Tough times

Yes,I still live.
With the year I have had I was surprised to make it into 2016. Who would have thought that the stresses of life, love and family would have been enough for me to want it all to end.
But, I struggle on. A different person making the best of it all. This new year will be better. I will be working harder than ever. No. More taking things for granted, no more knowing that I am right when in reality my thoughts and theories are far from correctness.
On the positive, I am healthy in body, which will hopefully aid the repair of my mental wellbeing, only time will tell 😊

My current reads

My reading has been good this year so far. For Christmas I received 'Foxglove Summer' by Ben Aaronovitch from my good lady wife. As I suspected it was supperb in both quality of writing and story. Its part four in the 'Rivers of London' series, if you like supernatural mysteries it is definitely the series to read.

It's like Harry Potter has all grown up and become a Policeman, I look forward to the next one, Ben has a great way of leaving you hanging. The stories are self contained, but there is a sub story that runs through them all. They MUST be read in order.

In the meantime I got a lucky pot luck from Audible (many of you probably don't know, when on my daily commute I can't read a physical book, unfortunately it makes me nauseous, so I settle for audio). I cashed in my credit for a book called 'London Falling' by Paul Cornell.

I'm about half way through, and I must say it is very compelling. I found it similar, but far more gritty than the aforementioned 'Rivers of London' books. It is violent and very supernatural, London of course plays a major role. It's quite heavy at the start and takes a couple of chapters to find its feet, but once you get past the police speak and get to know the characters it really starts to flow.

Just to see how the youngsters take their horror, I started reading 'The Enemy' by Charlie Higson. I could not put it down, it was a real thrill ride from start to finish. I didn't realize YA could be so violent, the characters are really diverse. I'm now on the second book in the series, its good but I would rather it had been chronological rather than set earlier, I assume we catch up with characters from the earlier books at some point in future books.

Begin again

It has been over a year since my last confession....Err, I mean blog post.

I'm ignoring January from this year, what with all the sickness, stress and laying a family member to rest it has been a very tough start to 2015.

From today, 1st February, it is going to change. I will be making a more concerted effort to get on with life. In particular my writing. I have two novels underway, and this year they WILL be finished.

One is a haunting story about a man, a lonely man, who sees ghosts. They will lead him into a twisted story of witchcraft that stretches back through the centuries, a story that ends with a cataclysmic climax.

The other tale is a night of storm destruction for an East Anglian village. Protecting themselves from a second night of storms the villagers have the added terror of a pack of rabid dogs, cats and people hunting throughout the ruins. With the lack of electricity, communications and the emergency services the villages are cut off and have to fend for themselves. Will Sam, a local gamekeeper, Jenny, the midwife and Doctor Devlin stop the disease before it escapes the confines of the village?

So there you have it, it may look as if I have been slowly disappearing I haven't, and I still have plenty ideas to get on paper before I stop, if ever!

Heres an early Christmas present for everyone. I wrote this story on the bus to work one. Enjoy :)

Crowded

By

Paul S Huggins

Jim hated crowds. Every morning he had to face his fear and deal with the hordes of people waiting for the commuter train. He dreaded his journey in to work. He knew that one day it would kill him.

He knew that his fears were irrational. When his journeys were complete, he often laughed at his fear. It did not change the fact that it gave him physical reactions.

Cold sweat, excruciating headaches and a rabbit stuck in the headlights stare, to name but a few.

Ten times a week he had to face his fear. Ninety minutes a day, five days in seven. Seven and a half hours a week lost to his mind in turmoil.

He stood at the bedroom window gazing out, getting ready to force himself to leave the house. Monday morning was the worst of all. Especially after a weekend of being able to choose what he could do. His decision would have been to remain in his own space.

The rain splattered on the dripped down the window in rivulets. Jim hated October. Autumn was an indecisive season, never quite sure if its summer or winter. Not warm enough for days on the beach and not cold enough to dress like an eskimo.

His mouth and lips were dry as he closed the front door behind him, despite having just downed a warm sweet mug of tea.

He walked apprehensively the few streets that drew him along towards his enemy. He fixed his eyes on the circled rail sign that signified the gates to hell.

Bile started to rise, the taste of his corn flakes coming back to haunt his taste buds. Cold sweat formed on his brow as he watched rushing business men filter from all directions all heading for and entering the open doors to the station.

He dawdled outside before joining them and swallowed back sickness. He made sure his pack was done up and that the pockets on his jacket were secure. He tried anything to occupy him, prolonging his descent to fear. Lastly, he retrieved his rail card from his wallet. He was ready as he would ever be.

Jim joined the funnel and passed into the bustling ticket hall. It was busy, individual queues from the ticket machines and the news kiosk greeted him. He joined the third set of lines heading for the barriers that opened out into the platforms.

The other travellers scanned their cards and tickets to gain entry. The edged through one by one. Jim’s card was in his hand, nervousness welled up inside him. A green tick would appear as each person entered. There were too many positives; there should have been a red ‘X’ by now denying entry due to a damaged or creased ticket by now.

As he edged closer, he wiped his slick forehead with the back of his hand to dispel the sweat. There was one more passenger in front of him before he had to make the entry. The red ‘X’ flashed up, Jim had a split second of relief. The man tutted loudly and groans were audible from the rest of the waiting queue. With a second try, he had success. A green tick and the barrier swung open.

It was Jims turn. His hand shook as he inserted his rail card in the slot. He let out his held breath as the green tick appeared and the mechanical arm let him pass.

He moved through towards the platforms and his nemesis, the crowds. Everybody looked the same. Black suits, briefcases with brollies or rolled up newspapers under his arm.

Jim was the odd one out as always. His shimmery green bomber jacket, backpack and beanie hat set him out in the crowd like a sore thumb.

He blinkered himself and jostled through towards platform three. The crowd closed in on him. Indistinct faces passed quickly from all directions. Every person in the crowd looked the same. They all ignored him and seemed to look through him.

Claustrophobia now added to his fears. He had never been at this station when it was so busy. He glanced up and saw the platform number suspended from a girder. It was Platform 3. The crowd now felt like a single organism, moving and pulsating. The crowd’s quest was to crush his life. He was held so tight he had to sway with them; he could not even lift his arms.

Panic started to well up from depths of his gut. He began to hyperventilate. Jim pushed hard trying to make space for himself. The crowd seemed to pack even tighter. He saw space. He pushed on making the gap wider. Then he was free. Momentum kept him moving across open concrete and then into open space, falling. A bright light hurried towards him in mechanical precision, then nothing.

The platforms were empty of people.  The eight fifteen Sunday mail train was the only train, having made an unscheduled emergency stop at platform three. The driver sat in his cab, in shock. His hand was still stuck in place on the emergency brake. He looked out through the crimson tinted windshield.

Jim does not hate crowds anymore. Jim does not fear anything at all. Jim is dead.

Copyright (c)2013 Paul S Huggins

Review of 'The Cold Heart of Summer' by Joseph Freeman

Its been a while since I last posted, I'm hoping to make it a more regular occurrence by posting reviews of every book I have read as soon as I've completed them. Todays offering is from one of my favourite members of the gentry.

Joseph Freeman has great skill in writing a dark, suspenseful story. ‘The Cold Heart of Summer’ is the latest offering and is no exception to the rule.

After the sudden death of his father, Jerry begrudgingly revisits the town of his childhood. A town that has a dark past, a dark past that seems to be coming back to the fore. As an outsider, Jerry senses that something is on the verge of happening. A late returned library book seems to hold the key to events that are snowballing out of the control of reality.

Throughout the book episodes unfold that are both frightening and sometimes incredibly gruesome. Situations include; a family with strange infectious growths in their back garden and a middle aged estate agent whose infidelities throw him into the path of a terrifying and dangerous spectre.

Most disconcerting was the ongoing tale of Briony. She is an ex-drug addict desperate to turn her life around and make things better for her baby daughter. Hazel, her social worker, is hopeful that she will achieve her aim, but is frightened by the child in ways she cannot explain, fears that the child’s mother unbeknownst to Hazel shares.

Witchcraft, ghosts, strange beasts and even black shuck draw the reader into a dark story and drag the reader deeper into an intricate web. The range of characters was diverse, from the sceptical outsider to the lord of the manner and everyone in between.

If I were to liken this offering of Joseph’s to any other writer, I would have to pick two. Peter James for the plot that keeps surprises coming from around every corner, and distinct smatterings of James Herbert in the gruesome tales that unfold throughout the story.

I really enjoyed the variety in this book, the picture of a town collapsing under a supernatural catastrophe was caught perfectly encompassing every aspect of a large village.

If you would like to learn more please visit http://www.josephfreeman.co.uk/

Bye bye bike, hello who knows?

It's the end of an era.  Sad to say my trusty kawasaki has gone of to pastures new.  At the moment he's resting in my local bike dealers showroom waiting to impress the next rider.  It was a good bike and maybe one day I'll get another kwakka. Over the past twelve years I've always had a bike,  it does feel odd at the moment. 

Unlike some people I don't fall in love with my rides, I like them but when it comes down to it my bikes are just machines, mind you they're pretty and fast.  Some of the ones I've owned very fast (hence the penalty points for speeding). I have been saying for the last couple of years that I could not handle another winter on two wheels.

For me it’s another break from the norm.  I think that occasionally you have to change stuff; Sometimes takes a shove (or a broken hand in my case) to prompt a change.  I now have the mental freedom, something about not having to be in control to continue journeying, whether it is to and from work or generally in life.

One question I always hate in job interviews is, 'where do you see yourself in five years?' well, my answer to that is 'who the fuck knows!' what I won't want to be doing is the same thing day in day out for the previous five years. In addition, retired and stinking rich is not the right answer either.

That's just me though, I can understand many people would like that sort of security, but me, I'm just a seat of your pants type of guy. 

Bus Wanker

Travelling on the bus can be a funny thing. During the commute your occupy your couple of square feet of fabric and disappear into your own little world.  As a commuter you see the same people every day, we are totally creatures of habit we always sit in the same seats. There is a real cross section of society, young, old, rich and poor alike.  In addition, characters there certainly are some of those.

One of note on my morning journey in to work gives me a smile every day.  He looks pretty close to retirement, an old chap,  he wears the same wax jacket and deer stalker hat every day, whatever the weather,  and he rushes down the aisle before the bus stops having to be the first off the bus, despite it being the last stop on the run.

You barely acknowledge each other despite seeing your fellow travellers daily maybe the occasional nod or smile. The only time we interact is when something happens. Like when the bus is late, the timetable changes or something of note is happening outside the confines of our hardwearing fabric seats.

Do you know what?  I love it, as an ‘observationist’ I find it the most uplifting part of my day,  I even wrote this on my way home occupying my double seat taking in the atmosphere.

I am a bus wanker and proud of it! 

(Just to be clear that doesn't mean I masturbate on the bus, watch the 'inbetweeners')