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Writer's pictureGary Hewitt

Too much sugar is bad for you

Greetings all and as I look out this morning it's much more reminiscent of a typical English Summer. We could certainly do with a few more days like this that's for sure. In the meantime let's show gratitude and love to Anna, Jo and Mary for stopping by on my previous post.


What comes to my mind first today is a touch more editing on my novel. It's the first part of chapter seventeen and did espy a few areas where the telling was rather prevalent. The hero is gradually returning to a state of grace after a traumatic experience at the hands of some satanic bourbon biscuits. Sounds bonkers I'm sure but it lends into the story rather well.



I shall pour my attention into a few other areas today, some of it rather mundane but others focusing on Reiki and maybe I'll write an article later. As for a short story, well I shall have a perusal on Duotrope and see what they're calling out for. Hopefully soon I'll hear how my energy vampire story went down or not as the case may be. I quite liked the story but the bar of acceptance will be rather high methinks.


Tonight it also my development group and I'll be having a bash with some Starseed oracle cards which are rather fun. No doubt a dose of healing, meditation and whatever else may pop along into my thoughts or those in the group. They're nearly always fab evenings.



Well on that note I shall end today's meanderings. Whatever you're doing, enjoy and if you can't enjoy, well, there's always tomorrow.


Take care everyone and remember keep reading and oh, here's a snippet of insanity...


Martin’s muscles stayed rigid whilst the tray danced close. The biscuits rose of their own accord. Martin discerned the slow evolution of cookie limbs and mouths on satanic chocolate. Their shadowy jaws opened and revealed jagged fangs eager to feast on ripe flesh. “All right, I lied. They do bite a bit and they do like to nip.” The robe set the tray onto the floor. The biscuits decamped onto the dance floor. Their forms swelled to the height of three feet and each one of the assortment sported something metallic in their left hand. Martin groaned when one of the cookies swung a butcher's cleaver from left to right.

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