TMI Friday

I wrote an entire short story yesterday, from start to finish. I don’t think that’s ever happened before – or if it has, I wasn’t at all happy with the result. I may not be happy with this one when I go back to it but I was pleased as Punch yesterday when I’d done a Jane-Austen-comes-to-the-present-day story with a twist. It follows on from the first story about C S Lewis and I’ve got a series in mind, though I don’t know what the others will be.

Writing a series is like having the wind at your back. It’s such a help; you don’t have to start from scratch with characters, ideas, settings etc; you’ve done all that groundwork already and can just concentrate on what happens next. And since what happens next follows from the previous story you’re already half-way there. It’s such a joy. These time-hopping stories are great fun to write as well; I particularly enjoyed my time with Mr Lewis. I wonder who I’ll have next? Btw it’s important to distinguish between a series – one story after another – and a serial, which is one story in instalments. Of which I’ve just started another one – see below – I hope you enjoy it.

You’ve heard of TGI Friday – well, today is definitely TMI Friday. OH and I are quite focussed on what’s happening in Scotland at the moment, comparing it to the situation here in benighted Blighty, so we watch the Scottish news and check the Scottish weather. So this morning when OH commented that it was cold, I said it’d be colder in Scotland. Out came the weather app, out came google and I was informed of the prevailing conditions in Lerwick and Dumfries as well as the levels of humidity and prognostications for those areas. That was definitely TMI for a Friday morning.

Have a good day today and stay safe. The virus is on the up…

Kirk out

New Short Story Serial: Two Looks Like Murder Episode 1

We begin a new short story serial today. I hope you enjoy it.

Honestly, who uses a cut-throat razor nowadays? They’re museum pieces, Sweeney-Todd relics; deadly silver scissors that can slit the life with one flick of a careless wrist. Even if you don’t sever an artery there’s still a risk of infection and I hardly think swishing the blades under a cold tap whilst humming I Got You Babe counts as a proper cleansing routine.

But Dave loves his cut-throat. I can hear him singing to it as he shaves, then as soon as I open the door he clamps a hand to his jugular and starts making choking noises.

‘That’s not funny!’ I snap.

He looks contrite for a millisecond before his face splits in a big grin. ‘TGIF!’ he chortles, as if the day grants him some kind of clown-like immunity. It’s April Fool’s Day on Monday. Worst day of the year.

I push past him, shrugging off my dressing gown. ‘Why’d you still use that thing? Most people don’t even wet-shave, let alone with one of those.’

‘Most people?’ No-one else would have noticed the darker tone in that voice.

‘Most men then,’ I say sulkily.

‘Can’t shave your armpits with an electric.’

I knew we’d get on to this. ‘They’d still never use one of them.’

‘Wouldn’t they,’ he says softly, darkly.

Every morning he makes some comment. But I don’t see why I should shave my body when he’s as hairy as a gorilla; a fact I pointed out one Friday night and so caused the collapse of a whole weekend. But I won’t give in. ‘An electric takes about ten seconds instead of all this palaver with foam and towels,’ I say. (He leaves the towels on the floor all wet and sticky, another bone of contention.)

‘If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.’ He chants the words like a chorister singing a psalm.

‘One of these days you’ll do it so well you’ll slice your head off,’ I retort, and get in the shower quick. I hear him shut the blades with a flick of the wrist and I pull the curtain tight, thinking of Psycho.

Comments welcome as always.

Kirk out