The Son of God or How to Unblock a Plot

While walking the dog last night, I met the Son of God. No, really. Note my use of capital letters. He said that he was the one that everyone’s been looking for and that I could tell it was true because my dog allowed herself to be stroked by him.

“Trust the animals,” he said. “They know.”

He was interesting, but terrifying, which is why the photo is blurred. It was late and it was just the three of us, down under London Bridge, and I realised I had some urgent dog-walking business to attend to immediately and had to excuse myself. He was just getting started on how to take souls. I had questions, but what’s the point in getting answers if you end up getting stabbed in the process?

Our walk then took us to the Tate Modern, where we could hear invisible rats running amid the up-lit trees, Borough Market, silent and gated and stinking, and Southwark Cathedral, existing as if in another time altogether.

I discovered that there is a Flotation Tank Centre near London Bridge. There aren’t enough exclamation marks in the world to explain how pleased I was by this. http://floatworks.com/

The Tower of London, four police officers, two police cars, a police van and one kid with a rucksack. The kid’s body language was saying: “Forsooth, why hast thou interrupted my midnight run?” And: “Rucksack? What rucksack?”

Finally, about 5 mins from home, I completed the underlying mission of the walk. I found the solution to the next chapter of my novel. After a mind-clearing walk, I decided to turn a scene that wasn’t working upside down. It worked in my head and I hurried home to try it out.

I wrote the first draft this morning. It works fine, better than scene I had planned.

Thank you Pie.

53ish more chapters to go ...

Writing for Two - (Horror!) Stories for Children

I took my daughter for her first curry this afternoon.

I had the chicken curry with rice and a meat samosa and she ... fell asleep. She’s only 10 days old, so that can be forgiven. She’s got a while during which she can get away with drooling too. Me on the other hand – if I fall asleep in a restaurant and start drooling, someone calls an ambulance.

I’m looking forward to creating stories, which I can write, read or recite for her. Having a predilection for horror, slime, nastiness, blood, beasties and irresponsible characters with telekinesis, however, I’m not sure how this is going to go down. I’d really like to share with her the one about the thing at the bottom of the bed, but I should probably wait until she’s old enough – like 18.

A friend of mine suggested that I wouldn’t be able to write horror once she was born, because my protective, parental instincts would kick in; all the more so because we’ve had a girl. She’s already helped me with ideas for 3 stories though and that’s not including The Thing at the Bottom of the Bed.