The Spoon in the Coffee

Officer Harcourt always kept his thermos with him. It was a trademark, an idiosyncrasy, it was an element of his day to day that made him feel like he was a real person and not just another face behind a uniform. He had a long spoon that he kept in the thermos, using it to stir the miraculous liquid, the fuel that allowed him to do his job without going insane. The spoon imparted the coffee with a nasty metallic taste, but Harcourt took the hit just to be different. He found that these days he was always having to watch something, a house, a shop and tonight an office tower. There had been a bomb threat that morning from some kid, nothing had happened. Harcourt was suffering from a soured relationship with his superior officer, and for the last few weeks had been sent on every job like this that turned up.

Were they expecting that kid to turn up on the scene of the crime, for literally no reason? It was routine to keep an eye on a place after any report had been placed, but a useless type of routine, one that sounded great on paper but ultimately offered no value to anybody and only served to be an element of the constructive dismissal of the officer involved. Harcourt stirred his coffee agitatedly, noting how much resistance the spoon responded with, how much of that vital liquid remained. It was never enough.

There was a thud from somewhere down the road, perking Harcourt up. He raised his head until it touched roof of the car as he tried to make out the source of the sound but all he could make out was the dusky sidewalk. There was nothing. The sound had been tinny, like an old style dust bin falling over. Harcourt sat back down into his seat and unbuckled himself. He decided that he might as well investigate, it wasn't like he was going to miss anything at the office block. The first gust of cool air over Harcourt was soothing as he left the stagnant atmosphere of the car. He savoured the moments between opening himself to the air and the first wave of shivers. He was in a cold grey wasteland, the only light was from his phone, blinding him as he checked the time. The rest of the world was in bed and Harcourt was bitter. The street wound around the office block and constricted into a tight alley that stank of refuse and decay. Harcourt held his thermos close in order to absorb the precious joules of energy which were otherwise leaking into the night through where the plastic and the metal met at it's peak.



The alley was perfectly empty. There was nothing but a dubious puddle that reflected an unseen street lamp. Harcourt was disappointed but his breathing at once settled, there was one last puff of visible mist from his lungs before he turned back to the car. Turning, his eye was caught by the faintest hint of movement for the crease of the alley, where the smooth curves of the cobble stones met the straight lines of the building walls. It was something metallic and round, like a discarded hubcap. Usually, however, hubcaps didn't quiver like a freezing child. Harcourt approached it, slowly, sure that it was a trick of the twilight eye. Or perhaps a rat had made the hubcap it's home. A rat living in a hubcap would definitely have cause to shiver on a night like this, at least until the pneumonia kicked in and made it an ex-rat.

Harcourt reached for his torch, with a click the object was bathed in yellow light. It wasn't a hubcap, it was more oval in shape with four fork like protrusions at each pole. It was deadly still. As Harcourt got closer however, it moved slightly. It's little hands clawed at the wall it was leaning on, turning its face to Harcourt. It's mouth moved, slowly, as if frozen. It produced words like a marooned man who hadn't met another human being in living memory, slowly mouthed, deliberate and desperate.

"Heat."

Harcourt looked at his discovery. Its metallic face had a small hole in the centre, though it never moved Harcourt assumed that's where the voice came from. Its voice was tinny but, unusual for a synthetic voice, it really had emotion. The thing sounded like it was dying. Harcourt stayed at a safe distance and bent his knees, looking into the yellowed metallic face of the creature. Harcourt was caught up in the moment now, excited that he had found something the break the monotony. He called out to the object, convinced that it had to be some kind of child's toy.

"What? Did you say something?"
"Heat."

The word was drawn out agonizingly. A marooned man gasping for water. Of course, Harcourt thought, tonight heat was as rare as water on a desert island. Harcourt stepped back, had it answered him? He threw the light from his torch around the alley searching for some other source of the sound but there was nothing.

"Hello? Is anybody in there?"

His voice echoed in the alley before dissipating completely. There were no answers, his eyes picked up the same shivering as before however, from the small round object. He snapped the torch light back onto it and it stopped moving again. He stepped closer, pulling his coat tighter around himself. The light from the powerful halogen bulb of his torch was now focused on the round object and it was moving again, pushing itself closer to the torch. Harcourt decided that it must be some kind of no gadget, reacting to light by crawling towards it. They had those didn't they? Harcourt laughed at his own fear as he went to pick it up.

As his fingers closed around the disk he felt a shock of cold travel up his arm, like he had just plunged his hand into a puddle of liquid nitrogen. Instinctively he tried to let go but found his fingers frozen in place. He shook his hand frantically as the cold spread through his body, he was experiencing some odd sensation, like his blood was freezing in his veins. He fumbled with his free hand and screwed off the top of his thermos, the hot coffee washed over his captured hand and he was able pull it free. His hand was burned and frost bitten, and thankfully, completely numb. He turned to run back to the car but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of the small disk scuttling to block his path.

"Heat."

He tried to walk around it but every time it just moved to block his path. It was fast, too fast for Harcourt to outrun on foot. Why wasn't it touching him, Harcourt thought, it would easily catch him if it had wanted to.

"Heat."

That was all it said, over and over. Harcourt needed all his heat for himself. He lifted his thermos defensively.

"You want this?"

The disk just stood in one place, suspended by its tiny claws. The thing wanted his thermos. Harcourt couldn't believe it, he was being mugged by a hubcap.

"From my cold dead hands."

Harcourt leaped onto the disk, he shoe freezing in place. Sipping his foot free he ran out of the alley and to the car, as left the alley it shot underneath him, pushing him off his feet. He landed on his front and he watched in horror as the precious liquid poured forth from his thermos and onto the concrete path. The creature walked over to the thermos, the shoe still frozen onto its top and bathed itself in the steaming coffee. It made a slight chattering sound and visibly grew before the prone Harcourt. As the coffee depleted itself from the thermos the creature began to curl itself awkwardly into a tube, shedding the shoe which slid off it's flat top and towards Harcourt. Harcourt sat back up, away from what he perceived as some kind of death ritual. Where was there more heat than in Harcourt's freezing body?

It continued to curl tightly and then contracted until it's body was a short metallic tub with claws. Harcourt backed away but stopped as the tube started squeezing itself into the large thermos. Harcourt watched it, like some kind of alien nature documentary until it had full placed itself in the thermos and diligently pulled the thermos cap back on. He sat and watched it in the silent freezing night, waiting for it to do something. Eventually, the cap popped off once again and a claw emerged from the thermos. It threw a spoon at Harcourt's feet before placing the top of the thermos back on and rolling back into the recesses of the alley.

Fencing!

I haven't done it for a while but boy I really love fencing. Thought I might write a little informational piece on it, just in case somebody wandering onto my blog might not be educated on the sport. It's basically playing with swords, but there's more to it than that my friend.

I've never liked sports, I found them boring. Kicking a ball around a field, tennis, or well, the rest, they just never clicked with me. When I first tried fencing in college though, I knew I had found something special. There is an art to it, an undefined art. It's got some kind of simple grace, a game of poking the other guy first and amazingly fun.

Sometimes fencing feels like writing, if that makes sense, just making things up as I go along and yet constructing something at the same time. The movement of the blade and knowing that the other guy is so focused on it, this danger, this weapon. Well, it's blunt of course, the damage it does isn't physical. The fencing weapon pierces egos and strikes down confidence. It feels real in that context, that it could be real.

Anyway, that's a look into why I love it but let's learn a little more about it.



This is my weapon of choice, the Epee. The game is this, hit the other guy before he hits you. Anywhere on the body counts and hits within a few milliseconds of each other count as a draw. There are more rules of course but that's the basis of the game and essentially all there is to it.

It's a game of catching the other guy out, you see, your hand is covered by that guard thing and anywhere on the body is vulnerable so the attacker is at a bit of a disadvantage. If you are predictable or too slow and that could be the end of you. This is also the best weapon for just messing around and having fun with, I've had plenty of swash buckling Errol Flynn moments with this weapon where the game is forgotten and it turns into a life or death duel complete with last minute evasions and the clash of steel. Well, it was like that in my head anyway.

Some days you can turn into some kind of unhittable beast as well, I love that. It could be something small that your opponents just can't figure out for some reason, but it's good fun when it happens.

It's one of these things that is just fun in its purest forms. If you don't take it too seriously, but people always will I guess. I've been guilty of it at times myself. Somebody once said to me "Having fun stops where taking it seriously begins." It's true. Almost destroyed the sport for myself with that carry on.


See, fencing is cool.

Irish fencing has been destroyed by the whole ego thing and it definitely puts me off it. It's essentially non-existent here, mostly practiced by students who give it up after they're done. I often joke about moving to another country just for a larger fencing community and well, it's not really all joke, I really would.

Fencing is fun, get's you fit and the rest. But it's a beautiful game so if you get a chance to try it out do me a favour and do. Main thing is, just have a good time.

Remember, a true warrior is always learning and the world is his teacher. And, if somebody doesn't ask for advice, keep your mouth shut!

New things!

I finally got around to doing the painting that I had had in my head since I made up the name for my blog. It came out okay, so that's pretty cool. You can see it adorning the head of my blog now.

I've also put together a simple website to be a home for some of my short stories, I'm going to put the link in the side bar with kriegsland so maybe you might check it out. I've put up a single story so far but I'll put up more soon.

Well, that's all for now. It's nice to get something concrete done for a change. Back to writing now!

Uploading some stories

I came up with the idea of uploading a few of my short stories to my blog.
But why not go one step further? Update on this coming up soon.

Also, I've decided to open up the topic of this blog. We all know how the writing thing is going by now. New novel is trotting along nicely and I can't seem to pull myself away from the endeavor of writing as many science fiction short stories as is humanly possible. Anything too short for possible publication I'll stick online later.

Anyway, the other project that's taken up my brain time lately is the top secret project: kriegsland.



I've had the link to this on the side of this blog for a while now but I'd like to talk a bit about it. Kriegsland has been something that has been growing in my head for a while now. So far the only material that has been produced the logo and basic php website but I have a lot more planned.

Ultimately, one day, it will be an online war game. For now it's just a concept. Still, if you like the concept or whatever why not drop me a line and help me bring the kriegsland to life.

Otherwise, stay tuned for this and more.

Hot off the press - What I'm writing right now

Well, I've had more time to write lately. Thought I might stick up some of my raw output that I've just done. It's the latest chapter from my new project - Tower.



MC couldn’t stop looking at the statue. He looked through the viewscreen at it, remembering every facet every curve that he had crafted. He had been utterly inspired, it had been a labour of love. Looking at it now made him feel like that again, he wanted to destroy it, to sweep it away, but in that statue was everything he wanted, everything that he could aspire to.

What had begun as a few idle comments that had met the right ears had lead to his spear heading the restructuring of the government. It had been his idea for there to be an Emperor or Empress, somebody that everybody could follow over the usual elected government. In the current climate it worked perfectly and everybody was happy with the safeguards that were in place to prevent any abuse of power.

MC hadn’t always been an advocate of theocracy but all the changed with he met the future empress. There was a power in her that he had never witnessed before, an overarching order that MC at once was swallowed up by. MC’s Empress did not represent any great powers in the universe, she was one herself. When MC met her she was a Senator, happy with her position. Such was MC’s mind however that it instantly saw the great things that she was capable of. They had been close for a few months, while things were being put into place. But MC had wrought his own destruction, the position of Empress was to take all her energy, all her power. There was no time for anything else, there was no time for MC. That had forced him to find other ways to go forward, inferior ways.

MC looked on the statue as if it was the best part of himself. As if it was a lost part of himself that he could never really join with again. The statue was a crystallisation of his better part and all that was left was now sitting in the colossus. Possessing unlimited power in that moment but no direction to turn it to. The last thing he could do now is put an end to that, he needed that part of himself now more than ever.

But what did that leave him with. He was now stuck, his plan half completed. He didn’t feel free, he felt like a monster. The colossus had just become like the tower, it was a place for MC to hide in. It had to go.

“Empress, they found Klinb.”
The Empress turned, fixing an authoritive gaze on the messenger. A gaze which said, tell me all you know and then disappear.
“They did, where?”
“He was running from the colossus.”
“What did he tell us, was it MC?”
“Apparantly not, Empress. He said there was some kind of malfunction with the colossus, that he was trying to fix it but failed, he said he gave up in the end and decided to escape with his life.”
The Empress touched her chest, the hand guided by emotion long since pushed into the subconscious, into the area reserved for parts of her not required for her purpose.
“So it is still a danger.”
“I’m afraid so Empress, but it hasn’t moved for almost an hour now. Nobody knows what to do.”
“Send somebody up to MC’s tower, if he’s not involved with this then we could use his help. To my understanding nobody knows more about the colossus than he does.”
“Of course Empress.”
The messenger turned gracefully and walked quickly from the Empresse’s office, leaving her alone again. Her table was strewn with reports and scribbled notes, nothing of any use. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing MC again, there was something about him that antagonised the Empress so much. In her opinion, he was an agent of disorder to his very core and unrepentantly so. The soft spot she had for him was just another useless fact of her personality, something that she had no business feeling.
She looked down at her desk. In one of her drawers, hidden away, she had a picture of herself with MC. She didn’t feel she could bear to look at it again, it was another time, now far behind them both.
“Empress.”
She looked up sternly, with a mix of rage at having been torn from her thoughts so abruptly and embarrassment at having had those thoughts at all.
“What?”
“The colossus is gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“It threw itself into the ocean Empress. It’s gone.”
The Empress looked down for a moment. Allowing her mind to relax, allowing her time to fully absorb the information that she had been given. She stood up and out the door, passing by the messenger as she walked to the main meeting room and found Gertrand with a group of his cronies.
“What happened Gertrand? Did this have anything to do with you?”
Gertrand in his untouchable self confidence but shook his head.
“No, I wish it did. But it sounds like whoever took the colossus had other plans.”
“So one of our neighbours is going to have control of that thing.”
Gertrand looked around, avoiding the Empress’s eyes as he calculated an answer.
"Potentially, yes. But we will be prepared.”
“There is only one thing we can do.”
“What’s that, Empress.”
“We’ll have to build something bigger. Get me MC. We don’t have any choice.”
“I’m sorry Empress, but is having one more colossus in the world really going to make us safer.”
“Look, Gertrand. Right now we have nothing. Your little foam plan was a disaster and frankly there is nothing else that can stop that thing. If it falls into the wrong hands we are as good as done for. We can start thinking about alternate solutions when we have something bigger and more dangerous, until then we are at the mercy of providence.”
“What do you want me to do.”
“Gertrand, take your lackies and find me MC. Something in my gut tells me he won’t be in his tower.”
“He hasn’t left that tower in years Empress.”
“Yes, but something tells me he has now, I certainly wouldn’t want to be found after my creation had just run amok. We need to find him, fast. In the mean time bring me Klinb, maybe we can work on some kind of deterrent until we can put something more permanent together.”

Writing Challenge Results

Well, the results are in ladies and gentlemen.

And, what can I say, the writing challenge was a complete and utter failure. To be fair to myself though, after 2,000 words I hit a major speed bump. Well, less of a speed bump, more of a brick wall.

I ran out of room within my concept, I was really happy with what was there but the "glue" I mentioned in my previous post didn't spread quite as far as I might have expected. Some serious thought needs to be done on my book before I can get into those numbers.

And I guess that is the reality of writing in the end of the day. You can't really measure it in words all the time. A lot of it is planning, thinking. Running through story paths in your head, layering the characters. Deciding whose perspective to give priority to, perhaps elevating a background character to a pseudo protagonist. These are all things running through my head at the moment. Among other things.

I've got through a lot of it today so hopefully I'll have made some solid decisions by tomorrow. We can talk about the next challenge then!

Breakin' the Writing Barrier

It's 9:15, I'm still yawning and today is the Writer's challenge. I, Eoghan Cregan, will attempt to adhere to a new expectation of output. A grueling marathon of passion fueled finger tapper-y.

First I'm going to sit down here and write out 2,000 words, starting now. No break until those numbers appear. Then after a short break I will write again, another 2,000 words and so on until I reach the holy grail of 10,000 words.

I realise now that output is quite low and it has nothing to do with lack of ideas. Hell I already have my new book essentially all planned out, as long as I keep throwing in new events and characters when my instinct tells me to I should be able to blitz through it. I know how it ends, and I know what the main character will have to do before the end. I think I let a fear of running short put me off, like I'm not sure I'll have enough to fill the book with, but I'm expecting that, just as occured in my previous book, it's actually the "glue" that makes up the meat of a book. You begin with a hand full of plot points, alone they could never fill a book, maybe not even a page. Writing is a process of filling the space between those points, making them real and meaningful and that is something I can do quite fast with minimal error. (And it's not like I was never going to go through it again, revising is also good fun.)

So, wish me luck. Today will be hard going but I will do my best to make it to the other side. Break the writing barrier!

Another Post

Well, it's been a long bloggy road, that's for sure. There's been thrills, spills and a complete lack of success all round but who am I to complain.

I saw a documentary on a website (www.cinemassacre.com), it chronicled a movie makers history of making movies. I really felt the love he had for it, the addiction he experienced in the process of producing movies. The thing that struck me was how bad his old stuff seemed. It didn't reflect his current talent at all.

It occurs to me that we all begin with this picture in our heads about how something must be. Whether it's a book or a film or a short story we can only hope to meet what we expect from it, what we already see made in our minds. In that documentary I saw a journey from where he was to where he wanted to be. And that process was one of just doing what he loves, learning, growing and yes, I believe he got there in the end.

It was a journey of learning how to produce something, translating what was in his mind to the screen. And that is something I am learning too, how to translate ideas into books. I don't really want to think of my older stuff as bad, but maybe in the grand scheme of things it is. I just have to keep learning and growing, and to keep my mind on why I am doing it. One day everything I see in my mind will be made real, the books I imagine people reading will exist and then, well. Hopefully I'll be published by then.