The Little Lytton

I had almost forgotten about these… My submissions to the ‘Little Lytton’ competition.

Contest A:

As its blood washed over me something stirred in my loins, reminding me of the first time Candice, the Irish wolfhound, made love to me.

Contest B:

Yet to no avail, for high above the cityscape Vice-General Balzurg prepared to press the button that would initiate firey death upon those limey cocksuckers.

To fully understand this post, go and read the relevant details on the website. Go on. It’ll show why I have no artistic soul; the winners show true genius.

Thus the hack goes to bed.

It seems strange, I suppose, that the second post to the blog should be the introductory piece. The former [no longer extant upon this page for metaphysical reasons], a little bit of narrative fluff that happened to me late one night, is a marker, a reminder that fiction is the basis of the factual.

Anyway, I’d forget about that event if there wasn’t something to remind me. The past and I don’t get on well. Memories are for other people.

This isn’t to be a blog of my daily activities. It is to be discussion in re my wish to be a published author. Expect lengthy diatribes and long waits between posts.

That is all.