Posts Tagged ‘poems’

1 – Based on Tales from the Crypt and similar

We all remember those shows that had a different little story to tell every week right? Well, ‘Myths and Tales’ was inspired by these shows. ‘Tales from the Crypt’ and ‘Tales of the Unexpected’ being Vivika’s favourites. It is a mash of genres which gives something for all readers to enjoy.

2 – Based on not so true events?

The ‘Confessions’ series stemmed from a ‘Myths and Tales short story titled ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ which was written during Vivika’s time at medical school. She promises no one was harmed in the writing of the story but the black humour, the horror and the unforgettable character of Tracey Campbell made it a favourite amongst ‘Myths and Tales’. So much so it was adapted into a full novel! ‘My Silly Little Confessions’.

3 – Handling the Hangram

After an initial pitch of the ‘Hangram’ short story, Vivika was surprised to receive comments on how violent it was.

I honestly didn’t see it that way,” she said. “Perhaps I should lay off listening to Marilyn Manson when writing.”

We love the ‘Hangram’ as violent as she is.

4 – Shared universe

‘Red Snow’, ‘Knights of Ravensedge’, ‘Seeking a Boat’ and ‘The Mad King’ all share a common universe and are part of the Red Snow Fairy Tales.

5 – Treading the boards

‘The Gift’ has been adapted as a stage play and will be hitting theatres in the UK in 2018!

6 – This Place Misunderstood

It may not seem it from the outset, tone and general happenings in the ‘This Place’ poem but Vivika assures us there is actually a positive and affirming message behind it.

Torrance Global took a closer look. Click HERE to read their thoughts.

7 – Listen to the Music

Vivika loves music of all kinds. She especially enjoys classical music. The poem ‘Violin’ is a dedication to that love, which is ironic because Vivika plays cello (somewhat).

8 – Kicking off a Conflict

In ‘Myths and Tales’ you are introduced to the elite group known as Rogue Battalion. This is just the beginning of the highly anticipated Conflict series. Coming soon as a graphic novel as well as some insights featuring as part of the ‘Myths and Tales’ web series! Stay tuned.

9 – Taking Requests

‘Princess and the Beetle’ is the most requested poem of Vivika’s for recital. It is a favourite among readers and we are so excited for it to be the pilot of the web series. It will be leading the charge with a unique brand of comedy.

10 – Soon to be a Web Series

Directed by Leo ST Paul (The Walk) ‘Myths and Tales’ will be hitting the Torrance Media channel soon! Subscribe, tune in and enjoy!

Enjoy this?

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales

Coming soon as a Torrance Media web series

I once had a little red notebook. It could rest quite comfortably in the palm of my hand. I was only twelve at the time this all happened but I had pretty small hands. Anyway, this book had been in my family for generations. Lots of the pages had been torn out. It didn’t seem like much when I found it amongst the boxes in the attic. We were clearing out junk and I pulled this little red notebook from the dustiest box, hidden in the darkest corner.

What’s this?” I asked my mum.

Her eyes widened. She was never one for dramatics but I saw a true look of fear on her face that day mixed with general bewilderment. “That was your gran’s,” she replied.

My gran had lots of weird belongings. I remember some of the strange statues we had found after she moved to sunnier climates. They looked eerily like little people carved out of wax. Some some of them had needles sticking in what I would imagine would be very painful places. Mum melted all of the dolls down and threw them away. My gran was a little weird. I always thought so but as a kid it was really fun to be around. When I stayed over with her she would show me all sorts of old books and tell me ghost stories. I said I could handle it but she told them so vividly that I would wake up in the middle of the night and swear that the ‘goober man’ was watching me. ‘Goober man’ was one of her favourites. He was a dusty old creature who stalked the ancient streets where my gran lived. The fingers and toes of little girls – just like me – were his favourite delicacy. He had long thin strands of hair covering a liver spotted head. His eyes were bulbous and yellow. His fingers were long and he had sharp teeth for gnawing on little bones. He sounded awful. I didn’t want a visit from him. As I said gran loved telling me stories of ‘goober man’. She would see how scared I would be getting and she would laugh. She was a little strange.

Can I keep this?” I asked my mum of the little red book.

Mum wrinkled her nose. “It’s all rotten and there are hardly any pages left.”

I agreed but I did like the red cover. It gave the notebook some importance. Mum shrugged her shoulders and continued sorting the junk so I slipped the book into the back pocket of my jeans and helped.

That night when everyone – mum, dad and my little brother Ray – had gone to sleep, I kept my night light on and finally had a look at my new red notebook. There was an inscription inside that read:

ENEMY LIST; ENEMIES BEWARE. GONE FOREVER.

This actually made me smile. Even the most patient and tolerant of us would love the chance to make certain people in our lives disappear. One name came to mind – Stacey Willen. She was a nasty girl in my class who had being going out of her way to make my life a misery since we first started school. She would tease me about my hair, my clothes and pretty much everything about me. She had her loyal band of supporters who laughed at her jokes that really weren’t that funny. They were all so eager to gain her approval that they wouldn’t even help me up when she pushed me into the mud. They just stood there like grinning hyenas like it was the best comedy in the world. Just that day I had been sat underneath the tree reading a book. It was a very sunny day. The tree was offering a nice cooling, shady breeze. I was enjoying my reading, blocking out the nonsense screaming of my classmates in the school yard. Stacey must have spotted me from across the yard and felt unable to leave me content. She marched over to me and snatched the book from my hands.

Give me that back!” I protested.

Stacey sneered. She wasn’t particularly bright. She opened the book in the middle and spat on the pages. Not quite having caused enough havoc she turned to the end and ripped out the last three pages. Seeing I wasn’t reacting she got bored and threw the book back at me, hitting me hard on the arm.

Staring at my gran’s enemy list I took a pen from the night stand. It had thick black ink. She would have to be the first name. STACEY WILLEN. Content with myself I turned off my light and fell into a comfortable nights sleep.

The next morning when I arrived at school I had half expected Stacey to be there to greet me, somehow knowing I had added her to my enemy list. To my surprise her usual band of supporters were gathered but there was no Stacey.

She has just disappeared. Her parents say she was in her room last night and when they went to check on her she was gone! They think she has ran away. The police were around and everything,” Stacey’s appointed ‘second in command’ was telling the others.

Stacey disappeared? After I had added her to my enemy list? Surely this was just coincidental. I knew my gran was weird but surely she wasn’t that weird?

Mr Perlman was the caretaker at the school. He was always shouting at the kids and he spat when he spoke. He was a bitter old crank and never had a nice word to say about anyone, even sweet old Mr Faben – the headmaster – who was technically his boss.

He sat at a table in the entranceway making sure the students made their way to class in a timely and organised manner. He wore a battered old hat that was once red but now yellowy and in desperate need of a wash.

Move it along Wilson!” he spat at me even though he could clearly see I was moving to my first class. I turned and looked at him to verify exactly what it was he was shouting at me for. I had after all just crossed the threshold into the school. He pointed savagely at his brown forehead. “Are you a moron!? I said move along!”

I shook my head and grunted. I took out my red notebook and smiled to myself as I wrote down, in heavy letters, MR PERLMAN. It did make me feel much better. I walked along to my class. If I had turned at that moment I would have noticed the seat where Mr Perlman had been in just moments before, empty except for the battered old hat.

That afternoon over lunch I saw Mr Faben wandering around the hall looking for Mr Perlman. I didn’t think anything of it. I just saw it that the student body was getting a break for an afternoon both from Stacey Willen and Mr Perlman so it was win win. I overheard the girls at the table next to me discussing the maths test we were to have later that afternoon. They were in my class, they knew me well by name but never invited me to join them. It seems they thought I was a little odd. They hadn’t met my gran. As the girls left the lunch room, offering me but a fleeting glance I began to think of how under prepared I was for the maths test. I and many twelve year olds would much rather be doing anything else than sitting a maths test so for kicks I took out my red notebook once again. This time I added MISS PARSON AND THE S32 MATHS CLASS to the enemy list.

Eventually the bell rang and I swung my bag over my shoulder and took a deep breath. I arrived at my maths class and it was empty. Everyone had gone, even Miss Parson.

Whilst the school was in turmoil trying to find out where an entire class of students, a rookie maths teacher and the caretaker would have disappeared to I slipped my red enemy list back into my pocket. I was going to have to learn to use it wisely…

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Coming soon as a web series!

I was a bad seed.

My whole life I wasn’t what one would call an angel. So it came as no surprise when I passed and death said,

It’s Hell for you my dear friend Gus. You have been so bad you must take the bus.”

Not even the courtesy of a ride of a quick journey into the seventh circle for my eternal damnation.

So there I was, at the bus stop for the direct line to Hell. Torrential rain was falling and there was no shelter – although it did have the strong smell of urine that would normally accompany one.

Of course the bus was over an hour late. I was cold, miserable and just wanting to get to Hell already.

Death took some glee in my punishment.

That’s what you get for being such a shit! You’re not going to like this, one little bit.”

The bus arrived. The most broken down, hideous piece of metal on four wheels you could ever hope to step aboard. The driver had a face so sour it could peel an onion.

Get on!” he snapped. “I ain’t got all day.”

Death pushed me on board.

The seats were torn, broken and mostly filled with graffiti.

REG WAS ETERNALLY DAMNED ERE’

Death slumped beside me.

I hope you are ready to press that bell. The next stop for you is the depths of Hell.”

Rude driver, broken chairs and a sticky floor you wouldn’t dream of touching. The bus to Hell was pretty bad. I think I’ve been on worse.

Enjoy this?Subscribe to the page for more images, stories and poems from the Myths and Tales collection.Click HERE to read the full story.

Coming soon as a web series from Torrance Media!

There once lived four sisters, who remained very close,

Each had a husband and children to boast.

With a neat house each, lined in a row,

status and wealth clearly on show.

The first was named Scarlett, fiery and wild.

She and Lance had only one child.

Lance had been working late quite a lot,

having fun with his secretary, until he was caught.

Scarlett cooked him his favourite meal,

laced with an ingredient that was sure to appeal.

By the third mouthful, Lance was dead.

He should have considered his wife; before sharing another’s bed.

Then there was Ruby, elder and smart.

She and Jeff shared a love of art.

Jeff was a failed painter, Ruby had the cash,

so Jeff raided her personal stash.

Gone was the wealth she had scraped and saved.

Jeff didn’t care as long he had his way.

Ruby took a gun; no one would steal from her.

Fifteen shots were fired; it was all a blur.

Elder still was the sister named Rose.

Both she and Archie were writers of prose.

Archie favoured filling his day with drink.

He would hit Rose and wouldn’t think.

Rose had had enough as most of us would.

He didn’t treat them as a father should.

She took up the knife the next time he raged.

She stabbed and stabbed so that she may be saved.

The eldest of the sisters was a lady named Blanche.

Her husband, Taylor, had grown up on a ranch.

Taylor was an outdoors-man; he really loved to hike.

This was something that Blanche herself did not like.

She accused him, beat him and screamed in his ear.

‘Why would you rather be out there than in here?’

One day when it had all gotten too much,

Taylor was found hanging by his hutch.

So the four sisters, always remained close.

The judge had seen that stand out the most.

They once had neat houses, standing in a row.

Now they wait together, for their time to go.

The Myths and Tales webseries will be coming soon from Torrance Media.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales!

 

CThere once was a princess who lived far away.

She was in love with a prince so they eloped one day.

On the way to the church, they received terrible news.

A dragon was loose so the prince had to choose …

PNB

The much loved poem, The Princess and the Beetle, joins the Myths and Tales web series and we couldn’t be more excited.

The official release date of the web series will be released soon so don’t forget to check back.

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Click HERE to read the full poem…

Coming soon as a web series from Torrance Media. Directed by Leo ST Paul (The Walk) and written by Vivika Widow. Check out the trailer!

These days we have so much at our hands.

We even have devices that make all of our plans.

We live in a world of electronic coffee pots,

video chatting doodaas and face calling what nots.

On the computer, information at your fingertips,

paying your bills and giving weight loss tips.

But what happens when the technology doesn’t play nice?

Your old friend ‘the freezer’ could just as easily make ice.

When the computer fails, cutting you from the rest of us,

and you actually have to go to the station to book a train or bus,

remember there was a time before social media,

when libraries held more than the wikipedia.

When the intel powered lap top is smashed on the floor,

and the smart phone has been launched out of the door,

when none of the devices talk to you in the kitchen,

when an urgent message is needed – you can always send a pigeon.

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Subscribe to the page for more news, stories and poems from Vivika Widow

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales

Into the world of imagination you delve.
The glow of the computer screen drawing you nearer.
Picking out the words letter by letter.
Each click released into the air like a virus.

At the entrance to imagination lies a warning etched in stone.
Do not venture too far or you may not return.
The world looks different watching from within the mind.
All the same sights but with a hazy yellow glow.

The streets you walked once familiar, now strange.
The same objects you spied many times before, now odd.
Those faces you have known, every wrinkle, every scar.
Now their eyes glare with suspicion.

Take a chance, walk those silent alleys once more.
Your imagination will never fully clear.
Fill the empty windows with images of your own.
Let the birds sing with a song of your own composition.

Fill the lonely streets with whatever you please.
The laughter of children. The cries of pain perhaps?
There are no rules in the land of imagination.
No morals to govern the comings and goings.

Be free to express your deepest desires.
Don’t be shy to shed a tear.
Grit your teeth, relieve your frustration.
For when the computer screen blinks into darkness, the streets are abandoned once more.

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Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales collection.