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Gourmet Novel RecipeRecipe for Writing a Novel
Serves: 1. If you’re J K Rowling, billions.
- 1 Tin standard cat food
- 1 Laptop/Computer
- 250g cat biscuits
- 5 Pens, various colours.
- 1 stuffed cat toy with bell
- 1 pouch slightly fussier cat food
- 1 sachet gourmet cat food
- 1 bottle of wine, red or white
- 1 Wine glass (Large)
- 1 300g Tin of tuna
Cooking time: 2-5 years
(Preparation time approximately 10-60 minutes depending on condition of desk and computer speed)
1. Clear space on desk. If you do not have respective space for junk, throw on floor. Place paper and pens in clear space.
2. Turn on computer and allow 10 minutes for slow loading time. Add 2-3 sighs as windows update informs to restart computer. Restart computer and allow a further 10 minutes.
3. Once computer is ready, open up new document.
1. Begin with your plot. Open internet to several pages, use pens and paper to mix r
Mothers questionsHow did you get poo on your ear? And
how is it when we think you’re dreaming your
curious eyes share the truth. And why
is it when we dine, you wail until we stop for you
to repay our comfort with projectile vomit on you, on me, on daddy, on the sofa, the floor, the cushions
and my dinner plate.
Your hands raise above your head;
this is the way to sleep and
this is the way you snore and
this is the way you will then wave your shark fin hand to tell me
it’s feeding time again.
I love you because you remind me of a man
who farts and smiles just like you and wraps yourself in
my old cardigan as if it was me cuddling you. And you both
drive me crazy to frustration but make me smile with one look
You are the DrugVelvet blue eyes;
rich and eager tug me.
no patch, no therapy, no miracle cure
I am your addict.
You are the drug.
The terminal infestation of dependence;
a life support where without
my mind withdraws.
Rapture in the ShadowsThose were not the clangs of distant church bells. The hollow echo drained of its passion was nothing more than a steel pipe swinging overhead on its lonely chains, rocking in the breeze and hitting a crumbled wall. Sombre stacks of dirt piled below once hopeful they would become the foundation of new life, but they sagged tired, trapped in their mound. A fortress of iron fencing guarded this construction site with all its might. Not a soul had entered here in weeks and even the hopeless pigeons of the city knew to stay away from such tainted grounds.
A homeless man with his blue sleeping bag roamed the perimeter; babbling about the shadows beyond the gates. The police had questioned him many weeks ago, but his answers were more absurd than a theatre filled with nonsense. He clutched his sleeping bag as comfort as he feared whatever lingered beyond the gates. Whether he'd witnessed the truth of those shadows, nobody could answer.
Before all this, it had been we
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
Twenty-three years before the crippling of Crown Prince James III
He was fourteen and she was probably aged about the same, give or take a few years. It had been an hour since he'd met her.
He hated her already.
She scowled behind him and likely shared the sentiment as they scampered up the hillside in a desperate attempt to escape the roaring mob that seemed to be growing perpetually larger and coming ever-closer. Gabriel would have liked to say that it was all her fault he was in this situation, though it was his careless nicking ofwhat was it? A chicken that started the first old woman running, but how was he supposed to know that she'd stumble and fall and everyone else would think he'd assaulted her?
He hadn't. He'd taken the chicken, snapped its neck and run, because he hadn't eaten meat in weeks and he was starting to feel the affects on his already weak limbs.
This is what happens, he thought. This is what happens when you live like th
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