Diary – Reading A Hero of Our Time

Suffering a brain haemorrhage and a head injury that leaves you with double vison and the inability to concentrate on the written word, all be it temporarily, is probably the worse things that can happen to a writer and photographer. Let’s face it here is only so much Bargain Hunt and Antiques Road Trip that one person can stand in a month.
Recovery is slow and the continuing double vision has rather stymied the photography but now the brain can handle longer sentences I am back reading again. I have recently completed the advanced creative writing module of an open university course and my final assignment was to complete the first 4000 words of a novel. During the assignment my tutor suggested that I read the first 4000 words or 20 novels; a task that slowed down the writing but hopefully improved the standard.
Occasionally I meet writers who claim not to be readers but having the completed two creative writing modules and read or spoken to a lot of writers the most common piece of advice is to read. Not just your favourite genre but everything – good and bad. Continue reading

The Mail Run

Short Story The Mail Run (Runner Up Let’s Talk Magazine Short Story Competition 2015)

North American B25N Mitchell PH-XXV/232511 from the Duke of Brabant Air Force (Royal Netherlands Air Force Historic Flight)

There is a muffled whirring sound like a bee stuck in a glass and the left hand propeller of the American Mitchell bomber jerks a quarter of a turn, stops, and then jerks another quarter. The bomber grunts like a prize fighter before bellowing into life. The pilot starts the second engine and the noise echoes across the Suffolk airfield scaring a flock of crows out of the nearby trees. Despite the warmth of the summer’s day Guy is wearing a thick wool lined leather flying jacket over his RAF blue and his hands are shaking. He settles his tall, thin frame down into the cramped space behind the pilots and carefully bends his artificial leg into the sitting position. He stows the briefcase of documents he has to deliver behind his seat.
‘Comfortable?’  The Captain asks, his Texan drawl sounding in Guy’s headset over the racket of the rapidly warming engines. He is a big solid man and an experienced pilot even though he is still only in his late twenties.
‘Welcome to American Army Airways,’ Al the co pilot cuts in. ‘Sorry there’s no tea.’
Al’s accent is softer; he is from Boston and has a thatch of straw like blonde hair and a wide grin that wins over the girls at all the dances.
Guy nervously holds up a thumb hoping Al does not notice the tremor in his hand.

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