The Perils Of A Writer.


Beachy Head is a chalk headland in Southern England, close to the town of Eastbourne in the county of East Sussex.

Mr Twister had a sister who now had another name. She was different from him, being tall and slim where he was; quite plain. His face was fat and he wore a big hat to cover what little that remained of his hair. He was so large that when he bent forward he almost fell out of his chair.

He was a writer you see and had grown fat, on the proceeds of his livelihood. He’d had a dream one night, and told it well and found out that; he could. He shouted and screamed, swore and yelled, as the characters in his story would do, but that was the straw that stuck in her jaw, and was too difficult; to chew!

One fateful day she’d had enough…”Here it is far too rough for a girl like me to stay. I’m off to marry the man I love whose name I cannot convey. I’m leaving you my brother for another, who is more kind and thoughtful of me. I’m leaving this home, so you will be on your own, and you will have to fend; for thee.”

Tom Twister begged his sister, not to leave him so hopeless and alone. He tugged at her sleeve as she was about to leave and started wailing in a loud moan. “Don’t abandon me Hope, and go and elope with a man you must hardly know. Think of the things you may do with him and the outcome, they may bestow.

The months passed away, and Tom grew grey, but slimmer he became overnight. Each day he prayed that Hope would return and everything would turn out; all right. But in his heart he knew, that nothing would do, and a happy ending would not be forthcoming. The end would come in a way, as they say…..unbecoming.

On marched time and for no reason or rhyme, hope sprung eternally inside Tom. He had a premonition, that changed his disposition, and he knew that nothing could go wrong. The door bell rang and up he sprang “Is that Hope?” he cried out in delight, but on opening said door, it was the sight that he saw; that killed him……..outright.

It was she you see, but the story she had told had been; a lie. The truth would never have sat well, with a man who was stuffing himself; to die. No man had made her leave, but a story to perceive and fame and fortune to chase. What stood before him that night looked like a spirit, as if from…..outer space.

She had worked all night and every night, her story to print and tell. An agent had called and her world had been turned into a prison; with a padded cell! Night after night, with flickering light, her fingers shrunk into stubs. With pain in her eyes, she told her lies and the errors she simply; rubbed.

Her work was published, but everyone rubbished her effort and that made her cry. No joy could hit her, as her one follower on twitter, bid her; goodbye. She cried and cried, and with tears undried, off to Beachy Head she did drive. The night was cool, the moon was full and no heartstrings were there….to pull.

Her fall was halted by a thing akin, to an Angels outstretched wing, and down she fluttered, soft, unflustered still luckily; quite slim. Her lack of bulk found the chalk that coated herself in white, and it was that ghostly sight, that caused the fright, that led directly to Tom’s death….that night.

About Daniel Kemp

Daniel Kemp is a seventy-four-year-old member of The Society of Authors. He is also a bestselling writer. He writes stories that appeal to those who like challenging themselves to solve mysteries that are set out before their eyes. His introduction to the world of espionage and mystery happened at an early age when his father was employed by the War Office in Whitehall, London, at the end of WWII. However, it wasn’t until after his father died that he showed any interest in anything other than himself! On leaving academia he took on many roles in his working life: a London police officer, mini-cab business owner, pub tenant and licensed London taxi driver, but never did he plan to become a writer. Nevertheless, after a road traffic incident left him suffering from PTSD and effectively—out of paid work for four years, he wrote and self-published his first novel —The Desolate Garden. Within three months of publication, that book was under a paid option to become a $30 million film. The option lasted for six years until distribution became an insurmountable problem for the production company. All ten of his novels are now published by Next Chapter Publishing Company which has added an edition titled The Heirs And Descendants Collection, which holds all four books of that series, alongside an edition titled The Lies And Consequences Collection which contains all four volumes of that series. He is the recipient of rave reviews from a prestigious Manhattan publication and described as—the new Graham Green—by a highly placed executive of Waterstones Books, for whom he did a countrywide tour of book signing events. He has also appeared on 'live' television in the UK publicising his first novel. He likes to write quotes and it's on Goodreads where you can find them--- An example of these quotes opens his novel--Once I Was A Soldier:--There is no morality to be found in evil. But to recognise that which is truly evil one must forget the rules of morality. Less
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