12 Books in 12 Months

writing books and blogging about it



Happy Holidays

I am taking the weekend off, as I’m sure you are too, to watch Game of Thrones and read books and eat chocolate. This is what public holidays are for.  However, if you want something else to entertain you, why not try online Madlibs?  Yeah, you read right, Madlibs.  Remember them?  That may depend how old you are… but basically you stick in a bunch of verbs and adjectives and the like and it rewrites a piece of literature for you, like Hamlet’s third soliloquy:

To be, or not to admire, – that is the chocolate;
Whether ’tis nobler in the magic to suffer
The slings and kittens of tasteless fortune,
Or to take eggs against a sea of eggs,
And by giving end them. To die, – to compete, –
No more; and by a compete to say we end
The turkey and the five billion natural shocks
That flesh is taxidermist to, – ’tis a raven
suddenly to be wish’d. To die, – to compete,-
To compete! perchance to precede! ay, there’s the popcorn;
For in that compete of death what muffins may come
When we have radiated off this raspy coil,
Must give us jellybabies….

It’s hours of literary fun, I tell you – not to mention, like, totally wacky.

The Other McShay

Not long after I started writing this I realised it was not going to be a traditional horror story.  But on the plus side, it’s quite short. 

pic found here

Nobody ever had anything nice to say about Batty McShay.  But there again, Batty McShay didn’t have anything nice to say about anyone either, and they do say that you ought to lead by example.

The example Batty set was not a great one.  She ate her food in an obnoxious sort of a way, chewing with her mouth wide open and never cleaning her teeth after.  She sat and pleated her leg hair when you were trying to tell her something, or sometimes she just fell asleep then and there and would claim later on it was your fault for having such a monotonous voice.  She had a necklace made out of garlic and onions which she wore only when visiting quiet places full of people too polite to tell her to go away – mainly libraries and monasteries.  And she always took a pad of post-it notes wherever she went so that she could make ‘kick me’ signs to plant on people’s backs.

There were several reasons why Batty was the way she was, but the main one was probably the fact that her dead father lived in the attic and sang her jingoistic songs of the old times at the top of his voice.  That sort of thing will drive anyone to distraction if it goes on for long enough, and the old duffer had been dead for twenty years.

Continue reading “The Other McShay”

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