How long before pen hits paper…

….or fingers tap on keys?

I have been thinking of at least 2 ideas for novels for the last 12 or 13 years, yet I still haven’t come close to getting started.

I can churn out blogs, short stories, articles & one line fiction until the cows come home, yet, I just can’t seem to find the time or place to transfer my thoughts to paper (or to the iPad as it were).

I hope that one day soon I get it together & construct the ideas so that I can one day build the book(s).

#livetowrite #writetolive´╗┐

Sentence of Suspense: The getaway


I ran like I’d never ran before, my legs were like jelly and my heart thumped rapidly inside my rib cage while I dodged the gun shots and leapt across the railway track, the sound of the train thundering past with it’s honking horn was deafening and terrifying, but had at least bought me some time to try and out run the police, for now.

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Sentence of Suspense: The deposit


All I had gone in to do was deposit a cheque for mum, it all happened so quickly, one minute I was in the que, the next I’m kissing the floor tiles of the bank with the rest of the unfortunate customers, with a shotgun barrel in my neck taking orders from six men in clown masks.

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Ten Sentence Fiction: The Vacancy


Harold squinted out of the windscreen while hunched over the steering wheel. The window wipers whipped back and fourth, hopelessy battling at the monsoon that fell from the night sky. He stopped the car outside the hotel. It was a dreary building, 3 stories built of red brick and timber cladding, sat sad and alone on perhaps an acre of overgrown, unloved land. A fluorescent sign flickered from a window on the ground floor, behind a yellowing, dead fly infested net curtain. The welcoming words of ‘Come on in, we have Vaccancies’ were lost and wasted against the uninviting building and surroundings.
The sound of the rain battering onto the roof of his car was almost deafening, he watched as rain water flowed from the roof of the old hotel and overflowed onto the entranceway due to clogged and unmaintained guttering. He grabbed his overnight bag from the passenger seat, opened the door and contemplated making a run for it.
“Well, here goes nothing”, he said as he stepped out into storm. His head exploded from the gunshot and his body fell to the ground in a lifeless heap, as the local Sheriff grinned and put his gun back into its holster.

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(c) Copyright 2014 AGS

One Line Horror: The Bus Driver


All 15 passengers clung to their seats and screamed for dear life as the bus thundered through the pitch black and derelict road while the engine roared and everything rattled, heads jerked on necks as the bus suddenly hauled to a stop and the crazed driver slowly turned round with a menacing grin and whispered, “last stop!”

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Sunday Scare: Part 1


Read the synopsis here

The hotel room was just as drab and decaying as the rest of the building. Dated flowering wallpaper, yellowed by decades of sunlight peeled itself from the walls. The carpet, once a faded red, was now worn down to a washed pink and fraying at the edges. Two pathetic little lamps tried desperately to shed some light into the damp and musty atmosphere. The gale from outside eased its way through the decaying window frames trying, but failing to blow through the awful curtains which had set almost like cardboard.
Irv Oswald stood at the doorway holding his laptop bag, camera bag draped over his shoulder and two tripods under his arm. He scanned the room, unimpressed. He dumped his belongings onto the ancient bed on the left. He popped his head into the en suite on the right. The scene wasn’t any prettier in there.
He walked over and pulled the cardboard curtains apart and looked out into the storm. He could hear the rain battering onto the roof, water gushed down and overspilled from the moss infested guttering onto the ground below. The trees in the nearby forest were thrown back and forth by the steadily increasing gale, bags of rubbish and patio furniture blew around like paper.
“That be all, mister?”
Irv turned around, to see the old man staring at him from the doorway.
“Yes, that’s fine, thank you”, said Irv.
There was a moment of silence. The crusty old man glowered at him. He was short and bald and wore a khaki v-neck cardigan with brown corded trousers. An ancient pair of glasses hung from his neck and a faded gold badge was carelessly pinned to his knitwear. Irv could just make out, ‘Frank – Higgins Hotel Manager’.
“Will there be anything else?” Asked Irv.
The old man said nothing.
“Something wrong?” Asked Irv.
“What exactly is it you want, Mr. Oswald?” The old manager demanded.
Irv walked away from the window and sat on the bed.
“I don’t understand”
“You sure don’t look like your settling for a weekend at the beach” the old man said, “Fancy van and jacket like that, doesn’t make much sense why you’d want to stay in a dump like this”
Irv shook his fancy jacket off.
“Like I told you when I booked in, my mother lives up town. No way I’m keeping driving in this”
There were a few moments of silence.
“All those cameras best not be for some cheap porno movie. Keep the noise down. Breakfast at 8am!”
The door slammed closed. Irv heard the old man scuttle down the narrow hallway and slam another door. Then, nothing.
The old manager was right, he wasn’t here for the beach and his mother certainly didn’t live up town. Irv Oswald was here to work, but not on a cheap porno movie.
He unpacked his laptop and set it up on the bedside table. He opened his camera bag and took out 3 cameras. He set them up on the tripods pointing in varying positions around the room. He put his iPad and iPhone on charge next to his laptop and took a long hot shower.

Irv was fast asleep, flat out on the bed in the towelling bath robe provided by the hotel. He was silent as he napped. The rain continued to batter down outside and the wind showed no signs of giving up. The fan in his laptop whirred as it cooled the hard drive. The lamp on the bedside table next to him gave a continual and quiet buzz as it worked at shining the dull bulb inside it.

Irv suddenly opened his eyes and lifted his head as the door to the en suite slowly creaked open. He sat up as the bathroom light flicked on and the lamps in the room flickered. He heard a tap squeak anti clockwise, and the sound of water filling into the bath. He slowly climbed off the bed and stood up.
“Who’s there?” He asked.
There was no answer. Instead, the bulbs in the lamps exploded and draped the room into darkness.
“Jesus bloody Christ!” He grabbed his iPhone from the bedside table and flicked on the led and then put it into video mode. He held it in front of him as he edged his way to the bathroom.
“Who’s there?” He asked again. He edged closer to the door, filming every step on his phone.
The light in the bathroom flicked off and the door swung back and slammed shut. Irv jumped back, he yelled in fright as the curtains whipped open, and then he hit the deck when the window shattered into a million pieces and the wind thundered through and the rain poured in. Irv crawled along the floor and sat against the bed. He quickly took his phone off of video mode, selected a number from his contacts and held it to his ear. The phone on the other end answered within 3 rings.
“Yes?” Said a mans voice on the other end.
“Mr. Higgins, I’m calling to renegotiate my fee” Irv said as he watched the bathroom door slowly reopen.
“Excuse me?” The man asked.
Irv didn’t answer, instead he stared at the silhouette that appeared in the door frame of the bathroom. He gulped.
“Meet me at the reception desk in 30 minutes”
Before the the man got a chance to reply, Irv hung up and flicked his phone back into video mode.

Read Part 2 of the Sunday Scare next week…

(c) Irv Oswald and related stories are copyright 2014 AGS

P1 of 4.

One Line Horror: Surgery

38 lethal

She gagged and coughed up blood which fell back onto her face, she screamed and tried to wriggle free from the cold stainless steel autopsy table, the bright white halogen light shining in her face hindered her from seeing the masked man in scrubs standing over her, motionless, with a shiny scalpel in his hand.

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