I could do with a cave right about now. Some where cool and dark, not too humid, not too dry. Somewhere I can hide from the oppressive and malign rays of the Day Star. A place where I can pass the worst of high summer in something approaching comfort. By now you will all be well aware that I talk a lot about the weather and that I cannot abide the heat. But it reached a new level the other week as I sweated through my shirt and my trousers until I was unpleasantly damp in all the wrong places. I yearn for winds both sharp and cold; for air crisp and clear; for the ability to wear one of my many nice coats or many good jumpers. On the upside we’ve had some cracking thunderstorms. Which is nice. Now on to the fiction.
Tag Archives: The Way Out
Do you hear that sound? That high-pitched whine just at the edge of hearing? The wail whose source you just can’t quite find, every time you try to focus your hearing onto it, the sound just slides away to somewhere else. It’s the sound that’s making your dogs ears bleed and your cutlery melt. That sound is me. It is an exquisite requiem rendered in panic, anxiety and failure. For you see, I forgot to write the blogpost for the beginning of July’s Pictonaut Challenge. Now it’s gone 7pm, the post should have slithered onto the internet seven hours ago. But it couldn’t, because it did not exist. I should have written it last night but I got distracted. I could make my excuses, there was a THUNDERDOME, some faeries, boots which were made for thinking. But so much of it is a strange and incomprehensible blur of which I can only grasp loose and vivid shards. And so I am lost in a thick soup of panic as I frantically hammer away at my keyboard, desperately trying to finish this blogpsot before anyone notices that it’s missing. that soupy, black panic pulls me further into its fathomless depths, it swallows me, I cannot find The Way Out.