Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

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!

Myths N Tales is a collection of short stories and poems from Vivika Widow. Now a hit web series directed by Leo St Paul (The Walk, All Rained Off).

Subscribe to the Torrance Media channel for all the latest episodes coming your way soon. For now here’s a sneak peek at This Place.

All roads lead to the same place in the end but don’t take the bait. For this little boy it may be too late!

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Subscribe to the page for more updates, images and stories from the Myths N Tales collection.

Click HERE to read Vivika Widow’s Myths and Tales collection of poems and short stories!

I was once told a tale of two sisters in despair, the made quite an odd and opposing pair.

The first was named Jane, who had a small child.

The second was named Sally, who walked for miles.

Through the dark forest, to the furtherest end,

Sally took comfort in the quiet round every bend.

Sally listened to the rustling in the leaves.

She had memorised the songs of the birds in the trees.

There in the woods, lay a special place.

For it was there that their mother had fallen from Grace.

Deep in the forest, past the first gate,

is where their mother had met a grisly fate.

Sally would return day after day,

even though Jane had warned her to stay away.

For Jane life went on as much as it had,

protecting her child from all that was bad.

Online she had met man she really did like,

So she arranged to meet the stranger who called himself Mike.

Talking and talking, they had done for days,

not really knowing each other’s ways.

With her sister distracted, Sally continued her walk,

with no one to disturb her, no one to talk.

Jane was warned not to meet a stranger,

unknowns on the internet had led to such danger.

Jane took no notice she was sensible after all,

Mike was a good guy, he had it all.

Jane carried on, straightening the house as she went.

Her last thoughts being, what Sally had meant.

She tried to contact her sister a lot,

but Sally was drawn back the murder spot.

Sally found the tree, where it had all went awry,

where her mother had given her final cry.

There had been a lot of blood, or so they said,

when they found the mother, torn, cold, dead.

The river had run red in the pale blue dawn,

for the two sisters, the mother was gone.

While Sally was drawn closer to the horror,

Jane couldn’t wait to meet her new lover.

‘Get some rest before the meet,’ she said.

Her child was content so she slipped off to bed.

Sally could still smell her mother’s perfume,

It had followed her mother into every room.

But alas there was nothing that could bring her back,

just the memories of that fading dirt track.

Had she been cold when she fell into the water?

Did she realise what she had done to her daughter?

Sally could only hope that wherever lay their mum,

she could see what both her daughters had become.

The time drew nearer for Jane to meet her new friend,

closer still was her inevitable end.

With a draw of a blade, the two sisters became one.

Jane now lying comfortably with their mum.

For a very long time Sally had waited,

to be alone in the house, she claimed to have hated.

But wait … another body stirs.

The life of the little child will soon be hers.

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Its the final stretch. Soon the full completed manuscripts for My Silly Little Confessions will be under the scrutiny of my editor, Emma, for the very first time. Before the final book is released onto the shelves of Barnes and Noble, Amazon and selected other book stores it will be torn apart, changed, battered and beaten until it is agreed that it is as good as it is ever going to get.

What concerns me most in this part of the process is that it is past the point of no return. Every author has their own system and each publishing house has their own methods but for me and my own making major plot changes are long gone. The story will now unfold as I have written it. Sure there will be changes to some dialogue, grammar correction and all the little window dressings that will make the book the finished product but for all intents and purposes there will can’t be any more major changes to the overall plot. YIKES!

That being said its also a very exciting time in the creative process. The emotions that I’m feeling right now are akin to a parent preparing to send their child off to college. I am aware of how dramatic that might sound but I believe there is only one way to approach a book and that is with your whole heart and that means they are treated like my children.

There is still a long road to go from now until January 12th but the major bulk of the task is done.

For those of you who haven’t read the short story ‘Confessions of an Anatomist’ in the ‘Myths and Tales’ Volume 1 collection I am very much looking forward to you meeting Tracey Campbell. For those of you who have read the short and are already familiar with her – you haven’t seen anything yet!

Available January 12th. Preorders Available 20th November.

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Click HERE to read the short story that started it all. Confessions of an Anatomist – Part of the Myths and Tales collection.

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Call it writer’s fatigue, call it brain melt. This week I have been circling around the ending to My Silly Little Confessions but to no avail.

Take a step back,” some suggested.

This is very sound advice but when you are already running over your time for rewrites it tends to make this little author nervous.

It’s not all gloom and doom though. I received a huge shot of motivation in the form of an exciting new piece of cover art. Nothing is more thrilling for an author than seeing their writing come to life in the form of images and what an image it is!

Simple, yet effective like most of the cover art that has been supplied to my books from the talent at Torrance Media. I was like a kid at Christmas when I opened my email to find a new one in my inbox titled, ‘NEW COVER ART’. Opening up and downloading the image was akin to ripping off the shining wrapping paper. With the new image in hand (and screen saver changed) it was time to get back to it.

Every author has their own methods. You can teach someone the basics of how to write a book but finding their own system. Creativity is fluid in nature and it can fill containers of all different shapes and sizes. I myself prefer to write late at night when my little household is asleep. It’s my chance to concentrate with less chance of being disturbed by a ringing telephone or the arrival of new emails. Dark, silent and with only the glow of the computer screen to guide me I immerse myself in the story. A quiet little cafe works equally as well. It has been the natural habitat of an author for decades.

So there are two months to go! I am nervous and excited in equal measure for My Silly Little Confessions to hit the shelves.

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