The wind blows against my fragility, Ebbs and retreats, In the wake my skeleton bony rib cage and spine stark, Tempest racing the night In riot and revolt my body upholds, All I am on show. J.CALVERT 2016
Todays guest writer on Ink & Quill, is Adam Dixon. Adam is the very talented and creative fiction writer at Adam Dixon Fiction. I was thrilled when Adam offered to write a short story, especially for this feature; LIVE A LITTLE.
Please follow the links and show your support to a talented new writer.
NAME: Adam Dixon
COUNTRY: England, United Kingdom
Please tell us a little about yourself:
I was born in Carshalton in 1992 and gave grown into a scrawny, bespectacled nerd with a passion for history, literature and all things fantastical. I studied English and History at the University of Sussex and I currently live in Woodingdean, Brighton. It is my ambition to become an author as I have dreamed of writing stories for a living since I was a child. I write short stories in my spare time and I publish them on my blog Adam Dixon Fiction
When did you first start writing?
I first started writing when I was very young, probably around ten years old. Previously, I had had aspirations of becoming an artist, but I quickly came to realise that I preferred the creation of images through words and imagination rather than by brushes and paint.
What does writing mean to you? Why do you write?
Writing provides me with a creative outlet which makes me incredibly happy, and even more so when people respond to my work.
‘The sight of my ink-stained fingers and pages of scribbled words in front of me never fails to satisfy me.’
Do you write poetry, short stories and/or novels?
I currently write short stories because I am enjoying the discipline it requires. I am also working on a sci-fi novel which is very much in its early stages, but it is still very exciting! I’d like to try my hand at poetry in the future, but I find the idea extremely daunting, especially since I have discovered such talented poets on WordPress!
Where do you find your writing motivation and inspiration?
I am constantly reading, (a trait inherited from my mum), and it fosters in me a desire to write my own stories as well as providing a vast source of inspiration to draw from. I also find inspiration from conversations, television programs and real-life events. Anything that can spark an idea in my mind and get the creative ball rolling.
What are your current projects?
I am currently working on a couple of short stories for my blog. One is a crime thriller and the other is a supernatural fantasy. As previously mentioned, I am also working on a sci-fi novel. I am also a student with the Writer’s Bureau and am currently enrolled in its Creative Writing Course.
Writers/poets who inspire and influence your own writing?
I am a massive Stephen King fan and his work has inspired the darker side of my writing on several occasions. My favourite books to read are fantasy, and the works of David Gemmell, Robert Jordan, Christopher Paolini, J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, to name but a few, constantly inspire me.
Have you any published works, or do you plan on publishing in the future?
Unfortunately I don’t have any works published yet, but I hope to in the future.
Tell us about your writing process:
In the last year I’ve become a convert to the idea that “writers just write”, and by that I mean that if I want to write something then I have to sit down and write it. I find a slot in my day where I can devote my energy to writing and I put words on to paper. I’ve found that this helps me work through any stagnant ideas I might be having difficulty with and that the spectre of “writer’s block” doesn’t really frighten me anymore.
In terms of my surroundings, I have realised that I can pretty much write anywhere as long as I actually get started. Complete silence unnerves me, so I like to have at least a little bit of background noise, be it the chatter of a café or some instrumental music on Youtube.
Do you have a specific writing style/genre?
I used to think that all I could write was fantasy stories, but since I started my blog I have realised that I can try my hand at a few other genres as well, with some degree of success. In terms of style, I seem to gravitate towards character-driven stories with a twist at the end, more often than not a dark one.
Do you have any advice for other writers?
‘Keep writing; it is the best way to stay motivated and maintain your creative energy.’
Please share your favourite piece/s with us and a brief description of the inspiration behind it:
I’m attaching a short story called ‘Live a Little’ to this email.
I asked Jen during our correspondence whether or not she would like me to write something brand new for this guest post, and she said that she would. The inspiration for this story came to me when I was getting into my Dad’s car we both automatically reached for our seat-belts. A mocking voice in the back of my head suggested that I “live a little” and remain unbuckled in my seat. I didn’t like the sound of this voice and I had no idea where it had come from, but I noted it down in my phone along with what would later end up serving as the final line to this story. I filed the idea away for a few months and decided to complete it for this guest post.
Live a Little
By Adam Dixon
I can still remember the night that I died; it’s seared into my mind like a cattle brand, white-hot and permanent. I can still hear the sound of my own laughter in my ears coupled with the cheers and encouragement of my friends. I can still feel the bitter wind tearing at my hair and clothes as I waved my arms above my head. I can still see the painted lines on the tarmac racing past in a blur of white. I’d never felt so alive, and I’d never been so reckless. It was all their fault.
The party had been a riot. A mutual friend had just joined us in the ranks of the over-25s and we four were still buzzing from it. Jen hadn’t wanted to leave, but Bradley had insisted. He never would back down once he’d got an idea into his head, and Jen never would resist him for long. I’d have happily gone home, myself. If only I’d said something, then maybe all this wouldn’t of happened. But I didn’t, and sometime after midnight myself, Jen and her older brother, Steve, all piled into Bradley’s car and set off down the motorway. We were laughing and joking, singing loudly and badly to whatever was on the radio and passing a bottle of vodka around. The familiar burn in my throat and the rush of alcohol to my head was as exhilarating as ever, and I soon got in the mood to find another party.
But it was then that I noticed how drunk Bradley was. He was blinking rapidly behind the wheel, grinning like an idiot and slurring his words whenever he spoke. He hadn’t seemed that bad before, but then again we hadn’t really been watching him. I’d told Jen to keep an eye on him, damn it! At one point Steve said something which made him laugh and he sent us careening across two lanes! The motorway was deserted, of course, but still…
After a while I asked Bradley to slow down. He wasn’t listening because Jen had her hand on his crotch and was whispering something to him as she caressed him through his jeans. Steve was being a nuisance; he seemed to think that because I was drunk I would be doing the same. I can still feel him nuzzling my neck as one hand clumsily pawed my breasts and the other slid up my skirt…I can still hear the ‘crack!’ as I slapped him, too. Christ, that was satisfying, and it succeeded in finally getting Bradey and Jen’s attention.
“Oi, what the hell are you playin’ at back there?” Bradley thundered, glaring at me via the rear-view mirror. Steve was stunned, rubbing his cheek and staring at the back of Jen’s seat.
“Oh, Lisa’s just bein’ a spoilsport, babe!” Jen mocked, rolling her decorated eyes and flicking her perfect hair. “Looks like she doesn’t wanna have some fun with Steve. Can’t blame her, really, he is an ugly bastard!”
“Oi!” Steve protested, still rubbing his cheek. He wasn’t that ugly, but drunk or not I didn’t appreciate him being so forward.
“C’mon, Lees!” Bradley said, annoyed. I hated it when he called me that! “What’s wrong with old Steve-O, anyway? C’mon, live a little, for fuck’s sake!”
“Shut up, Bradley,” I spat, but secretly I felt bad for hitting Steve. That was the effect that Bradley had on people: he was too bloody good at making you feel like the bad guy.
The next few minutes consisted of Bradley and Jen laughing about how uncool I was and how much of a stick-in-the-mud I could be. I angrily disagreed with them, of course, but it really got under my skin. Steve didn’t say much, he just carried on sitting there looking like a kicked puppy. Maybe it was the drink, but I was suddenly determined to prove them wrong.
“I’m not boring, I can do anything you twats can!” I said after downing another mouthful of liquid fire.
“That so?” Bradley asked, still laughing. “I don’t believe you, Lees. Look, you’ve still got your bleedin’ seat-belt on for a start! Why can’t you live a little?”
“Fine!” I had practically ripped my seat-belt off at that remark. I immediately felt it was a bad idea, but I ignored the thought. Big mistake.
“Oooh, look at the balls on you, babe!” Jen had twisted round in her seat to flash a big, stupid grin at me. I felt like we were back in the school playground. “Betcha won’t do anything else though! Betcha wouldn’t lean out of the window while we’re movin’, would you? Nah, course not, you’re too much of a wimp!”
“Just watch me, bitch!” I said and moved towards my window. I remember clearly the struggle I had unwinding the stupid thing, and the memory comes to me in slow motion.
It’s torture to recall it, to remember how I gripped the cold roof of the car with one arm as I leaned my torso out into the night. I even lifted my leg and rested my thigh on the thin glass so that I was more out of the car than inside. The wind buffeted me and tore a gasp from my lungs as I steadied myself. I remember squealing like a giddy child as I raised first one arm, then both into the air as my soul rejoiced at my freedom.
“You see me now, you arseholes!” I screeched at them, laughing deliriously. “I can fucking do anything!” They were laughing too and even Steve was cheering. It was fantastic. It was fatal. Leaning out of a car travelling at ninety miles per hour driven by an intoxicated monkey in a shirt has consequences. Nobody saw how close to the edge of the railings Bradley had gotten until it was far, far too late.
Now I’m trapped in a lonely existence on this barren stretch of asphalt, doomed to watch speeding cars and fester with impotent rage.
Live a little, they had said….
They all wear their seat-belts now.
A massive thank you, to Poppy Road Review for publishing my poem Dead Sisters.
I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I am.
A BIG thank you to Ryan, at Days Of Stone, for suggesting I submit Dead Sisters to Poppy Road. Thanks for your encouragement and support Ryan!
Pretty please follow the link,
Hollow and heavy,
Resonates and echoes a solemn sound,
Suffocating the living,
Ivy vines hangs from a sign,
Vintage bone and rusted iron,
Creeping in the night,
Drapes its tangled leaves,
And ancient oath,
Lapping at the gate,
In haunted wraith,
White dress and lace,
Stroking the coil of the wind,
A tale long past,
Spellbound on earth,
She searches the labyrinth of time.
Across the sea,
The Mediterranean flows, Forth From the Nile,
With curls of golden honey,
Eyes of Acanthus,
Searching for the sea, to carry her away,
In rose red slippers,
She spins, she weaves, she grows weary,
A pharaoh swoons,
A lotus flower,
Tresses, as feathery as papyrus,
A gemstone of the Nile,
An ancient Cinderella story.
Little red fox,
Hiding in her lair,
Shielded in the shadows cast,
Under the light of the moon,
She ventures out,
The woodlands cool,
Dark and dreary,
By the shade of the undergrowth,
In the glades a little red fox runs.
I have been challenged by the wonderful Rich at Waffle Me This, to the 5 day photo story challenge.
Today is day FIVE. I made it. JUST. I really enjoyed this challenge.
Thanks Rich. I appreciate the nomination. Today I would like to nominate Kim at Peace, Love and Patchouli. I have been following Kim, for quite a while now, and always love her beautiful poetry.
Post a picture each day for five consecutive days. Attach a story to your image.
*can be fiction / non-fiction
*poem / short paragraph
*each day nominates another blogger
Home, a heart-shaped place, in the sun and shade, in love and open space, of dreams and velvet throws, plush cushions and silky seams. Home. My heart is.
Moonbeam wisps ignite—
tangled in loves silky spin,
dizzy with delight
inebriated by her visage,
threaded in loves web,
soaring to forbidden heights
too daft to see,
matted in a net of woven string,
tighter still her knots they twist,
thrashing in vanities mirrored burlesque.
enthralled—I am prey
motionless as she consumes
in a venomous cocoon,
hungry for you.
Written by Matthew and Jennifer
© 2015 This Mortal Flesh © 2015 Ink and Quill
I just want to say a massive thank you, to Matt from This Mortal Flesh. This collaboration was a wonderful challenge, as our writing styles are quite different. Quoting Matt, ‘West meets East.’
I’m a bit of a romantic but I love Matt’s darker writing style. It was great to see where our poetry lead. It was such an honour to work with such a talented Poet. If you are not already following This Mortal Flesh, please head over and check out his incredible writings.
With curls the shade of serpent’s blood,
Twisting and knotting,
Coiling and plunging,
Around pearls of antique cream,
A neck of bronzed skin,
Her mouth of vintage wine,
Every drop savoured,
Seduced by the tongue of gods,
Haunting the throne,
Casting light over the Nile,
Valleys and basins,
Fountain of youth,
Immortalised in the history books,
Ravens bask in beauty, Cobra’s dance in song,
The mellow harp plays,
The heart rose of dawn,
Casting shadows across the chamber night,
Written in the wind,
Bound by the tides,
Noosed by decree,
Their hearts a timeless muse,
Cleopatra and Antony.
In a recent post, why do you write? I asked you why you write?
This post received an overwhelming response, and the answers were amazing.
The reasons why we write, are varied and passionate, but all share a common connection.
It seems as though, we write to express ourselves, as individuals, our thoughts, our feelings. It is a passion, so innately ingrained in our psyche.
As creative people, even if we tried we could never resist the urge to put pen to paper.
So I was so impressed with the response, I thought it might be nice to share them.
I Write Because
“If I didn’t I would explode into data strings all over the walls.” Tony R
“Doing what we must and can with the words we have.” Aramsey Poet
“I am a WRITER, I am a WRITER….!” Tessa
“It is what you know you are, in your heart and in your mind.” Chris White
“I write because I’m addicted. I can’t kick the habit, no matter how hard I try.” Thomas M Watt
“I write because I need to in order to be my best self.”Smiling Away Food Allergies
“I feel like my words need a home.” John S
“I write because I have no choice. Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to breathe and live anymore. Because if I didn’t, I’d suffocate.” arwenaragornstar
“It’s proven to be therapeutic and incredible way to speak life without speaking.” e
“Because the other voice inside my head tells me to…” Standard Issued Life
The following comments left me with a big smile on my face, your words move me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for your continued encouragement and support.