My Writing Challenge for 2013 - Assistance Requested!

Yesterday evening I made a decision and announced it on my Specs, Rugs And Sausage Rolls Facebook page (head to http://www.facebook.com/specsrugssausagerolls and leave a comment or a 'like').

For the year 2013, I have decided to set myself the task or challenge of writing one 5,000 word short story every month. That's twelve stories and 60,000 words in the year.

There is no set theme, so the twelve stories could and probably will be twelve totally unrelated and individual.

And this is where I am inviting your input: some ideas or suggestions for settings, style, theme or whatever.

I've already had my first suggestion - a murder mystery set in a one bedroom flat!

So, you can either visit my facebook page, tweet me @specsnrugs, or leave a comment below. As many ideas as you like, and maybe you'll be lucky enough to have one chosen!

Many thanks for your time!

More exclusive writings...

In honour of World Book Day, here follows yet more of my unfinished work, following on from my post of 2nd February. And just so you know, it starts to get a bit racy towards the end. If you want to read more, let me know and I will oblige... There's 27 pages of it!!!


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My mum came home at about six thirty, having had her hair done. She came through and asked me what I was up to that night.

“Probably head into town. Meet up with some people.” I said casually.

“What people?” She was not purposely nosey, but didn’t always come across that way. The end of my marriage had given her extra cause to worry about me, whether I liked it or not.

“Just some work people” I lied through my teeth.

“Oh. You’re not going to be back too late are you? You’re helping Marie move into her flat tomorrow, remember.”

How could I forget? Along with worrying about me excessively, she was also planning my spare time for me these days.

“I hadn’t forgotten. But I’ve done nothing all week, I need to get out.” Lord only knows why I felt I had to justify this at the tender age of twenty eight years old. Marie was four years younger, and had a boyfriend and a mortgage, and as far as I can recall, she never had this.

Seemingly satisfied, mum left the room, only to return minutes later.

“Do you want some tea before you go out? It’s casserole.”

“Nah, it’s okay, thanks. I’ll get a pizza or something.” Anything other than the old classic casserole.

Mum looked at me with scorn in her eyes, but let it pass and left the room again. 

As it was still early, I passed some time by playing on my Playstation2 console, taking out my stress on some poor unfortunate computer footballers. Just as I was getting ready to put it away, my dad shuffled into the living room.

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?” he grumbled.

“You’re never too old, dad. Trust me” I smiled and patted him on the leg from my kneeling position in front of the television. He grunted something unintelligible. He hovered for a moment, then went out of the room. I glanced at my watch and decided it was time to go. I left the Playstation2 littered over the living room floor, a throwback to the days when I would spend all night on my own waiting for Lucy to come home. I would eventually go to bed in a mood, and then be expected to be pleased to see her at two in the morning. If you can work out how I ended up being the bad guy in that situation, I’d like to know, really.

I sorted out my clothes for the night and went for a shower. As I stood under the water, watching it cascading down my body, I psyched myself up for a good night out. I got myself showered and smartened up. I shaved off the two days stubble that had accumulated on my haggard face, hiding the stresses and strains of divorce. I’d forgotten how young it made me look. After getting dressed in jeans, bright amber Mickey Brown ‘Cult Zeros’ t-shirt and brown kappa trainers I made sure my hair was tidy and cleaned my teeth. I completed my preparations with a splash of Abercrombie aftershave, a present from my parents on their last trip to the USA. I gave myself the thumbs up in the bathroom mirror and went out through the front door. As I was going down the driveway, my mum opened the front door and called me back. Reluctantly I turned back towards the door.

“You’re going then?” she said, with a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I thought you were out the back.” I lied.

“Well, make sure you don’t get into any trouble,” she looked at me meaningfully. “Your dad said to give you this.” She handed me a roll of notes. I took them from her hesitantly. As she watched, I counted out fifty pounds. I looked up to see her face breaking into a smile. I wordlessly hugged her and turned back down the drive. As she went back in through the door I gave her a wave and carried on down the street with a spring in my step.

Chapter 2

I made it into town with no problem. A one way train journey did the trick. I got on with another group of people all going into town for the night. As I sat down on the train, I noticed a pretty girl sitting on the other side of the carriage, a few seats down from me. She was on her own and looking nervous. She looked about twenty years old, but she could have been older, I’m not good at guessing ages. She was wearing a sparkly black vest top with a lipstick mouth logo in red sequins. The man in me was drawn to her breasts, which were impressive, whatever her age. A silver pendant hung tantalisingly in her cleavage, naturally drawing attention. The conductor came and I paid for my ticket, still glancing occasionally at the girl. The conductor went over to the girl, who rooted in her purse for change. She looked apologetically at the conductor. Craning my neck, I could overhear the conversation going on. The gist was that she was short on the train fare. Feeling generous, yet having my mind filled with images of her thanking me profusely, I stood up and sauntered over. I stood at the conductors shoulder and coughed politely.

“Is there are problem at all?”

Both looked at me, non-plussed. The conductor broke the silence.

“This young lady doesn’t have enough to pay her fare. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

Not liking his attitude, I wanted to give him a punch in the mouth, but smiling, I countered.

“Would it be my concern if I offered to pay the difference?”

The girl looked at me puzzled. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders in a ‘can’t do any harm’ way. She smiled back at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a murmur in my underwear. The conductor turned round to face me full on.

“Well, it makes no odds to me, as long as the ticket’s paid for.”

“I-I-I‘m sorry, I usually have lots of change on me” the girl stammered apologetically.

“Don’t worry yourself” I soothed her. “Where are you going?”

“Just into town. One way.”

I got out my wallet, and pulled out a five pound note. I waved it in front of the conductor.

“This should cover it, my friend”.

He took the money and keyed in the ticket on his machine. As the machine spewed out the printed ticket, he snatched it and held it out to me. I gestured for him to give it to the girl. He handed it to the girl with a grunt and shuffled off up the carriage.

I smiled at the girl and went to go back to my seat. As I turned, she leaned forward and grabbed at my jacket.

“Hey, thanks for that. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

I shrugged my shoulders at her.

“I couldn’t let him throw you off the train in the middle of nowhere. I’m too nice”

She smiled warmly at me.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have.”

“Probably not” I agreed. “But I’d rather not have left it to chance”. I smiled back at her. It’s hard to tell in artificial light, but I’m sure she blushed.

“Do you want to sit down?” She patted the seat next to her. I looked at her as though considering her offer. I took in her short black skirt, black tights and boots. She seemed like she had a body to die for.

“Sure, why not.” I gently sat down next to her, angling my legs out into the aisle. She smiled again, and angled her legs towards me. I could read that body language. Or I thought I could. I knew I wasn’t going to chance it.

“I’m Becky, by the way.”

“Hi, Becky. Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand and smiled. I held on to her hand a little too long, without realising.

“And what’s your name?” She probed.

“Mine? It’s Jon.” I smiled. I gave myself a mental telling off. I was falling apart right in front of her. I let go of her hand and put both of my hands on my lap, out of the way. Or so I thought.

“Are you going anywhere special?” I was jolted out of my private thoughts by her sudden question.

“Er, no not really. Just into town for a few drinks. You?”

She smiled coyly. I was beginning to wonder about her.

“Same. Are you meeting up with anyone?”

“At some point.” I admitted. I was beginning to feel out of my depth.

“It’s horrible drinking alone, isn’t it?”

I turned and looked at her. There was a glint in her eyes. Her body language was obvious now. She was playing with her hair. She twirled her long, dark brown hair in her fingers, letting it fall on her shoulders. I was mesmerised. All I wanted to do was take her hand again and stroke it. I was losing my control.

“Yeah. I suppose it is.” I said, trying to fill any silences. She smiled.

“Do you mind if I ask how old you are?” she ventured.

“Er, no. I’m twenty eight. Although I feel about forty six after what I’ve been through.” I tried to laugh it off.

“You don’t look it. Do you want to know how old I am?”

“Well, I’m a gentleman, and they never ask a lady her age.” I smiled bashfully at her. I couldn’t believe how I was flirting with her. It was no wonder I was awful with women.

“That’s okay. I’ll tell you. I’m twenty two.”

“Oh? That’s nice” I said. I prayed for the journey to end so I could go and give myself a good talking to over this. No such luck. The train pulled into a station I knew was two stops from the end. I felt panic start to rise within me. I’d thought that playing the field was going to be easy – this was a rude awakening. All this time Becky was slowly edging closer to me. No one got on or off at this point, and the train started with a jolt. I could be paranoid, but I swear she made more of it than necessary as she toppled into me. I helped her up and steadied her in the seat. One of the straps of her top had fallen off her shoulder. I happened to glance at her and didn’t see a bra strap of any description. I took a more concerted look, in case she had some of those clear straps on. There was nothing, and worse, she saw me. I hastily looked away, waiting for the accusations to start flying. Nothing happened. Except I felt a hand on my thigh. I looked down and saw it wasn’t one of mine. It was too dainty. I looked round and she was watching my reaction. There was definitely something going on. I could feel heat rising inside me. It had been a while, but I was pretty sure I was onto something now.

“You have nice firm thighs Jon. Do you work out?”

“Um, not really. I play football every week. Does that count?” My habit of using small talk to diffuse situations was kicking in, much to my annoyance.

“So you’re athletic, huh? That’s wonderful.”

I nodded agreement. I tried desperately to come up with something to say. She beat me to it.

“I used to do gymnastics when I was younger. I’m still extremely supple you know.” As if to prove her point, she fidgeted in her seat and manoeuvred herself into the lotus position. Her knees were now almost in contact with my crotch. As I took in her pose, I saw a flash of skin between her skirt and what I’d thought had been tights, but now appeared to be stockings. From that point on I was lost. I only had one thought on my mind – see more of that. Images were racing through my mind of frantic sex with Becky. On the train, in the station, in bed, on the back seat of my car. I could feel the beginnings of an erection and self-consciously shifted to hide it.

Etcetera...

So there you have it. Granted, this was written in the early days when I couldn't be bothered to come up with creative character names, so used my own instead.

Incredibly Exclusive!!!

What you are about to read is an excerpt from one of my many started then abandoned writing projects. I have about six or seven of them kicking about, and after an initial burst of creativity, the concentration wanes, then Television or Facebook take over, and then I lose interest, or the next idea has taken over... It's a never ending cycle really, and I really ought to break it and actually finish something for a change!!

Anyway, please cast your eye over what follows and feel free to pass comment either positively or, if you so wish, you can leave some constructive criticism. Which means you can't call me any rude words or just call it rubbish. You have to tell me WHY it's rubbish, or why you think it's justified to call me a rude word.

So, make sure you are sitting comfortably, and I shall begin... (also, this idea is still so much in it's infancy, I have not deemed it necessary to give it a proper title - the file name on my conputer is simply "Another novel idea". And it's in a different font, so you know where it ends too. I'm helpful like that.

Chapter 1

The winter sun set behind the hills as I drove home from work. I fumbled around for my sunglasses in the glove compartment. Finally, after littering the passenger seat with various pieces of rubbish and CD cases, I put my hands on them. Emitting a sigh of relief, I used my mouth to open the arms and put them on my face.

Oh, for fucks sake!” My vision was now impaired by a huge scratch on one lens. I angrily ripped them from my face and flung them on the passenger seat. I took a quick glance at the road, then fumbled around for a CD. I put my hands on ‘The Best of The Stone Roses’ and nimbly opened the case and slid the CD into the stereo. As the familiar sounding intro to ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ filled the speakers, I turned the volume up a few notches. I turned my attention back to the road in time to see the traffic in front ground to a halt. As my swearing mingled with the rumbling bass of the music, I rammed my foot on the brakes and eventually came to a halt amidst squealing tyres just millimetres from the car in front. I sat there gasping for air and sweating profusely. I opened the window for some air and turned the fans on to cold air and full blast. 

I drove slowly the rest of the way home. I finally pulled up outside my parent’s suburban bungalow. I stuffed the various bits of rubbish back in the glove compartment and slammed it closed before the things could topple back out again. I picked my bag off the floor where it had been thrown by the earlier braking manoeuvre and removed the key from the ignition. I sat in silence for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, got out of the car and, having locked the door, walked up the driveway and round the back. There were no cars on the drive, so both mum and dad were most likely out. Probably just as well, I thought as I shut the gate behind him. As I rounded the wall, I heard the dog barking and scratching at the French windows. I let myself in with my key and made a fuss of the dog, scratching her tummy and rolling balls for her to chase. Leaving the dog spread-eagled on the floor, I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and cut a piece of birthday cake left over from my sister Marie’s birthday at the weekend. It was still tasty, but was now beginning to dry out a bit. I peeled the icing off and dropped some cake on the floor for the dog, who greedily ate it up. Glancing at the clock, and seeing it was almost quarter to six, I went and got changed. 

This had pretty much been my routine for the last three months, ever since my wife, Lucy, decided to screw me over with her boss. It was still bitter, but as far as I was concerned I was better off out of it. To think I was considering having a child with her was frightening on reflection. Now she was living in my house with her boss, causing me all sorts of grief, and I was reduced to living out of my old bedroom after almost six years away. My confidence was shot to pieces and I couldn’t see a way out. It was a good job my family were supportive, and my friends too, as there were many times I considered ending it all. Sinking into a pit of depression and alcoholism had been all too easy, but thankfully, I was on my way up. For now, anyway. I had never told anyone about the time I sat on my bed with a glass of vodka, feeling low. I had emptied the glass and smashed it against the wall. Then taking a shard of glass, I held it over my wrist and paused. Luckily, I was far too afraid of dying to actually go through with it. Now I can look back at that moment and I know my life was supposed to go on. Maybe I had a reason. All I know is that I’m glad I didn’t slice my wrists open. And so are my loving family. If only they knew.

But anyway, as I got changed, I read the newspaper from front to back, reading the sports pages in detail. Having been on her own for a while, the dog was lying by my bedroom door looking sorry for herself. It was a Friday, and I needed to do something. Having got changed, I ran through my mobile phone contacts, texting my mates to see if anyone fancied a night out. Jim, Dave, Mike, Rick and Phil. Slowly, over the next half hour, they all replied in the negative. Looked like it was just me. Never mind, there was enough for me to do on my own in town.

......

etcetera, etcetera...

Any good you think?