Three Hoodies Save the World

Constant moaning and whinging about everything

Archive for the month “October, 2015”

It was finally time.

Louis, the nag of whom I may have mentioned before is very ill, and last weekend it was finally time to do the decent thing.


That’s him, the little sod wouldn’t stand still so this took me days.

Anyway , for the last three weeks he’s been refusing to come out of his box or even stand for most of the day and last week the vet said his blood tests showed that there was nothing else we could do for him.

My daughter decided to feed him one last time before the awful deed happened, until behind her passed the lame horse he’s been sharing his private field with for the last three weeks.

He has to have his own field because Limping Louis can’t have grass as a result of his Laminitis, on top of his Cushings disease – and because he hates people but he most especially hates other horses.

The moment, the very nano second he realised he no longer had to share the field with another horse he almost smashed the stable door in his eagerness to get out and after dragging my daughter through the stable yard like a rag doll spent twenty minutes bucking, neighing and rolling about in the horse droppings like a young colt.

The next day when my daughter arrived he’d burrowed out of his box and she found him in the communal hay barn stuffing his furry face like a maniac.

The old git was just in a bad mood and now he’s just like his usual aggravating self.

We know he doesn’t have too long but as while he’s back to his old irascible ways we’re going to leave him to enjoy his solitude

It’s good to see the old Louis back for a while.


I’m giving up.

A Case of Scruples

I decided today. I’m giving up. I can’t hold on any longer. Life is hopeless, pointless, and meaningless.

But wait hold on, there’s something I need to do first.

Let me just finish this math homework.

Okay, now I’m giving up.

Shoot, I have to volunteer this weekend…okay, I’ll do that, then I’ll give up.

Giving up….now.

Dammit, I have a philosophy paper to write, I can’t let that go…

And plus I just got a job, I have to work at that too, I can’t let my boss down…he is paying me after all.

Alright, I’m finishing out the week then I’m going back home to Indiana and giving up.

“You don’t want to do that…”

Sigh. You’re right. I don’t.

What if I just drop all my classes, get a job, and….

no that wouldn’t work either. How would I ever get to medical school at NYU?


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The third of my first pages

I know that sounds like a contradiction in terms but this is the first page of the third novel I’m trying to finish before Christmas.

It’s the last of the three trilogies and its publication will allow me a year off writing but learning how to paint properly and learn that computer language I’ve been worrying at for ages. No, not C++ I’ve long realised that I’m far too stupid for that one.

Anyhow, here is the first page. I’m concerned that the first reference to their recent space travelling doesn’t come til almost page three.

Chapter One.

‘David, your ear’s on fire.’

After almost an hour of the gentle, almost apologetic groans of the ancient school quietly rotting about them, the Victorian classroom shook to the onslaught of the stentorian voice. Even the eternal rumbling of Derrick’s cavernous stomach was stilled; an event sufficiently noteworthy to attract shock and awe in the natural course of events – but not today. This unnatural stillness continued for several seconds as one by one, thirty two heads eagerly swivelled towards the scene of impending doom.

The new teacher had spoken.

Just one more in a long line of replacement teachers, all had possessed their own unique peculiarities. Some had been nasty, some creepy, while others had been downright crazy and the unfortunate episode of one being forcibly removed in a straight jacket by the police was an event still hotly debated in the school toilets.

This particular temp liked to make jokes which weren’t even the slightest bit funny, being all grown up and rubbish. And this was the paradox: if they didn’t laugh at his peculiar version of humour he would fly into one of those perplexing adult rages; stomping about the room and threatening all manner of diabolical punishments. Yet if they did politely titter he would immediately order them all to shut up, usually throwing in fifty lines just to prove his mystifying point. You just couldn’t win with him. In fact he was so weird that even Sad-case, quite happy to make fun of anyone, any time, had been reduced to utter confusion by the terminally strange person who’d invaded the previous peace of their classroom – and his personal domain.

For another ten seconds or so the intense silence held as every child unashamedly gloated over the unlucky recipient of the strange man’s even stranger humour. Until finally Mr Crowther, perhaps irked at the lack of response, slammed a skeletal hand down on his table, instantly jumping back in alarm as the ruler he’d just spent five minutes balancing on the pencil sharpener, shot up and biffed him on the end of his large, veiny nose.


This is the cover I may use.

Part two of my editing saga.

I’ve finished edit two of my final Old Geezers trilogy, with about twenty more (edits that is) to go before I publish. I think my Christmas estimate may have been right. it’s only which Christmas which is now in debate.

Here’s the first page, which as usual will probably change another hundred times before the end. Not the info but just the way it’s presented since I wrote the books so that no reference to the first and second were needed but with a pitiful plea that the reader did, so that my rent got paid and I could dress my daughter. I’ll think of something even more pathetic than that on the next edit.

This was going to be the cover but I quickly realised if I did then I might just as well not bother writing the book at all.


‘A lousy, goddamned joke!’ Chet’s enormous fist slammed into the plastic table with enough force to propel a mug of coffee high into the air. Ignoring the sound, and the scalding aftermath he glared at his two alleged friends and took another ragged breath.

‘I mean, you actually take us back in time – to a war; then you get us shot at by regiments of storm troopers, then blown up by tanks, and now you’re giving me jokes?’

Less than two days since hurtling back through time after being hunted by invisible monsters – and visible Nazis, it was to discover that they’d landed in another dimension where he was actually married to the woman he despised most in the entire world, AKA the Chief Administrator of the asylum in which they lived. The very concept had all but driven the last vestiges of sanity from his mind. And now they were telling him that it was all just one big joke.

Any sympathy he might have expected was clearly unforthcoming, since the subjects of his wrath were contorting in near hysteria. Amon, the snivelling worm he longed to swat into unconsciousness, giggled uncontrollably as tears and other, more viscous fluids from his nose and coagulated onto an already filthy shirt. While Abe, usually a very reserved man and eminently capable of living for days without so much as cracking a smile, joined him, sobbing apologetically into trembling hands. With an alarming snap Chet’s feeble chair finally succumbed to his weight, throwing him to the floor in a painful jumble of arms and legs and forever ruining whatever remained of his previous reputation as someone not to be trifled with.

Sweet sweet irony

I hate my bank. They once lost an account of mine and claimed it had never existed. Only after I threatened them with the banking ombudsman did it magically rematerialise along with their profuse apologies. It took seven years for them to spell my name correctly. My fault I suppose because I only reminded them once a month when my statements came. I once ordered a cheque book – which didn’t come. I told them that and asked for another, and another – seven times. They all arrived three months later pre-cancelled by them.

I foolishly introduced my daughter to the same bank when she was old enough for her first account, and finally come to the theme of this joyful post.

As I may have mentioned a time or two on this blog, my daughter is only about fifteen minutes old whereas I’m in my fifties and so know nothing whilst she, on the other hand, knows all there is to know about everything.

One of the many manifestations of my daughter’s vast wealth of knowledge is to buy many things she’ll never use from web sites, few of which ever show that ugly padlock thingy in the corner.

The result of this is that she’s always being ripped off and after being dragged to the bank by yours truly to have her debit card cancelled yet again has to wait a week until she can have another while she leeches off me since it’s clearly all my fault.

Yet again my daughter has had her card cloned. Unusually, the bank noticed the anomalous payment and immediately phoned to ask if it was from her. No, she said, and they immediately invalidated her card. But this time, I can hardly believe it since the sharks usually delight in charging outrageous fees for being even one pound overdrawn, it transpires that she had no money in her account with the result that not only did the scammer/spammer steal the bank’s money, but they can’t even charge her their typically merciless overdraft fee since it wasn’t her fault, meaning they have to swallow it all.

Sometimes life is sweet.

Claiming It

Tricia Drammeh

butterfly header

Before I read these two inspirational and thought-provoking posts by Kristen Lamb (hereand here), I had been doing some serious thinking about my life as a writer and as a person. Or, more specifically, I had been doing a lot of thinking about how I’d abandoned my own writing in order to make everyone and everything else a priority.

If you’re a follower of this blog, you’ve probably read my previous posts about balance and prioritizing writing. As I’ve said before, balance is always going to be an issue. Not just for me, but for everyone. We’ve all got families, day jobs, animals, and other responsibilities that take up a great deal of time. There’s always an illness or a crisis or something to derail our plans or offset our goals. For me, major depression often steals my motivation and robs me of the ability to prioritize anything…

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The Best of Times

Suddenly they all died. The end.

Friends and fun - what could be better? Photo by Kay Kauffman Friends and fun – what could be better?
Photo by Kay Kauffman

I’m feeling a wee bit pensive today. This is the result:

Puberty, oh, puberty,
That dreaded time of life –
Most of us recall it
As a time of much great strife.

And of course,
So it was for me.

But those bygone years
Of trying to find my way
Have shaped me to the core,
Made me the girl I am today.

Oh, adolescence –
The last time I really knew it all.
But I suppose it’s true
That one can’t really have it all.

Still, I miss those days,
Those times, those faces
And places
And songs
And stories.


I miss those drinks,
Surge’s tangy sweetness
And a chocolate Pepsi’s
Delightful darkness
And a Green River’s
Sparkling effervescence.

I miss the food,
The sticky sweets
And salty snacks
And the fun we used to have with…

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It’s taken me six weeks to do what I’d normally do in one.

I got what I wanted, but as usual the job, and decent money has prevented me from writing except at weekends. I know you can’t have everything but just once it would be nice.

Last night I finished the first edit of Old Geezers 3, and even added another forty pages which I hope has improved the novel. When I’ve done it a third time I’ll pass it on to my ever obliging beta reader.

In the meantime, here’s the current first page of Spawn of kongomato on it’s third re-write. I hope it will be suitably gruesome as it the last in the series – probably.

Here’s the true test: the first page. If that doesn’t grab the reader then I might as well begin all over again.

“The famous gothic tower canted at an impossible angle, creaking mournfully in the unnaturally hushed air. Accidental assaults by remotely controlled drones aided by the acidic droppings of giant flying lizards were imposing untenable strain on the ancient foundations. Soon Big Ben, the enormous bell within, would toll one last time as it smashed to the ground and the forsaken Houses of Parliament below

This would cause no undue concern. In fact it would provoke no reaction of any kind since all civilised life in London had long departed. Now all that lived beneath the tower were the lowest form of rodents feverishly hiding from the dominant form of life: enormous winged beasts prowling the sky with ceaseless energy and insatiable hunger.

London and the Home Counties were deserted, a feat not even Hitler had managed to achieve. Eight million people had fled one of the busiest capitals of the world leaving it a mouldering, lethal swamp. Yet the eyes gazing jealously to the east were not interested in this incredible blight, nor even spared a glance for the London Eye, a giant Ferris wheel cleverly constructed from taught steel fingers, woven tightly enough for the wheel to stand apparently unsupported and once thrilling vast numbers of tourists. Nor did they notice the rotting carcass of one such creature welded and spliced between the woven steel bands in the darkened city.

These eyes feasted on a far more interesting and potentially lucrative prize. Fastened greedily upon the one place the rampaging creatures not invade. Despite their estimated number ranging from anywhere between five hundred and five thousand depending upon whom was asked, no creature could gain access to the most secure building in the country.”

Progeny 9

I’ve touched up the cover yet again and hope it will be the last time. If I sell enough copies I might even be able to pay someone to do the next for me.

The Party Starts Sunday!

Amaranthine by Joleene Naylor

banner by Maegan Provan banner by Maegan Provan

The last book release didn’t have as much promotion as usual. I skipped the blog tour because despite promotional promises they tend to be more headache than they produce in sales. With that in mind I might just skip it  for the next book, Masque of the Vampire, too. But that doesn’t mean you guys shouldn’t get a chance at some awesome swag! To make sure you do, I am cramming two books’ worth of prizes into one week of Facebook party madness!

And anyone can join. Just go to the event page and click the “going” button. 

It’s not just prizes that make a party fun (though I do love them), but there will also be games, discussions, interviews, guest authors, and excerpts from Masque of the Vampire (totally unedited excerpts). Just take a look at the awesome schedule of events.

signature for whiteIt all starts…

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Conversations with Joleene Naylor

Rami Ungar The Writer

joleene naylor 2 (1)

I think this interview has been a long time in the making, and I’m glad it’s finally happened.

Today’s author is a woman who you might have seen commenting a lot on this blog. She’s an author of several vampire novels, as well as a contributor to Self-Published Authors Helping Other Authors, and a contributor/editor/compiler/whatever to the Ink Slingers’ anthologies, including Strange Portals and the recently published When the Lights Go Out. It’s Joleene Naylor, and I’m looking forward to hearing what she has to say!

Welcome to the blog, Joleene. So tell us, what are your short stories about and what inspired them?

Unforgotten is about a pair of old school chums in the UK who go on an annual trip every year on the same date. This years’ trip is complicated by Gordon’s missing wife and the ghost of a little girl who wants to be found…

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