we all went our very weary separate ways.

Four days later was when I finally started feeling better. A similar story was told by most attendees.

And the bloody head/eye? A glorious red and purple kaleidoscope of a bruise. A well-earned war wound.

I leave you now. Contemplate this fool-hardy tale. Recognise the stupidity. Appreciate the bravery. We survived, one and all, bruised, battered, but ultimately victorious. It was one hell of a weekend.

Thank you, guys.

I will not be here, writing for you, for the next few weeks. I must away to become wed, to take the next great step. I will be back to batter your retinas with words of indeterminate nature, do not fear, but for now...the future awaits. 

Constructing a story

It seems, regular reader, as if Real Life (tm) is going to be a bit of a nuisance and cause a little disruption to my blog writing in the coming weeks. There’s a small life event imminent that I am told takes precedence and in the interest of retaining full mobility in all of my limbs I have determined that the writing may have to be done only as and when I am able. In secret. Whilst behind hard cover. But isn’t that how all the best marriages work?

So, this week I have dug into my archives and found a piece of work that I produced whilst on a residential writing course a few years ago. 

The brief was to come up with the idea for a story and not write it, but to identify the Main Character, the Secondary Characters and some minor Characters, articulate the Point of Change (the event that sets all other events in the story in motion), what the Obstacles (major and minor) are and how they can be resolved, and finally to give a brief rundown of the Resolution. The only part to be written in full was the final scene.

Here’s what I came up with…

Time travel

Main character

Alex Burroughs, 27, Research Scientist – discover the secrets of the universe

Secondary characters

Rupert Mansfield, 59, Senior Research Scientist – gruff, two-faced, opponent

Tanya Reynolds, 31, Research Scientist – supporter

Uncle Albert, 73, retired, wealthy – supporter

Minor characters

Alex's mum – doesn't understand but puts him in touch with Uncle Albert

Andrew, research scientist – Rupert's lackey, doesn't like Alex

Pizza delivery guy – gets to know Alex quite well, light relief

Security guard – prevents Alex from getting into the lab

Point of change

Alex discovers a solution to the equations governing the theory of relativity that allows time travel and it appears that it would be possible to construct a machine using these principles to shift a human being through time.

Apple unveiled the new iWatch and the fanboys went wild.

Obstacles

Main conflict - Rupert verifies the equations but announces the discovery as his own. Alex objects and is summarily dismissed for trumped up reasons.

Obstacle – Alex is determined to continue his research and follow up on his discovery, but he doesn't have the resources and is shunned by the scientific community.

Resolution – Uncle Albert provides the money for Alex to go it alone and through his contacts can gain access to the necessary equipment.

Obstacle – Alex and Tanya have a romantic history that didn't work out. He still loves her, but she believes the lies that Rupert has told and sides against Alex.

Resolution – Tanya comes to realise that Rupert does not fully understand the science involved and little clues point to the fact that the discovery was actually made by Alex.

Obstacle – A race to build the machine. Rupert has the backing of the lab, the scientific community and the general public. The first to give a working demonstration of the machine will go down in history alongside Galileo, Newton and Einstein.

Resolution – Against the odds, both machines are finished at the same time as Tanya has played saboteur to delay the completion of Rupert's machine.

Resolution

Both parties have tested the time travel machines using light beams, with success. Alex wants more testing but Rupert decides to travel himself at a press conference to make sure he is first. Alex realises one of the implications of the equations during further testing and stops his experiments, but he doesn't think Rupert will be aware of them. The press conference is due to start in an hour. History is about to be made.

Alex rushes to the lab to warn Rupert. His calls are being ignored. Security has instructions to stop Alex from interfering. The scene is set. The machine is set for 5 minutes in the future. Rupert should disappear and reappear in 5 minutes. Alex screams for him to stop, being restrained by the security guards as the world looks on. Rupert pushes the button...and vanishes.

The world holds it's breath. 5 minutes counts down. Nothing. Alex walks away, head down, knowing what has happened.

10 minutes. Nothing. Uproar at the lab. The media are speculating. Tanya still there.

15 minutes. Nothing. Tanya has chased out and found Alex by the river, looking up at the stars. She asks him to explain – what does he know?

       He laughed and looked down at his hands. 'It's my fault. The answer was always there but I missed it.'

       'What? What did you miss? I've looked at the equations and everything, everything, says that time travel can be achieved. People have spent months proving your theory is right. Hell, even your tests showed it was working.' She put her hand on his arm and her voice softened. 'What is it?'

       He met her eye for the first time. 'In the tests we used light.'

       'Yeah?'

       'Light has a particular property. It travels at the speed of light. It was in motion when it was sent through time.'

       'I don't understand.'

       'The theory of relativity states that at the speed of light objects gain mass because they cannot exceed the speed of light – we know that light itself doesn't do this. Some people have theorised that light is a special case...' He paused, waiting for her to fill in the blanks. She didn't disappoint.

       'Light doesn't gain mass, it occupies all points at the same time.'

       'Exactly.'

       'So?'

       'So when we sent it through time it disappeared. When it came back it simply popped back into existence at the point that we expected because it already existed there. Call it quantum entanglement.'

       'With you so far.'

       'That is only the case with light.'

       'Stop stalling. What are you trying to say?'

       His hand crept up and covered hers. 'The equations are correct. Time travel does occur. I have no doubt about that.' His eyes drifted up to the stars. 'What I didn't see is that to travel in that dimension, the time dimension, all movement in the other three dimensions is stopped. Absolutely stopped.'

       'Ok. So Rupert should have just reappeared at the exact spot that he left,' she said.

       'That's just the thing.' He looked back at her. 'He did.'

       'What?' Then her eyes widened as it dawned on her what he was saying. 'No,' she whispered.

       'Yes. Rupert stopped moving in the three dimensions of space so that he could travel 5 minutes in time.' They looked up at the stars together this time, hands clasped. 'But the Earth, the solar system and the galaxy just kept on moving.'