I am quite proud of the fact that I lasted One month and Two days staying away from this blog; and from ANY writing of a fictional nature. Hell, I was surprised at how easy it was to NOT think of stories!

But last night, as I was unable to get any sleep I took a walk along the beach and this ‘Flash Fiction came to me. It still needs work, and a lot of tidying up but as is it reads okay and It is a complete story.

Flash Fiction, for those who don’t know is fiction within the 100 to 1000 word range and ‘Dreams‘ weighs in at respectable 520 words.

Dreams from before

The soft sound of my sand-shoe’s as I walk the streets at night. It’s the middle of winter now, cool but not yet biting cold. They called me crazy for walking the night, it isn’t safe they said, infected can still get through the barrier I was told time and again. I knew better. I can’t explain how I knew, I just knew.

I always found it calming to walk through the dark of the night, the rhythmic swoosh of the waves on the beach, the distant din of the Cyclops tower. All of it, it helped drive the nightmares away.

I was barely Ten years old when The End happened. That’s a stupid name for what was essentially our extinction. Some called it a virus, some a plague, the fanatics called it the wrath of a vengeful god. I call it a nightmare. I’m all alone now, like a lot of other kids at the time, I lost my my entire family to the plague. If I wanted to be honest, and in a dream who wants to be honest, I was the one who killed my parents.

Dad had come home from work early, claimed to not be feeling really well, and looking like Satan’s asshole after chilli night. It was a Saturday, the 15th of August. I remember it well because it was the last time I ever mowed a lawn. Actually I don’t remember anyone mowing a lawn after The End, running power tools drew their attention. About an hour later there was a crash as my parents fell through the French patio doors, Dad ripping mums flesh from her neck with his teeth.

I don’t know what it was that came over me, I remember stories of mothers gaining incredible strength to lift a car of their child, all I recall is seeing the mower, still running swinging towards my father. I held the blades on his face until his body had stopped writhing and flapping about. It was too late for Mum, she’d died with the sight of her husband; the man she loved and the father of her children ripping out her throat, black blood-shot animal eyes in place of the hazel-green eyes she loved.

I have survived for nearly a decade on my own. There is a group, living near the water, that I sometimes trade with but in the main they leave me alone and I leave them to their misguided attempts at rebuilding.

The smell of the freshly fallen rain, as it soaks into the bone dry earth intrudes it’s wet, invigorating scent into my dreams. I open my eyes. It is dark out but I can see as if it was midday. They’ve got patrols out, must be looking to extend the barrier again.

Damn, I don’t have time to get away without being seen. Oh well, I was getting a little hungry anyways. I’m able to trick one of them into leaving the rest, and the last thing he will see as I take his life essense will be my Black blood shot animal eyes.

A Life Chapter comes to an end.

Posted: June 15, 2014 in 2014, General
Tags: ,

It’s long overdue but it is finally time to let go a a life dream and put down the pen for the last time. Writing is something that has weighed me down for nearly half a century and it is time for me to face the fact that I am, and will only ever be, a poor to middling writer.

In all honesty I’m actually bloody crap at it! It’s just not what I was put on this earth for, it really is that simple.

I’m glad that I got to at least publish a book of my writings, crap as it was :-( and the 18 copies that are out in the world are all that will remain as evidence that I was ever a writer,  as of the end of June this year All extant writings, Ideas, Poems, notebooks, etc will be destroyed.

It’s been an incredible journey and it is my fervent hope that this does not discourage other budding writers out there, This was my choice and it doesn’t have to be yours.

Sin Cere

Matty J




You are married, and you have been told that you will die in two years from an Incurable Genetic Disease. Write a letter/Letters to your Children for them to read on a significant birthday (16th, 21st, Wedding, etc).

Here is Todays Writing Prompt. It is a photo of the sunset on the last day that I can remember being truly happy.


This is the only artifact found  by explorers to a dead world. Describe what that world, and it’s people, were like.


Writing prompts are, I find, an incredibly powerful tool to tackle occasions of writers block. I’ve been coming up with a quite a few lately and have decided to share them with you all. I hope that they help you as much as they help me.

I will be doing One (1) writing prompt everyday from now on. The first one is:

Write a text message from your protagonist to his love. They are apart and have not seen each other in some time and Your protagonist is preparing to surprise them on his/her birthday with a wedding proposal.


Here is mine.


I'll just say that you are the last great love of my life. I want 
nothing more than to spend the rest 
of my life with you, I'll be here when your ready. :-*
Until the end of time itself, I'll never wander, I'll never leave 
you or be far from your side.
My heart, body and soul belongs to you now; I've never had to doubt 
that from the first time I met you. :-*.
You can make me smile with a happiness I've never felt before, you 
can make me depressed and cry with a fear of failing you, or myself.
You can have me tearing my hair out in frustration and hornier than 
a ten-peckered owl. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my
life by your side. I love you more than I can express, I know they 
are only words and actions mean more than all the words in the world.
I am ready and willing to prove with action my live for you, if only 
you'll give me the chance.
Good night my darling woman, you are my heart.

Writing Excuses    where Brandon Sanderson, Harold Tayler, and Daniel Wells talk about all things writing. Each weekly Podcast is only 15 minutes long and they are able to drill down through a lot in that short time. I stumbled upon their site today and have spend the day listening to the archives in the background as I write, stopping only occasionally, to focus on what they’re saying. at the end of one podcast, Episode 16, they begin to periodically give writing prompts.

Now, Ep. 16’s topic was about getting in the chair and just write and as I am a continual re-writer, it struck a deep chord. and It has prompted be to attempt the writing prompt provided. It was:

Write a story about something unusual stopping a novelist from finishing his or her book.

I don’t know what it is, but it seems to have connected with me on a deep level and ideas are flowing for how this could be done. So, here it is, my attempt at the prompt; without re-writing, reading back over it, or editing of any kind. I apologise if it is terrible or bad to read. I’ll look over it tomorrow and see whether it could be worked into a better story!


I woke up that morning, knowing that today was Completion Day! Today I’ll finish my first Novel, TK. I had sacrificed everything over the last two years; wife, children, family, friends, work, Everything! But I knew that it was worth it. Five Hundred pages and I could step back and say  ‘I did that! I’ve written a Novel!’, that’s all I asked for. To be able to die someday knowing that I had written a Novel, whether it was published or not was truly irrelevant!

I’d made my way to the bathroom while I was lost in the euphoric high of completing my life’s work. Looking in the mirror, the stubble on my cheek didn’t warrant a shave. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go today. Marcie had taken the kids to her mother’s Six months ago after dictating that I had One year to get this out of my system or we were finished, that this was not something she had signed on for.

I slowly got dressed for the day, trying to centre myself and focus my thoughts for the last Thirty-odd pages I needed to write today. Heading downstairs, I continued my morning ritual; Computer booted, coffee brewed, toast made, grab the cuppa and head back to the computer to briefly read the last few pages from the day before.

I’m what’s called in the world of writers an eternal revisionist; If I don’t stay aware of it, I’ll sit there and constantly rewrite what I’ve written over and over again, and never move on to the next chapter. To combat this affliction, and an affliction it really is!, I’ve set up the system to only allow me access to the last two or three pages from the prior 24 hrs.

Today I must have been a little quicker making my breakfast,  as the system was still loading the software. Taking a final bite of mango marmalade laden toast and setting my hands on the keyboard, the phone in the front room rings; I consider breaking my own rules and getting up to answer it.

Tuning out the ringing tone, I face the screen anticipating the pure, unadulterated ecstasy I get when reading my own work.

I didn’t even realize the cup was in my hand until I heard it shattering on the floor and felt the burning hot liquid trying to melt it’s way through my ankle. the screen was BLANK!!!! Somehow, the bitch only knows how, every single word from yesterdays effort was gone; erased as if it had never existed! WTF!! How could this have happened? I had employed the best, and most expensive, computer engineers to help me build this system. Thius shouldn’t have happened! Yes, the house was mortgaged twice to help pay for it but I knew, deep down I just knew, that the novel would be worth the risk.

Jumping up and knocking the plate of crusts across the table, I rushed to our safe room. I knew I was the only one in the house last night. I checked the locks three time before heading up to bed. Yet, I hoped against hope that the system had caught something, ANYTHING that could explain what had happened to my baby!

‘Please God! you sick, twisted sadistic bitch! Let this be a dream!” I muttered over and over again, like a mantra, as I rushed fullpelt into the room and enetered the commands to review the nights tapes. Impatiently, I threw the footage up on the 64 inch plasma as the view of my study came up.

I resisted the urge to rush through the footage in case I missed something. Then, There at the 11:11:11 mark on the tape; A dark shadow walking into the room and removing the backup drive and sitting down and erasing the files for that day.

As He, I assumed it was a he, got up the tape caught a brief shot of his face from the light of the monitor. It was Me!

Some of you may recall I attempted the NaNoWriMo in November of last year with a Zombie-orientated Novel. Well, I didn’t completed it, but I haven’t been sitting on my laurels either. Whenever possible, I have been plugging away at it and slowly but surely I’ve finally been making headway.

Late last night I was reading over the nearly completed first draft and realized that there was a major character I had omitted. Now, This is not a character I had planned for the story but rather one who grew organically out of the writing itself.

I have included what will now be the opening to the novel here as I believe that, although it is still a first draft, it may just be some of my best work. I know it still needs a bit of a spit and polish; OKAY, maybe more than a little but it’s still quite well done I think. What do you thinks?

My friend was already old when my family came to know him. Everyday he would stand, just off the beach, and look out over the bay and let the winds buffet him this way and that. He never said much, but when he did, it was with a considered and timeless sense of someone much older and who had seen much history pass him by.

At night, when all around him had grown quiet in the dark and, if you listened just right, you could make out the echoes of past ages in the creaks and groans of his bones.

My family only ever knew him as ‘the white house on the corner’ but to future generations he would be known by the name he forever earned after the Fall; Citadel, or just plain Del.

Del was old beyond my years when the twins began to plan. He went from being an esteemed old gent on the waterfront, if a little in need of some repair, to the beacon of hope and human survival that stands there still to this day, Four Hundred years AF (After the Fall).

Also, as the muse has so kindly stayed by my side until I have actually completed this one I am celebrating by creating a Facebook page just for Me, Matty J, Author Extraordinaire!!! :-P So, please go along there and like the page and you will be blessed with weekly (at Least) updates on this and all my other writings and observations on my continuing journey in the world of writing.

Matty J’s Facebook Page