This is my first attempt at writing something in the horror genre, and at writing a short piece of flash fiction. Please feel free to leave any comments below, I’d love to know what you think. I hope it makes your toes curl.
Month: August 2011
Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats is a collection of whimsical poems by T. S. Eliot about feline psychology and sociology, published by Faber and Faber. It is the basis for the record-setting musical Cats.[1] The poems were written during the 1930s and included by Eliot, under his assumed name “Old Possum,” in letters to his god-children.[2] They were collected and published in 1939 with cover illustrations by the author (Source: Wikipedia, Aug. 2011).
These poems are beloved by readers, and cat lovers, the world over. Few would criticise T.S. Elliot’s credentials as a poet. So only a fool would try to re-write his work given such well-loved subject matter, and the prestigious status of the original author. Only a fool, and me.
I do not contend that my attempt is of the same quality as the original source material. In fact, I offer no guarantee as to the quality of my effort, and I leave it entirely up to the reader to judge. Please be kind, as anyone who attempts something like this must clearly be a little ‘off their rocker’.
Is Andy Warhol a good painter? Some have argued that a talented teenager could replicate his work. If one of his paintings had been taken back in time, before he became famous, and was displayed at a high-school art show, would it even be noticed? Years later he became a darling of the media, and acclaimed by celebrities. Then, any piece of work done by Andy Warhol could be displayed anywhere, and would be admired, simply because it was an Andy Warhol. In writing, as in the visual arts, the context of a piece of work can change everything. Ignore it at your own risk.
The Hare is a tough ole creature,
With one outstanding feature,
It’s a rabbit with attitude,
It doesn’t do platitudes,
Get it cross, and it’ll teach yer.
A Silly Verse by T. James, August 2011.
THE NOVEL – “Untitled” – Work on my fantasy novel continues, but I’m very much in the early stages of writing a first draft. The characters now have some colour and back-story, and the plot arc is slowly building on a, hopefully, solid foundation. My inspiration is coming as I write, and I have several ideas for an ending, but so far firm ideas for the latter story arc remain elusive. Overall though, I’m generally pleased with how things are going, and feeling inspired to see this project through to completion. *UPDATE – Still progressing 11/08/11.*
SHORT STORIES – *UPDATED 11/08/11* I’m currently attempting to finish a short story. It is a real challenge, cross culture, cross gender, and a sensitive and emotive subject. Whether I ever release it depends, mostly, on whether I feel I have done the subject-matter justice, as I feel trivialising it would be wrong.
MY BLOG – TheWordOnThe.Net – I am very much enjoying writing shorter, varied pieces of work as I seek to explore and expand my limits as a writer. As such the content, and format of the blog are changing with time as my ideas and aims coalesce. *UPDATED – 11/08/11*. Recently I’ve found myself exploring nonsense poetry. I don’t know if it’s very good, but I’m not going to learn unless I experiment. I would read them with this in mind :-). I may try something more serious at some point, maybe.
THIS NEWS FEED – I may change from this basic format in the future to either an RSS feed, forum, news link with my blog, or alternatively explore the possibilities offered by Facebook, Twitter et. al. Decisions, decisions?!
Why? I have absolutely no idea…
What a Kathmandu,
A Frogdog wun’t,
Because a Kathmandu has hands.
But a Kathmandun’t,
When the Frogdog’s wunt,
To wait in ambush in the sands.
A nonsense poem by T. James, August 2011.
Snot, bogey, luge, luger, buger; its aliases are many, but even in its brief life there can be found the hands of fate, pathos, and drama.
This is my first attempt at poetry in, well, decades. It is written in a style vaguely reminiscent of Roald Dahl. It isn’t pleasant, and I’m not sure if it’s even good, but for whatever it is worth this poem is mine, even if it takes courage to own.
I believe you have had sufficient warning, please proceed at your own risk, as no responsibility will be accepted for any distress, emotional or mental, that is caused by the reading of this piece. Comments, and critique, are welcome. For your delectation: I hope you enjoy:-
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