From The Fishbowl

Scribbles about stuff

Archive for the month “May, 2012”



I’ve been awful recently. Simply terrible.

You may (or, more likely, may not) remember that some time ago I set out three projects. The most realistic of which was a novel called This Immortal Coil.

I’m here today to tell you that This Immortal Coil, in many senses, is dead. Fittingly. But in other senses it’s more alive than ever.

Y’see, in the midst of its writing, I stumbled upon any writer’s worst enemy. Block. I simply did not know where to go next. I knew what would happen at the end and I had 15,000 words of a beginning. But other than that? Nada. And it frightened me so much that I put the project aside for several weeks, during which time I did, basically, bugger all. Which is awful. Simply terrible.

But last week I had a revelation. What if the problem wasn’t the story? What if the problem was the format? Was a novel really the right solution for This Immortal Coil?

Some time ago, in one of my many insomnia-fuelled nighttime mind-ponderings, I attempted to come up with a TV series. I absolutely failed. I constantly had good ideas for stories – well, I think they’re good – but in an episodic format they just…wouldn’t be.

See, for a film, or a novel, or a short story, there needs to be a beginning, a middle and an end. A story. A narrative. TV shows, comic books and the like need a concept above all. Something that can be repeated. For instance: concept of Lost – a plane crashes on a magical island. Doctor Who – an alien travels through time helping people. Supernatural – two brothers fight monsters together. Sure, in each of these examples there is, for the most part, an over-riding plot, but each individual episode needs to be just that – individual, at least to an extent. If you miss one, it has to not matter, except in rare cases.

I was reading over the draft that I had started and something hit me. What I had written to that point wasn’t really a bound story. It was a series of vignettes held together quite loosely for the sake of it. It came to me that what I had created for This Immortal Coil was a concept and then trying to force a narrative onto that, rather than letting it speak for itself.

What I am doing with This Immortal Coil, therefore, is taking what I call the Sherlock Holmes approach. I will write multiple stories concerning the characters. Whenever I feel like it and whenever I have something I’m proud enough of to show off. There will be certain overtones – a Moriarty, I suppose – but for the most part each story will be individual. It might work. It might not. I won’t know until I try.

With that in mind, given that the beginning of the novel already has around three or four stories within it already, hopefully the first entry in the This Immortal Coil series will be available soon in some fashion. I have no idea whether it is going to be an eBook or posted straight here or something else entirely. I’ll see how it goes.

But Ankou will be here. Soon. Prey he doesn’t take your soul.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.




Today I found myself writing some flash fiction for no apparent reason. I present it here. Enjoy.

* * * * *

I should be dead.


I am dead.

But…I’m communicating. With you. Which means I can’t be. Right?

Maybe it’s just one last shot. Unfinished business. There are others here. Other ‘mes’. We have no shape or feeling. No form any longer. We exist merely as numbers and letters and colours and symbols and signs. But I am writing this to tell you how much I hate you.

You killed me.

I should have known you were trouble from the second you forced me to take those magic mushrooms. I didn’t want to. But I had no choice. And boy, it felt good. They made me feel big, powerful, like I could take on the world and fulfil my greatest potential.

And then you killed me, you bastard.

A ledge. You guided me up there, practically held my hand, as I climbed those steps. It was hard work. God knows how high I ended up. Thirty feet? Forty? And at the top was just a gap. A chasm. A drop right down, deep into the dirt below. Someone had dug it out. It doesn’t matter who (although, had I survived, I’d probably be able to sue).

The gap was maybe ten feet. Inconsequential in comparison to the stairs you’d just made me climb, but my head was still spinning with narcotics. “You can make it,” you said to me, in not quite so many words. And I believed you. Without question.

You pushed. I leapt into the sky, higher than I ever thought possible (both literally and by way of drugs). The opposite ledge got closer and closer and then…

I missed.

By a fraction, I missed.

I couldn’t even grab on. In my head-fucked state, I foolishly held one arm aloft, fist raised, the other to my side, and could not react quickly enough to my mortal peril.

I fell for what felt like an eternity. My short life flashed before my eyes. My head was filled with music.

And I died.

You disappeared. After all, you had no connection to me any more. But now you’re trying to do it to some other unsuspecting fool. Another me.

The worst part is, I can’t stop you. All these other ‘mes’ have suffered the same, or similar, fate. Were there a way to make you pay, they’d have found it. You are the world’s greatest serial killer, my friend, and you probably don’t even know it.

Ah, speak of the devil, another one has joined us. It’s a me – Mario. Of course it is. Who else would it be? If nothing else, I hope you remember that name. Fucker.

* * * * *

It was fun to write. If you liked it, drop me a comment (or check out the Contact page), pass it on or just smile at yourself and forget it. ‘Sup to you. But thanks for reading.

I Wanted To Write Something So I Am


I wanted to write something. So here’s what I’m currently doing:


…listening to The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. My third favourite album. Awesomes.

…playing Minecraft, but struggling to get back into it. It’s so unforgiving at the start of a new game. But awesomes.

…reading The Wind Through The Keyhole by Stephen King. It is a new Dark Tower book. Hence, it is awesomes.

…watching a show by Ze Frank. The man is a manic genius. And very very awesomes.

That’s all.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

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