Railways, nostalgia, memories and time travel.

I am sure I am not alone when I say stations and trains hold countless evocative memories for me. Many of these recollections are from my childhood, others from my adolescence and beyond. But most are essentially pure nostalgic longing.

I say nostalgic longing rather than reminiscent memory because most of the evocative scenes which play within my mind, when I contemplate railway carriages and station platforms, are false recollections. They are simply wistful yearnings for a time and place I have never been privy to.

Those of you who do not have a creative bent, those who are not writers, poets or lyricists may not, as yet, comprehend my words. So I shall, in my usual arbitrary, chaotic and irregular manner, begin to ramble away and hopefully elucidate you all too where my thoughts have wandered regarding this subject.

If you will humour me, I shall ask you to close your eyes for a moment or two and imagine you are on a station platform in the nineteen forties or fifties.

casablanca04Hear the sounds of the locomotive hissing steam as it waits for the passengers to disembark. See the porters wheel loaded wooden carts to the goods wagon, while others push handcarts laden with passenger’s luggage to the coach doorway where they assist the people to alight.

In the waiting room a small coal fire burns filling the air with a sooty but homely scent, a scent of warmth and comfort. From a small kiosk a man wearing a scarf and flat cap sells newspapers to the passengers waiting on the platform.

All around a cacophony of sound melds into this concert of life, whistles blow, milk churns clank, You can hear the ‘thunk’ as reams of newspapers are plonked on the platform ready for collection. Passenger’s voices are a constant murmur, a backdrop to the stationmaster’s call of “All aboard”. Doors slam shut, the train huffs and puffs as it pulls away. A metallic squeal pierces the air as the wheels begin to turn.

Those remaining on the platform wave off their loved ones who, leaning out of the windows, blow kisses back.

The pervading smell is of coal, steam, hot metal, wood, newspaper and soot.bacio in treno grande

That is how I remember railway stations. Or at least that is how my selective and partially false memories cause my mind to create this evocative picture in my head.

I am not old enough to have had such an experience. I was not born into that era. Perhaps I do have just enough knowledge, enough memory to blend the truth into this fantasy.

As a young child, maybe six or seven years old, I regularly watched the last few operational steam trains as the rattled over the railway bridge in Penge.

I remember ‘platform tickets’, tickets which allowed non-passengers access onto the platforms to say goodbye and wave off their loved ones, or to meet them on their return. I have sat in the comforting warmth of a British Rail waiting room which was heated by an open coal fire, the smell of which I shall never forget. I also recall when the green liveried trains had first, second and third class carriages, as well as a goods wagon and guards van at the rear.

Some may say that these were the ‘good old day’s’ and in many ways I agree. But historical conclusion is not the topic of today’s rambling.

I was not born early enough to have encountered life in the forties, not early enough to truly know the scents, sounds and feel of traveling by train in ‘those days’. Yet I do have the ability to create with my pen an acceptable and, this is the important bit, believable account of ‘being there’.

This is where ‘false memory’ becomes a friend and not the enemy.

downloadMixed with those few true memories I have are the perceptions of what life was like during such times. I have absorbed and pooled many of these ideas by reading books and watching films from that era, such as Brief Encounter (1945), or The Lady Eve (1941) and many other such scenes from plays and television programmes.

If, as a writer, I do my job well I can utilise both the true, the false and the acquired to create a world that will captivate the consciousness of the reader, draw them into my fantasy world as their eyes traverse the page. I want to fascinate and enthral the reader, not only with my characters and their antics but also by lending to them an illusory world where they can escape the mundane and humdrum of life, at least for the moment.

This is where nostalgia, or at least nostalgic imagery features. I believe it is something we all have a longing for. Who, for instance would not wish to travel back, to at least one certain point in time, if they were able?

I know that is something I would do if it were at all possible.

So why, I hear you ask, have I focused on railways as a topic to discuss the past. The answer is simple. Trains were ‘the’ mode of transport for the majority of people ‘way back when’ when few owned a car, less could afford to board a ship and air travel was just an aviators dream. Most places were too far away to cycle and horses were all but history.

How many have not said goodbye, waved off a loved one or shed a tear on a railway platform. Who has not been be45a6b16e065833331925e08c5acb93bursting with excitement and anticipation while awaiting the arrival of a train returning a family member, a friend or a lover home?

It is a fact that stations are a place we all hold dear, because this is where we have experienced numerous emotions countless times.

The station, the train, the railway is a place indelibly ingrained, permanently embedded and entwined with both our memory and emotion, however true or however false those evocative recollections might be will still hold them close, we still cherish them.

We all carry within that simple wistful yearning for a time and place that we have never been.

Thank you for reading this rambling. I hope that these few randomly scribbled words have given you food for thought, stimulated your muse or even simply entertained you for a short while, Paul.

 


To read more of my work please feel free to visit A Little more Fiction http://wp.me/5od8T

or Further Ramblings http://wp.me/5njAU

If you enjoy a great book why not check out Sneak Peek where you can browse and read excerpts from a plethora of books from fantastic authors  http://wp.me/5sgTb

The Wind & the Sun

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  This is a story my father used to tell me as a young child.

  Way back then I had no idea that this story was his version of an Aesop’s fable.

  I loved listening to him regale it over and again; although I had heard this story many times, it was not until I was about seven that I began to understand how the moral of the tale, or at least the basic message it carried, related to life.

   My father has now been dead for over thirty five years, yet I still recall his voice when I think of the Wind & the Sun.

   Moreover I am still learning the true extent of how the simple and basic message this story carries can affect every part of our lives, in work, play, socially, and in our domestic and love life relationships.

   I will try my best to recount this tale as closely to my father’s recitation as I can recall, because I still prefer his version to that of Aesop!

   Maybe you would too, if you could hear his voice as clearly I still do.


One day the Wind and the Sun were looking down upon the earth when they saw a man walking along a footpath.

‘Look at that man’ said the Wind, ‘I bet I can get his jacket off him quicker than you ’.

‘You think you can?’ answered the Sun.

‘Of course’ the Wind replied ‘because I am strong and powerful’.

‘Go on then’ said the Sun ‘let me see what you can do’.

So the Wind began to blow. As the Wind blew the man’s jacket flapped in the breeze. The Wind blew harder, whipping up clouds of dust and blowing the leaves from the trees.

The man buttoned his jacket, turned up his collar, lowered his head and continued walking.

Displeased with his efforts so far the Wind let a howling gale bellow over the ground. It was so forceful that the man had to fold his arms across his chest to stop his jacket from being blown off.

The Wind saw what the man was doing took a huge puff and let loose a tempest.

The man clutched his jacket tighter to himself, holding it firm with both hands.

Again and again the Wind blew and blew. The harder the Wind blew the tighter the man clung to his Jacket.

Eventually the Wind had puffed so hard for so long that he blew himself out.

The sun laughed and said to the Wind ‘Now it is my turn to try and get this man’s jacket off’.

So the Sun smiled and shone his gentle rays of warm sunlight upon the earth and upon the man.

The man took his hands from his jacket.

The Sun continued to smile and spread his warmth.

The man unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his tie.

After a while the man, bathed in the glorious heat from the sun, removed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder and began to whistle as he walked.

‘You see, Wind’ said the Sun, ‘you can accomplish far more by being gentle and giving than you can with brute force alone’.

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I hope you enjoyed my father’s version of this story.


You can read more by visiting https://alittlemorefiction.wordpress.com/

Late train home

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I find the dull metallic hum, as the train pulls away from the harsh glow of neon lights on the station platform, somewhat comforting in its reassurance. As is entering the dark cavern of the subway tunnel whilst cocooned in the dim warmth of the vibrating carriage.

Once again the familiar tempo of steel wheels upon the rails, and the irregular rocking as the train rumbles along, calms the customary angst which always seemed too accompany me in hectic, overcrowded places.

Seated comfortably, time slows. Harmony descends upon me like a cloak of serene velvet. I sigh out loudly, a liberated wisp of disquiet flutters away, disappearing into the ether.

Unbuttoning my coat and flicking the hood from my head, I leaned back stretching my weary legs out in front of me. The carriage is empty. I am alone. Peace and calm descend.

At this time of night the subway takes on a different form, its very structure becomes prominent. Vibrations resound in every wall, wafts of cool air frequently gust throughout; inhale, exhale, the subway breathes deeply. Recurrent metallic taps echo from the depths of the black underpasses in harmony with those rustling organic whispers. It is as if the subway comes to life, wakens as an entity in itself.

I love the subway at this time of night, which is why I like to take the late train home. I can relax.

I like to stare through the glass, trying to make out what the indistinct passing shapes that flash by actually are. Long, thick wires twist together, hanging in sooty swags from the tunnel walls, like massive black anacondas awaiting unsuspecting prey. The occasional light, dulled by a layer of caked on grime, giant fireflies? And dark recesses, small arches sunken into the curvature of the walls. What lays within? Possibly a door, a secrete door to another world, a parallel universe?

Then there is the reflection, my reflection, eerily unfocused, staring back at me from the darkened window pane. But is that me? I think not. Looking I see the reflection has a smirk on his face, he is hiding his knowledge of me, or a secret. He has the answers I seek. The answers I have spent my whole life trying to find. He smiles before fading away as the train enters a brightly lit station.

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These are my fantasies, my late night daydreams as I travel home. This is where my reality and illusion merge, where imagination and invention combine.

This is the birthplace of whimsy and caprice.

This is why I like to take the late train home.

© Paul White 2014

FFCO1808‎2014

Naked thoughts in New York City

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Restless.

I throw back the white cotton sheet.

Laying naked, letting the air circulate over my skin hoping for coolness.

No relief.

Padding barefoot I cross the room.

Sliding the glass doors open, stepping onto the balcony.

The slight breeze a welcome freshness.

Looking down, way down below,

I see the cars snaking through the city,

Yellow cars.

All cars are taxis at night, cabs running to and fro,

Making frivolous journeys for inconsequential people.

I see dots, little dots moving irregularly.

They are humans, tiny individuals,

Way below.

A fire truck passes, lights flashing,

Multiple glints against the glass buildings.

The deep honk of the fire trucks horn billows,

Suffocating all other sounds for that instant.

I look out, around me.

Towers.

Reflections, light and glass.

I see inside lighted rooms, empty offices, lounges, bedrooms.

Nobody has curtains, nobody draws their blinds.

Seduced by the height, blinded by reflection,

They think they are obscured from vision.

But I can see them, all of them.

I am standing in darkness, hidden in the shadows, looking out.

One pair of a thousand eyes, from a thousand dark places,

Windows, balconies, rooftops, all staring at the city,

Watching it move, pulsate, vibrate, gyrate.

Who, I wonder, is watching me as I stand here naked,

Breathing in the night air, cooling my skin.

I do not care.

Look all you want, feast your eyes,

Fantasise, ogle, masturbate if you wish, I do not know you, nor you me.

Even if you are there, in one of those thousand windows,

Or upon one of a thousand rooftops, if you exist anywhere but in my imagination,

I still do not care.

Another siren, echoes reverberating up the sides of the towers,

Lights flashing, reflected, refracted, distorted in the mirror glass.

I turn around and pad barefoot back to the bed.

The faint light falls on her skin, she sleeping with one leg out,

Twisted in the sheet I discarded, the other splayed wide and her arms akimbo.

Hair pouring over the pillows, a delta of soft threads.

There is no room for me now.

I do not want to wake her, or disturb her slumber.

I am not tired, I have no desire to sleep.

I grab a drink from the kitchen and go back onto the balcony,

This time I sit, open my laptop and light a cigarette.

I write this, my random thoughts of dark recesses, prying eyes,

Mirrored glass walls, and yellow taxis,

I write of my sleepless night in New York City.

END

© Paul White 2014

FFCO‎0911‎2014

An unintended post!

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Below is a statement which I have recently left as a comment on a Blog. It was only after doing so I decided to re-post my words here, as a stand alone post on Ramblings from a Writers Mind, because each word I hastily tapped-out on my keyboard represents precisely my views on the current balance of Indie Publishing and why many writers are (seemingly) having a bad time.

You may even consider this a ‘bit-of-a-rant’!

I shall let you draw your own conclusions. Feel free to reply, comment, or argue with me, I don’t bite!


I do not & will not discount or give away may published work.

I price my books according to the value (i.e. Creativity, Hard Work & Effort) which I put into them.

My books therefore are not the low cost option because my readers are buying high quality content.

If a book is free, .99c or £2.99 for a full length novel, then the author of that work clearly has either devalued their work, themselves, or the quality of the book will be crap.

This is a major problem regarding Indie Publishing Vs Mainstream Houses. Mainstream only discount AFTER a long period and then they do so firstly via discount shops, book clubs & supermarkets.

Readers should understand that good quality books, premium books may cost more, but are far better value ultimately.

Just like most things in life, buy cheap, get cheap.

The ‘Dirtiest’ word of them all.

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It may come as a bit of a surprise, (to those of you who know that I have written the most explicit adult erotic book ever, ‘Red Satin’), that I think the dirtiest word is one which has absolutely nothing to do with sex, sexuality, licentiousness, or swearing.

For those who are more familiar with my mainstream Novels the shock will not be quite so great, I am sure.

That said I am certain that I shall have to explain why I have chosen the word ‘Conventional‘ as the worst word in the English language.

I will start by saying that we all, or at least a great many of us, like to think that we are unique individuals, a bit off beat, a little crazy, even wacky at times, but the truth the majority of people, and that most probably includes you, are not.

I agree that we all have moments where we do things that we, or our friends, may consider stupid, out of character, or down right idiotic.

Sometimes we embarrass ourselves in public, sometimes we regret certain acts that we perform, but this is not unique, crazy or out of the ordinary. Far from it in fact, it is ‘normal‘ behaviour, behaviour that is accepted as pretty much standard in our modern society and therefor it is conventional.

Some of you, I am sure, are already rebelling at my last statement, how dare I call you, of even begin to describe your last act of stupidity, as conventional?

I am glad you are thinking like that, because this is one of the reasons I dislike this word, just as you are now beginning to do now.

That said, I have just scratched the surface of my reasons, so I shall continue with my explanation while you muse over the quandary of being, or not, a conventional conformist.

conventional

kənˈvɛnʃ(ə)n(ə)l/ Submit adjective

  1. based on or in accordance with what is generally done or believed.

“a conventional morality had dictated behaviour” synonyms: normal, standard, regular, ordinary, usual, traditional, typical.

The next point I will examine is why, if you are so bloody special, do you then conform to societies conventional practices?

   When you had your last job interview how wild and wacky were you then?

I bet you presented yourself as a very straight laced conventional human being in that instance, am I right?

When did you last go to eat in a restaurant wearing only underwear belonging to the opposite sex?article-0-039D8C95000005DC-403_468x586

My bet is never………………my point, well my point is that to have done either of those things is considered, by current convention, wrong.

You would not have got the position you wanted if the interviewers did not consider your mental state within conventionally accepted boundaries.

Chances are you would not have been allowed entry into the restaurant, maybe even been arrested for indecent exposure in a public place!

My point has two distinct facets, one is that of financial gain/loss.

Having control over our personal income is one way we are conditioned to accept convention. The government, banking and financial institutions use fiscal policy to keep the general public, including you, under control and help to ensure that we work within the conventional framework they have engineered.

That is why you acted so meekly at that interview.

The second facet is peer pressure.

As those about us, including family, friends, colleagues and associates have been conditioned by the state, and the media, to accept what they wish us to believe is ‘normal‘ or ‘regular‘ behaviour, the threat of losing our status among our peers is often greater than the loss itself.

image  This social pressure is also present in the second of the scenarios outlined. Loosing friends, or their respect, just because you wanted to eat sushi while dancing naked in the civic fountain may be appealing for your inner wish to be free, but under the domination of conventional social interactivity it is a no no!

The Law, be it enforced by local authorities, state or county police, is just another control over our freedoms and liberties that give the majority of us no option but to follow the demands of this infectious and deliberating virus termed convention.

Are you beginning now to see why I think this word is bad, or to be honest, why this words definition is dirty?

   So what of those / us who defy convention?

Hobo’s, dropouts, weirdo’s, perverts, hippies, off their rockers, crazies, are all names I have heard people, and that means you too, call those that have raised two fingers to convention. You know, the people who acted the way you wished you had the courage to act.

OK, so sometimes one of these names may be correctly applied to a certain individual, but then that individual is not one of the ones I am referring to here.

Here I am speaking about intelligent civilised human beings who by conscious effort, situation or downright fortune, (good or bad), have elected to disassociate themselves as much from conventional life as is possible. I say possible because even those who withdraw far away from society are still, inevitably, affected by the modern world in some degree, at some point.

However the majority of those /us who choose alternative lifestyles are not looking to turn our backs on everyday life, and not looking to hide away from social contact.

While we seek to live our lives in association with others with the same, or similar mind-set. We will blend in with the ordinary ‘vanilla’ folks on the street, we act and intermingle with you, and yet hold a key to a world where riches and dreams are the freedoms and expressions of the mind, body, soul, and spirit.

It is a world which when found, few wish to leave. This is true uniqueness, true individuality of character, (and not just occasionally singing out of key during a drunken stumble home on a wet and rainy night).

Conventional means living under the will of those that control society, this is why I think that conventional is a dirty and disgusting word.

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Thank you for reading.

To find out more about me visit my website 🙂

http://fluffybunnypj.wix.com/paul-white

One tip which helps make writers successful.

Crazy Writer


Those of you who are regular readers of this blog will know I have three major dislikes when having conversations and discussions with other writers.

By writers I am being all inclusive, whether you are and Author, a Blogger, Journalist or Essayist, in fact whatever disciplines you generally undertake; although some parts are directed more towards creative writers, the overall subject matter is applicable to all genres of writing.

Firstly let me reiterate the three dislikes I mentioned above.

One, Lists.3021379-inline-johnny-cashs-perfect-to-do-list

This is a quick cop-out for many Bloggers, Journalists and Article writers. I could quite easily have entitled this Blog as ‘Three things I hate about writers’, or ‘The ten worst things to do as a writer’. It is so easy to throw together a few clipped items about anything and collate a list. It is bullshit and writing at its laziest.

In fact, I should not grace ‘lists’ as writing at all but as compiling.

(That said the more astute of you will realise that you are reading point one on a ‘list’ of three items)!

LMAO.

Yet this blog is not just a meaningless list of three things; there is a point to it, some REAL content. (Which differentiates my construal of just listing items for little reason and using them as an inclusive part of a constructive essay).

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So on to my second dislike, Writers Block.

This condition does not exist. It is false, a myth, a feeble excuse dreamed up by lazy writers who need something to blame, besides their own inadequacies, for not writing.

This may sound harsh, but honestly it is the truth.

As an example you may be at a particular stage, in this great and wonderful novel which you are writing, where the plot has become so tangled and complicated you are having problems writing any further, so you stop writing.

Then you start to hesitate about returning to the book, because you know you may have to go back and re-write much of it, so you procrastinate.

This procrastination then starts to fester in your mind. You worry if you can write well enough, or that all these past weeks have just been a waste of time. So you, once again, put off writing anything and say you have writers block.

BULLSHIT.

The whole point of writing is to sit down and write. It does not have to be a stream of constant writing on one project or one topic. Start a new book or write a short story. Write a Blog about something you like, or a tale from your life. If you do not want to blog, write a poem or two, or three. Even a letter to your Mother or Sister.

Write something, just write something, while your mind is working out what you need to do to get your novel back on track. If you are writing anything you do not have an excuse to believe you have writers block. Simple.

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writers-block

Ok, Number Three dislike. Lack of things to write about!

Yes, I have heard this one too many times, but it still amuses me.

I have heard writers say things like, ‘I have some rough ideas, but nothing solid’ and ‘I’m not sure how to start’ or ‘I don’t know what to write about’ even ‘I have a story, but don’t know how to end it’.

The one thing in common was that none of these writers had actually started to write anything. Therefore it amused me because often you do not have a ‘beginning’ or an ‘end’ or that much content UNTIL you start to write. That is what re-writing and editing is all about, why ‘cut & paste’ is such a popular tool!

Inspiration and stimulation are the keystone to most writing, (I say most because little of that is needed in technical manuals)! But as I have said this Blog is directed at creative writing where the most important aspect IS having a plethora of subject matter, ideas, concepts, notes, notions, outlines, inklings and whatevermacallits floating about in both your conscious and un consciousness.

Once you have found a way to keep your creative stimuli fully charged you will never ‘run out’ of ideas, subjects and topics to write about.

Which neatly brings me to the point of this Blog, the one tip which has helped many writers become successful at what they do.

plug-in world1

You have to ‘PLUG IN’ to the world around you. You have to become sponge-like and absorb the world with all its idiosyncrasies.

I read the newspapers, not for the depressing headlines about conflicts, politicians filling their pockets at the taxpayers’ expense, or how the financial state of outer-Mongolia is affecting house prices in Downtown Backwater.

I read the local and regional newspapers looking for odd, offbeat stories. I try and extract the human and emotional feelings of those affected. I do the same with the radio, I do not have music on all day but tune into certain stations which cover a myriad of articles and ‘human interest’ stories.

Many times I scan the internet, from other peoples Blogs to news articles from Huffington, New York Times, the London Times, and a thousand and one other sources which are readily available.

I type into the search bar things like ‘Sad Stories’, ‘Mad Men’, ‘murder scenes’, ‘Strange Encounters’ and a hundred and one other random searches.

I am not looking to steal anyone’s work, this is not a matter of plagiarism, but a way to find inspiration, stimulation. I am looking for that ‘Trigger point’ to prompt me to start a new story. The story will most probably be an amalgamation of ten thousand and one little bits and pieces that I have remembered or noted, which have just become a single piece due to that ‘Trigger’.

So go on, take a tip from some great authors and ‘Plug in’ to the world around you.

It works for me!

Thank you for reading this rather rambling, Rambling, Paul.

© Paul White 2015

http://paulznewpostbox.wix.com/paul-white-writer

RACO050315

How to be very, very SEXY and attract lots of attention.

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I have recently posted a number of articles intended to assist you with self-promotion and the marketing of your books, blogs and other writings. (If you have not read them scroll down and take a look after you have read this).

In this post I am not going to get technical or start preaching, but simply ramble away about how you can use the oldest attractor to help generate many more ‘hits’ to your site, Blog or book promotions.

It is something you know well, even intimately! Yet are still hesitant about showing it off to the public at large!

You will, no doubt be aware of the old saying that ‘sex sells’.

It is one of the most truthful quotations ever and one which continues to prove its own legitimacy on a daily basis.

Now before you go off in a huff of indignation or embarrassment let me make it quite clear this is not a post about sex per se, but the use of sensuality and titillation to initially attract readers to your works.

I have already demonstrated the simplest of these methods, the word itself.

In this case the word sexy made you stop and read this blog today. Okay I teamed it up with a few other words to make a sentence, but it was that single word ‘sexy that has bought you right here, right?

Therefore, as long as you employ some link however tenuous it may be, to lead the reader from the ‘sex’ word to your content you have made the first step, you have attracted another potential follower, or purchaser of you goods.

If you are averse to using the word directly you can substitute it with other words which create passionate or sensual imagery adopting a subtle ‘softer approach’. The outcome however will be the same to the reader, a mental stimuli which is difficult to ignore!

The next step is to add an image, which again I have done here, (at the top of the post).

Whether you use the soft curves of a female torso or the squarer, muscular masculine is dependent to which audience you are directing your writing towards.

Although overall the female form has a greater impact on the general populace as both sexes are attracted, albeit for a variety of reasons, including gender and sexual persuasion, which I shall not endeavour to delve into in this particular post.

Once again however, I am not speaking of pornography, unless you are solely directing your work to that market, in which case I would then suggest looking at a very different approach altogether so as not to become enmeshed in the mass of generality.

For the most part soft suggestive stimuli is all that is required, after that it is you work, your content and presentation which must endear your readers.

Basically I am saying that, yes…SEX does sell.

Do not be afraid to use it for your own gain; after all you won’t know how good it is until you have tried it!

Enjoy, Paul.

Have you read my Blog ‘Further Ramblings’ yet? It’s all about life and living, go take a look now. http://wp.me/5njAU

Sitting in the garden

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As the title indicates I am writing this as I sit my garden.

I am sat at the large table on the raised decking which is, at this time, bathed in dappled sunlight. I can hear the water from the falls melodically splashing into the ponds, and the heady scent from the mass of blooms gently wafting around me, carried by the light breeze.

It is, in my opinion, the perfect place and atmosphere for a writer to work.

Since coming into the garden, just a short while ago, I have furthered a piece, which is destined to be a jointly written story with another writer, one who I adore and respect. Written a poem, (by the time you read this it will be in my book Teardrops & White Doves . I am now attempting to write something of interest for you in this Rambling.

As with many of my Ramblings, I do not have a particular subject or topic in mind when I begin to write, I just start to tap away at the keys and hope something evolves which is informative, interesting, and enjoyable to read.

In fact, if I achieve any any two of those three things I shall consider this Rambling a success.

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I have, in past Ramblings, spoken of Writers Block, Inspiration, Creativity, Imagery and a whole plethora of various subjects, many which have absolutely nothing to do with actually writing at all but of the common tasks and problems we writers face in our daily lives.

However, it seems as my Rambling have developed, from very short notes about whatever was at the forefront of my mind, to my later posts (which have unconsciously and almost subliminally from my point of view, strayed into the theme of the techniques of writing), I have won the minds, if not the hearts of so many of you, so many friends, I now feel so very humbled indeed.

I mean that in all honesty and with my hand firmly placed on my heart.

I read each and every comment you post in reply and try my best to answer them all.

So, this is a thank you, a big thank you to all of you who read my irrelevant scribbling’s regularly, and a welcome to those of you who may be reading a Rambling for the first time.

I hope it will not be the last time you do.

As for the subject of this particular Rambling, there really isn’t one.

Except to say, for a writer, as with so many artistic vocations, the stimulus needed to create are many and varied. For me the atmosphere of my garden right now is an absolutely perfect environment to get those creative juices flowing.

I hope I have not squandered nature’s gift of a beautiful day, but have, in some respect, justified her benevolence.

Thank you all for reading this Rambling.

Bless you, Paul.

   To see more of my work, or to find out more about me, visit my website

 

Showcasing your work to the world

writers-block


I do not know why you write.

I am uncertain most of the time why I write.

Oh, I do not mean the writing I do as a job, My books, my novels and such. I know why I do that, it pays the bills  and keeps the wolf from the door… at least for now.

The writing I’m speaking of is this type, these Ramblings, my ‘Wild Geese’ travel blog, social media posts….all that hoo-ha. I certainly do not make any money from writing this stuff.

Sometimes, I think my posts simply evaporate into the ether of the net, floating around in cyberspace, like an errant satellite never to been seen again. That is, until twelve years in the future, some lost soul in Outer Mongolia ‘likes’ the post.

Hey… that’s two ‘likes’ in twelve years, for an absolutely brilliantly written essay regarding a major social event which touched everybody’s life at the time.

But don’t worry, because at the same time I posted a snapshot of my cat licking its tail, that got ten thousand ‘likes’ and half a million ‘shares’ in three days.

Does that mean I am now going to join in with the massed hordes of cat picture posters and give up writing constructive and entertaining articles?Dead cat 2

 

Not on your life. (Besides, my cat died last month

 

That lost soul in Outer Mongolia may have be the Dalai Lama on a pilgrimage, or a young American backpacker, one who is destined to become the president of the United States at some point.

Who knows?

What I am trying to say in my usual rambling manner, is I am a firm believer in the quality of those who ‘like’, ‘plus’ and ‘follow’ my writings.

I do not write purely to amass great numbers of ‘followers’ or ‘subscribers’ to my Blog’s or other media posts.

Yes, it is nice to see your numbers growing, it shows your work is appreciated. Which is one reason I use social media.

Yet, I would rather my work is respected by those who value the content and not just because the accompanying image caught their eye.

Another reason I write, is to introduce my books to those who may not know of them.

You see it takes a long, long time to take an idea of a story and turn it into a published book.

That is many months, if not years of hard graft. After which, it is an absolute shame to see it languishing on a shelf collecting dust, or hanging in cyberspace waiting to be downloaded by the Dalai Lama after his pilgramage and meeting that nice American chap.

Therefore, I mention my books on many occasions during my writings. I think it is the right thing to do, knowing when you, yes YOU, read them you will enjoy them, (so what are you waiting for….go buy one now.)

Then of course, there are the other reasons for writing. The main reasons for writing. 

Some find it a form of catharsis, allowing them to expel worries and anxieties. Some see it as sharing, a social form of interaction. For others it becomes a need, almost an addiction. Often it is a combination of all and more. The overwhelming must though, is the need to share, to have someone, somewhere to be reading our words.

Right now, it is possible that my novel, ‘The Abduction of Rupert DeVille is being read by someone lazing on a hot tropical beach in a faraway land, where the azure blue sea laps the golden sands of paradise, or by your sister as she sits, legs tucked beneath her, on her favourite chair sipping a hot chocolate and nibbling on digestive biscuits.

Who knows?

The main thing is that someone, somewhere is reading something I have written at some time.

Even if it is on a mountainside in Outer Mongolia.

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The Potala Palace

 

The point which I am attempting to convey, is to get the quality and quantity of people we, the writers and authors, need to read our work, we have to reach out and show our writing to the world.

With that in mind, I want to introduce to you to CQ International Magazine.

Okay, so many of you will know about the magazine, many however do not, while others have seen, but not looked, not read it and difinitley not showcased their work in it.

To keep it simple, CQ Magazine is a global, online periodical which is free, yes I said FREE, to read. It has built up a regular, loyal readership base in eighty countries.

CQ International Magazine is dedicated to promoting the indie world, that’s writers, authors, poets, artists, cover designers, ilustrators, musicians, designers, modlers, artisans, painters, sculptors, just about every artistic medium you can think of… and then some.

Recently, CQ International Magazine has launced the C-club, a simple, annual membership, which gives its members the opportunity for free promotion and marketing of their work in CQ International Magazine and to benifit from associated marketing.

Find out more by visiting the CQ Blog at, https://cqmagazineblog.wordpress.com/

Read the current edition of CQ International Magazine Here 

CQ SummerFantasy