Happy Days

Well. I’m going to be a dad. That sounds so unbelievable when I say it. It’s no easier writing it either. What the hell does this mean for the rest of my life?

I’d like to think that I had loads of things planned that I wanted to do before I die. Not that I think becoming a parent is akin to the end of my life in the literal sense but, it kind of is in some ways isn’t it? Come to think of it, I had loads of things I wanted to do before I was thirty and I don’t think I managed any of them so I can’t really complain. Things are going to change though. That’s for damn sure. Baby is in the post, on its way, it’s a done deal.

Boy or girl? Don’t care. Whenever I considered this in the past the result was always that I wanted a girl but that was before the years of trying. There comes a point where you couldn’t give a monkey what gender it is so long as it’s got two arms, two legs a head and a hole in its arse. In fact, scrap the hole in the arse. Perhaps I can have the world’s first non-shitting baby? So no I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. It’ll be a happy day regardless.

With all good news there is also bad news though. My desk has to go. I love my desk. My massive computer and dual monitors sit on it. I love these things too. Oh, and my Captain’s chair, and my lamp. These things make up the little world I sit in when I’m writing the stories I’ll one day send off for rejection. Alas, they have to go. The room I’m sitting in now is to become a nursery and one day a bedroom again. I can no longer call it my office. Well, I’ve got a few months left to enjoy it. Well, no I haven’t. I’ve got a few months left to get used to the idea of it all going. I’m hoping to keep up with the writing and will be certainly be spending the next few months upping the output but, well, I think I’m more likely to become adept at changing nappies than publishing stories aren’t I? Still, I have plans. Contingency plans. After all, it can’t stay awake forever can it? As soon as it nods off I’ll be off to my computer… oh, no I won’t because that’ll be gone. Hmm, okay I’ll open up the laptop and get writing again. It’s a superb plan and will obviously work.

What other news? Ah yes, I finished a story today and spanked it off in the direction of Alternative Realities for consideration by Top Bloke, Matt Sylvester. Let’s hope he enjoys reading it as much I did writing it.

What’s next? Well for my next act I’ll be creating another work of fiction, this time for Emby Press in an effort to get into the Occult Detective anthology. This one’s edited by one Josh Reynolds no less so I’m super excited to be having a crack at this one.

Right then, that’ll have to do for the time being. There’s a mountain of dishes waiting for me downstairs that I just know the Mrs will go ape-hit over if I don’t get it done pronto.


Author: Mark S Thompson

Okay, so these things are kind of hit and miss. If you’re reading this then I am thankful to you for taking the time out of your day to do so. I’ll be honest, when I think of myself as a writer, I kinda cringe. Don’t get me wrong, it is the dream, it's​ just I never really believe it will go anywhere. When I think back to the day that I first knew I loved writing, and I mean really knew, I see myself sitting in an English lesson at secondary school. The school was called Wrotham and is in the county of Kent, England. As far as I know, it's still there. English was far and away my favourite subject. The best bit was when the teacher gave the class a selection of words and asked us to make up a story that either contained those words or was about those words, you know. At other times we would be given the first sentence and then write what happens next. Good times. Many times my work would reflect what I had recently read and it would be okay. Nothing special, just okay. On one occasion though I wrote about a merman called Finchy and can remember going into so much depth and detail about him and the underwater kingdom he lived in. I really enjoyed writing that and it must have shown because my teacher commented on it. She was really impressed and loved the story. That was it for me, my moment. Now when I write I think back to those great times and to that story. Hopefully, I’ll write something that you, the reader, will be moved to comment on. For me, there is no greater elixir

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