Tag: my writing

A small slice of my NaNoWriMo 2013 novel. Constructive feedback is most welcome.


Today I’m going to share with you the first page of my 2/3 of the way finished novel for NaNoWriMo 2013, The End Solution. If you’d be so kind, could you read it and give me some constructive feedback. But before all of that, here’s a bit of a plot summary…

The government found out about the chemical, which flows through just about everyone and controls whether or not they commit a crime depending on how much of it is in their system, and how to extract it. A person who has had the chemical extracted will never commit another crime. This has led to them cleaning up the UK and making it virtually crime free. But, they rule with an iron fist and ‘remove’ anyone who talks about them in a negative way. After one of their experiments escapes and bites quiet and reserved office worker Bruce Avenly on the neck, they have achieved their ultimate dream. They have created a walking deterrent against crime. Bruce can extract the chemical when he wants by sucking it out of someone then and there. Bruce finds that everything about him ten times better and his confidence is through the roof. He is declared an outlaw after they first claim to want his help, then want him dead. Can Bruce find out the answers he needs before the chemical thirst takes over? Can he help free a scared UK out of a dictatorship? Or will he use his new found gifts to terrorize those he loves and everyone else?

Like the title says, your constructive feedback is welcome and if you have any questions, just ask. It has only been through a few edits but I’m looking for some initially reaction to it before I continue my edit. Cheers

The End Solution by John Robert Sermon.

Most of the time he struggled to smell anything else but the chemical. Bruce Avenly has been walking around like this for the last four months and the only time he didn’t smell the chemical was when he passed out due to sleep deprivation.

His face had been plastered all over the government reports and country wide newspapers. There was page after page of glorious lies that they, from the looks of things, had spent a lot of time and money on to turn the country against him. I’m now some kind of monster to be feared? He thought. He stopped walking and moved to the inside of the pavement.

“The chemical is ripe in someone close by.” He said to himself. He lent against the wall of a pub he always used to walk past on his way home. He had never been in there or ever wanted to. But he did find himself missing the routine of walking past it ten times a week to and from work. It certainly beat being an outlaw, he reasoned. He shook off his latest sentimental moment and glanced around for who it might be. He remembered that the last one took a lot of effort and blood loss to completely extract the chemical from. Even then he wasn’t sure it would cure them completely as he never waited around long enough to find out.

“There you are.” He said not caring who could hear him. He looked across the road over four lanes of traffic, the farthest smelling yet he briefly contemplated, at a scrawny looking woman with thin, ravaged, dirty blond hair. She looked drawn and very frail. He took a deep breath and smelt the chemical that was coursing through her veins. It smelt like it always did. A rich tangy metallic smell with a hint of sweat and salt. He both loved and hated the it in equal measure. He casually walked to the nearest crossing and made his way over to her side of the road.

“I’ll get the money tonight mate. Don’t worry.” She said loudly down her phone. Bruce kept a good distance behind her and even if he had stayed on the other side of the road he could’ve clearly smelt her. The scent is always strongest in people who will or who have committed serious crimes. He was confident he could over power her as he always is in the prelude to extracting the chemical. It was the screaming and blood he had to worry about. She pocketed the phone and turned down an alleyway. One of many things Bruce loved about Manchester was how in most cases one alleyway led into another which will eventually lead you back to its centre or back to where you started. He had tried to explain this to a lot of people but they could only slightly understand what he was saying. He remembered mumbling a lot before he became what he is today. He did prefer some things about being human than being a chemical vampire but he hated a lot of things as well. His lack of confidence to say what he wanted to say or do what he wanted to do was something he did not miss at all.

He looked around to see where she was. He spotted her in the distance standing on a street corner. She was stepping from side to side and waiting for something. He knew what she was waiting for. She moved like every other prostitute he’d ever seen. But the chemical was so rich within her that she was more of a danger to her client’s life than the average prostitute was. A silver BMW drove passed and then slowly turned around. Bruce quickly walked up to the car as it pulled up next to her.


A fistful of grammar.


So, I’ve continued to brush up on my grammar skills and as it turns out, I know more than I thought I did. Maybe in my haste to get my stories written I’ve chosen to forget certain aspects of the wonderful, if not very frustrating, world of grammar.

As I’ve been reading through the exceptional book, ‘Improve your grammar; Learn the skills, master the language.’ By Collins. (http://www.play.com/Books/Books/4-/7802960/Collins-Improve-Your-Grammar/Product.html?searchstring=imporive+your+grammar&searchsource=2&searchfilters=s%7bimporive+your+grammar%7d%2bc%7b91%7d%2b&urlrefer=search or http://www.amazon.co.uk/Collins-Improve-Your-Punctuation-Graham/dp/0007288069/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374611468&sr=1-5&keywords=improve+your+grammar) I keep remembering things that I’ve somehow forgotten or easily working out what I should be doing. I’m currently on the section dedicated to commas and all their forms. And if I’ve missed any commas so far or hereafter, I’m sorry.

This has also helped me with my editing and writing over the past week. I’ve continued with my take on the vampire myth and editing one of my older stories. The writing is coming along nicely, although as it’s going along I’m realising that I’m going to need to create a lot more for the world this story takes place in.

It’s a world in which the Prime Minister rules the country like a dictator. He has put in place huge, gothic, dark buildings in each of the main towns and cities across the country. These help him to keep a watch over a majority of it. He uses special employees or ‘Operatives’ to keep an eye on the small villages and day to day life that he can’t control himself. This, as you might imagine, creates a whole host of questions and a whole host of answers to accompany them. I’ll let you know how I get on.

On the other hand, the editing process has been more fruitful than I’d previously anticipated. I’ve always liked editing but after almost two years away from the story I’m casting my eye on, I’m chopping and changing stuff and really starting to be critical of myself. I know I’ll have to go back over it again and again (location, character, descriptions and so on) but if it’s possible I’m looking forward to it more than I ever have.

Well, that’s me for now. I’m going to get back to it. Hmm…How do I end this post…why not with a question?

If you could change one thing about the world today, what would it be? And don’t feel like you have to choose a nice, save the world, type of option. Just go nuts if you like.





A new short story of mine.


This is a short story I finished a few months ago. I’ve been over it many times but would like a fresh view and feedback if possible.

It’s about a man who has lived all his life with a high pain thresh hold. This means he doesn’t feel the cold or the heat in the same way that everyone else does. He can feel these things but only at the last minute. He has felt trapped and lonely for most of his life so far. Until he decides to go for a run one Saturday morning…

The doctors have never been able to fully diagnose his condition. They settled on an extremely high pain thresh hold but it did not explain why he could not completely feel hot or cold temperatures. He is twenty nine years old, six foot tall, has short blonde hair and a nice looking face. His name is Oliver. There is no known cure for him.

“They won’t treat you differently.” his pixie like mother said one Friday morning in the kitchen.

“How do you know?” He replied. She looked around nervously and then back into his eyes. He gave her a kiss on the cheek but before he could leave she gave him a warm hug.

Oliver’s job was to distribute work to the employees of a small administration company. None of them knew about his condition. He and reluctantly his parents decided that only they would know. Oliver consequently only let a few people into his life at any given time through fear of being looked at or treated differently. He thought some people might find it cool but he didn’t want to take that chance.

“I can’t come out after work mate; I’m cooking dinner for my Mrs” His Italian looking friend Peter said. Oliver nodded and said they’d do it another time. He always felt lonely when Peter did anything with his other half. He felt the same way whenever he saw a couple holding hands. He quietly made his way home.

“Oliver!” his dad said from the bottom of the stairs. He had fallen asleep in the bath again which to him felt like he was wrapped in a slimy blob from the neck down. He only got out and got dressed after seeing how shrivelled up his body had become. “What’s that on your hand, son?” his dad said as he got to the bottom of the stairs. His dad was a short, portly, overly concerned man who fussed over him a lot. Oliver knew he was just trying to be his friend so he didn’t object.

“Oh, I burned myself the other day. It’s alright now though.” He said looking at the red mark on the outside of his right little finger. He burnt it whilst frying some bacon and as always only moved his hand when it was too late. He’d felt the pain but only at the last possibly second. He did like being able to withstand high amounts of pain but what he really wanted was to be mindful of going near a fire or being out in the cold for too long.

The following morning he decided to go for a run. As he was running on a clear Saturday morning he spotted a fire engine up the street. Getting closer he saw the wild flames climbing up the house next to it and remembered to stay back because of the heat. He looked up and saw a room and heard the cries of a baby inside.

Oliver knew he had a good chance of saving the baby. He quickly ran into the house and climbed the now almost completely fire ridden stairs. He knocked the door down and grabbed the baby as the smoke began to build. It made him cough ferociously as the stairs collapsed with an almighty bang. He went back into the baby’s room and shouted down to the firemen. They quickly sent up a ladder and brought them to safety.

“Can’t you feel that?” the mother said after taking the baby and hugging the life out of him. A news reporter and camera had appeared just behind her. Oliver looked down and saw numerous red marks on his legs and arms. He had briefly forgotten he was wearing shorts and t-shirt.

“Not completely. I can’t feel hot or cold.” He said without thinking. He’d never felt happier than after saying those six little words. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
In the following weeks he became a local celebrity. He received an invitation to attend a nerve damage conference and accepted it for his mother’s sake. Peter insisted he go along with him. They sat down and waited for it to start.

“Hello, I’m Michelle.” A cute brunette girl with a flower in her hair said as she sat down next to him. She put out her hand and he was reluctant to shake it. “It’s ok. I can’t feel hot or cold either.”