... I used a Churchill quote on here!
"Play the game for more than you can afford to lose... only then will you learn the game."
-Winston Churchill.
I love this one so
much; I think it's a valuable lesson.
People are too scared to lose what
they believe they have, when really they'd have so much more (and so
much of genuine worth) if they just risked everything once in a while.
The big bets pay off more, and losing out in life only leaves you at
rock bottom, and where better to start again than from rock bottom?
On another note, progress with my book is as well as I expected, not perfect but not bad either. I'm nowhere near the word count I'd hoped, but I'm pleased with the quality at least to a degree I'm comfortable with for a first draft.
Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends!
Thursday 24 November 2011
Sunday 13 November 2011
Let's backtrack a little..
Ok, so the writing is going slowly but well, at least I think it's going well.
The only chunks I've been posting before were following one character, Chris, and his escape from a chase. Running simultaneously to the chase, was this -
-------
Chris was a long way from his home in London. He’d met with Thomas, his friend that didn’t run, at their local train station at midnight so they could jump over the barriers and make the journey south for free. Thomas was already drunk when they met, having just stolen a crate of lager from a nearby supermarket for the two-hour trip.
The two boys were well versed in overnight outings and whiling away the hours until the return train in the morning. Chris had spent almost two hours preparing for the night: charging his phone, labeling his equipment, layering his clothes, updating his iPod. Thomas had a less thorough process, relying more on lager for comfort through the cold.
Thomas hadn’t run when the police had cornered them at the mouth of the alleyway. He knew that running was right, but he also knew that the conditions of his bail would mean going down without a fight reduced the risk of prison. Combing through his scraggly blonde his hair with a frustrated sigh, Thomas silently looked at the officer that stayed with him, and presented his wrists for cuffing.
He didn’t know how far Chris had managed to run, and so asked the officer as they lowered his head into the car.
“What’s going on with the other matey?” he asked.
“We’ll deal with him separately, thank you.” came the reply. He wasn’t sure what to take from this, but he knew he’d have time to think. A bag full of spray paint, a camera full of evidence and a wallet full of ID ensured a lengthy interview and as much of the 24-hour detainment allowance the police could pretend to need.
Slowly, and without sirens, the police drove to the local station. Thomas looked keenly out of the window and, long after the house which Chris had chosen, saw two policemen jogging towards a man wearing black. A moment of disappointment was short-lived before he realised it wasn’t his accomplice.
“Is that the bloke that ran?” he asked.
“We’ll deal with him separately,” came a firmer response. “So don’t worry.”
Thomas knew what to take from the exchange this time; the police thought they were on top. He knew better than to allow himself another exchange, and even tried to maintain a downtrodden mindset to prevent a telling smile. He knew it was time to assume a character for the evening, but he needed to decide which angle to approach.
Should he admit everything? Should he lie through his teeth? Should he cry? Be arrogant? Amiable? “No comment.”?
He knew he had an hour or two to gauge the type of police officers he was dealing with, and several hours alone in a cell to cement his plan in his mind before the interview.
-------
It also came to my attention that the account I signed up for this blog with is under the name "Chris".
That's not my name, and Chris (in the book) does not represent me, it's just the name I jumped to when I started writing! Same goes for Thomas, he doesn't represent anyone in real life. The story and characters, while based heavily in reality, are a mash of several events and people, with a healthy dollop of fiction thrown in.
This isn't an auto-biography, it's not even a semi-fiction, it's just fiction. I hope that doesn't spoil it for anyone!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy (as much as one can enjoy an out-of-context excerpt from an unfinished amateur book) and as always, criticism is welcomed and encouraged!
The only chunks I've been posting before were following one character, Chris, and his escape from a chase. Running simultaneously to the chase, was this -
-------
Chris was a long way from his home in London. He’d met with Thomas, his friend that didn’t run, at their local train station at midnight so they could jump over the barriers and make the journey south for free. Thomas was already drunk when they met, having just stolen a crate of lager from a nearby supermarket for the two-hour trip.
The two boys were well versed in overnight outings and whiling away the hours until the return train in the morning. Chris had spent almost two hours preparing for the night: charging his phone, labeling his equipment, layering his clothes, updating his iPod. Thomas had a less thorough process, relying more on lager for comfort through the cold.
Thomas hadn’t run when the police had cornered them at the mouth of the alleyway. He knew that running was right, but he also knew that the conditions of his bail would mean going down without a fight reduced the risk of prison. Combing through his scraggly blonde his hair with a frustrated sigh, Thomas silently looked at the officer that stayed with him, and presented his wrists for cuffing.
He didn’t know how far Chris had managed to run, and so asked the officer as they lowered his head into the car.
“What’s going on with the other matey?” he asked.
“We’ll deal with him separately, thank you.” came the reply. He wasn’t sure what to take from this, but he knew he’d have time to think. A bag full of spray paint, a camera full of evidence and a wallet full of ID ensured a lengthy interview and as much of the 24-hour detainment allowance the police could pretend to need.
Slowly, and without sirens, the police drove to the local station. Thomas looked keenly out of the window and, long after the house which Chris had chosen, saw two policemen jogging towards a man wearing black. A moment of disappointment was short-lived before he realised it wasn’t his accomplice.
“Is that the bloke that ran?” he asked.
“We’ll deal with him separately,” came a firmer response. “So don’t worry.”
Thomas knew what to take from the exchange this time; the police thought they were on top. He knew better than to allow himself another exchange, and even tried to maintain a downtrodden mindset to prevent a telling smile. He knew it was time to assume a character for the evening, but he needed to decide which angle to approach.
Should he admit everything? Should he lie through his teeth? Should he cry? Be arrogant? Amiable? “No comment.”?
He knew he had an hour or two to gauge the type of police officers he was dealing with, and several hours alone in a cell to cement his plan in his mind before the interview.
-------
It also came to my attention that the account I signed up for this blog with is under the name "Chris".
That's not my name, and Chris (in the book) does not represent me, it's just the name I jumped to when I started writing! Same goes for Thomas, he doesn't represent anyone in real life. The story and characters, while based heavily in reality, are a mash of several events and people, with a healthy dollop of fiction thrown in.
This isn't an auto-biography, it's not even a semi-fiction, it's just fiction. I hope that doesn't spoil it for anyone!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy (as much as one can enjoy an out-of-context excerpt from an unfinished amateur book) and as always, criticism is welcomed and encouraged!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)