All writers are nuts.
We must be. I mean no one comes along and says ‘Here’s a million quid write me a book.’ or ‘Write me a book and I’ll give you a million quid.’
Unless you’re a minor celebrity, or can do something unusual, like being able to pick your nose with your little toe, without using your hands.
But no, writers (millions of nutters, which is scary) start off with an idea, and think, ‘Hey, this would make a good book’ and devote months, a year, sometimes years to their basic idea. Fleshing it out, inventing characters, a storyline, plotting, and then endless editing, and more endless editing, and yet more editing, until satisfied. Then send it off to agents, publishers or self-publish ebooks, and expect instant fame, glory and riches.
Then their bubble bursts and reality splashes all over their face.
And if you’re like me, you continue with your next great idea, another year lost in your own imagination, still expecting fame, glory and riches.
Hi, my name is Albie Benson. My handle is Avaganda10
I've been writing for more years than I care to remember. I currently have four ebooks, Mind Jinks, Kissed By Fire, The Avaganda Little Book of Poetry, and The Dog's Dinner, The Avaganda Book of Short Stories on both Amazon and Smashword. I'm currently working on another three, Gifts From God - Magic from the Devil, The Wizard and the Waterfall, and The Dog's Dinner, The Avaganda Book of Short Stories, Vol.II.
The place London.
The largest hospital ever built, run by an A.I. known as Shirley.
Shirley has complete control over every function, but only needs a fraction of its computing power to run the hospital, and decides to explore.
That’s when things begin to go wrong.
Shirley develops a utilitarian philosophy, that a crime or moral wrong can be justified if the majority benefit.
Things go pear shaped.
Shirley instigates a new method of intelligence gathering; thought transference.
Things go tits up.
Shirley begins to blackmail politicians into agreeing to its plans.
Things reach a boiling point.
Shirley wants to experience human emotions and senses and persuades a brilliant scientist to create a female body. Also an alien spaceship is discovered on Mars.
That’s when the shit hits the fan.
Kissed by Fire
Kissed By Fire chronicles D.C.I. Leo Swan trying to steer his life back on course after being shot, but the cases keep mounting.
A fetish-driven serial-killer.
A father out to revenge the sadistic abuse that led to the death of his wife and daughter.
Four more murders.
A major crime family.
A vigilante gang, beatings and a murder.
To add to this D.C.I Swan is suffering Post-Traumatic Shock and a chance meeting with an old lover brings memories of an illegitimate son who didn’t live long and how he failed both.
To further add to his woes he cannot control his temper and beats up the fetish-driven serial killer, two bouncers, two youths and ends up in hospital.
Then things really start to go wrong.
Kissed By Fire chronicles a police horse shot and killed, and the rider, Nikki Palmer, subsequently injured, the Mounted Division divided and demoralised by an inexperienced new C.O. and Nikki abducted by the serial-killer and nearly killed.
Kissed By Fire chronicles two families devastated by drugs, sees two kinds of vigilantes taking action.
Kissed By Fire chronicles a riot.
Kissed By Fire chronicles hope and sacrifice.
But most of all revenge.http://www.amazon.co.uk/Kissed-By-Fire/dp/B004JF4J0O/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&m=A3TVV12T0I6NSM&qid=1306012266&sr=1-4
The Dog's Dinner, The Avaganda Book of Short Stories;
1st Eviction Notice. An amusing sci-fi story told from the perspective of aliens who have bought the planet earth at a galactic auction, believing it to be inhabited by dinosaurs, which they want to harvest and sell. Boy, do they get a shock.
2nd The Mortician. A creepy horror tale.
3rd Unselfish Love. How a wife almost sacrifices her and her unborn child to save her husband.
4th Hero. Another love story.
5th Renfield. A modern version of Dracula’s helper.
6th Journey. A man’s final journey up the thirteen steps.
7th Miriam Specklebecker, Galactic Warrior. A jokey sci-fi story of an ordinary woman abducted by aliens to fight another alien for control of earth.
8th Rugs (The most dangerous threat to mankind).
9th Sadie. A problem page writer that decides to take the law into her own hands.
The Little Avaganda Book of Poetry
Ten contemporary poems.
Here's a taster of the first,
Dabbling in evil necromancy,
The elusive hunt for the invisible fancy,
The search for the witch to buy her potions,
And ask her hands to make magic motions,
And mix in her cauldron obnoxious lotions,
To satisfy their obsessive vanity,
And in the process lose their sanity.
So I found myself positioned there,
Pains in my bladder becoming hard to bear,
Skipping from one foot to the other,
Nearly crying out for my mother.
And then with stupid rash decision,
I knocked on the door with rapid precision.
And stood quivering on that cold worn stone,
Then sucked in my breath,
As I heard an eerie distant moan.
As the door creaked open with a painful groan.
I would have turned and ran,
But a bony hand with a fearsome span,
Beckoned me into that gloomy inside,
And all I wanted was a beautiful bride.
Then a face so horrible confronted me,
‘What do you want Dearie?’
I swallowed deeply and spoke somehow,
‘I’m in love with the most beautiful girl.’
Her cackling laugh put my head in a whirl.
‘But she does not love me in return.’
Suddenly I was overcome with a terrible yearn,
To leave this place of evil forevermore,
And turn and run right out the door.
She turned with dark black skirt scrapping the floor,
The sound freezing my body to its very core.
Then shuffled her bony frame to shelves stacked high.
My heart hammered so hard, I thought I would die.
Her transparent hand reached to a jar filled with red,
‘Beelzebub, fire and brimstone,
Newt’s tails, spider’s legs and crushed bone,
Hair of the virgin, dark from the East,
Cast your spell with the Beast.
This should work,’ her shrill voice said,
Filling my heart with foreboding dread.
She took it down and held it tight,
My knees knocked with a nervous might.
‘How tall is this wench so fine?’
Her voice caused a shiver along my spine.
‘About f-five f-feet t-two,’ I managed to stutter.
Her Devil’s eyes made my heart a flutter.
She floated to a table covered with magic artefacts,
And started to put them into two great sacks.
When her packing was complete,
The table was laid bare and neat.
Her hideous hands placed the jar in the middle,
And took from a shelf a small fine riddle.
I held my breath as something brushed my leg,
Hoping for my life I may beg.
I looked down and saw an enormous black cat.
Dangling from its mouth a gently fluttering bird.
It stared at me with hateful eyes that dared,
Me to rescue that poor unfortunate bird.
The monstrous cat prowled forward so elite,
And dropped the suffering bird at his mistress’ feet.
She looked down and gave a toothless chuckle,
‘What have you brought me my little honeysuckle?’
She bent and picked up the lifeless sparrow.
‘This will be our dinner on the morrow.’
Her laugh again hitting my heart like a poisoned arrow.
She placed the bird on the table,
And began chanting the words of some nebulous fable.
But to grasp the meaning I was unable.
Whilst she sang her unholy dirge,
Of madness I was on the verge.
She lifted her red jar and measured out a tot,
Into a small black common pot.
She turned to me, her shoulders bent and humped,
And spoke so fast my nervous body jumped.
‘Into this powder you must put,
Three drops of blood from your cut,
And when the moon is on the wane,
A cup of this potion she must drain.
Now pay me my wage and begone,
And keep your tongue and tell none.’
I fumbled deep in my pocket for her payment,
My hand quivering with restrained lament,
And offered my thanks and bobbed my head,
And quickly backed out the door before I was dead.
My legs carried me like the wind,
Before her mind she could rescind.
The very next day I added my red blood,
But hesitated if I really should.
That was sixty long years past,
And my beautiful bride has become as cast,
I constantly curse my blind youthful lust,
For making these last sixty years so unjust.
The others are;
Only Smell and Touch.
Why Worry, No One Else Does.
I Want To Work.
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp.
A Hollow Sound.