The Power of Letters...

Letter writing can be powerful, both in reality and fiction. Although in the latter, if you play with the idea a bit, they can be devasting! I recently entered a 200 word online competition encapsulating the word: Remember.
Here's my entry...it's not for the faint-hearted, but I hope you enjoy it...

Remember

Dear Charles,

I remember the way you used to stroke my hair, caress my skin and kiss my neck. Yes, I still recall those times vividly. The anticipation, as I waited for you to return from work, the door slamming and the footsteps on the stairs, then the smell of tobacco on your breath (why did you have to smoke?). My heart is palpitating just thinking about it all.
How many years did it last? I can’t be sure really, but it was a good while. I did suspect there were others, you know. Remember the time I caught you with Jess? I could see how awkward you felt. And I’m sure you and Lucy had something going on. I knew you too damned well, didn’t I?
After it ended, maybe you thought time would make me forget. How wrong you were! Now I have a family of my own, though you'll never see them. How long have you got left in there now? Three years, is it? I believe you’re very sick now. Well, I remember you as being very sick then. You will die where you belong, in prison. Remember my tears? Well, who’s crying now, Dad?

Cassie

Update...

Like all writers who have not yet attained the luxury of earning a living from their writing, I've been busy trying to fit my writing around work, family and life in general, which is no easy task.
I've managed to recently complete a couple of short stories to enter into competitions in order to improve the CV. Although obviously a fair degree of talent is required to win or get shortlisted for these competitions, I do believe there's also an element of luck involved and it does depend who is judging the contest and if they are drawn to your stuff, so fingers crossed!
I've also been busy researching my novel (police procedure) and considering plot options (who kills who and who fancies who!).
My aim is to enter the Debut Dagger 2009 for unpublished 'novelists' and to have at least one short story published by the end of 2008. The rest of this year will be taken up by a seriously sustained assault on perfecting my first crime novel and I'm as determined as any would be author out there...so watch this space!

PS. I've just read this back and think it's pertinent to point out that my novel is not entitled: 'Police Procedure,' as that would be ridiculously unoriginal!!!

Crime comedy

When I was a detective I was in a flat on a case......I got off and opened the case to look inside for clues, but it was empty......a blonde walked past the window and I thought, that's odd, she must be tall as we're on the third floor......suddenly my mobile rang, which was even more 'odderer' as they hadn't even been invented yet......there was a tap at the door and I mused, what a funny place to leave a tap......then......the door opened......it was the blonde......my heart skipped a beat......my kidneys began to dance......then all my organs began to play (steady)......it was very noisy......I told them to, 'Shut it'......they asked, 'What the door?'......the blonde rolled her eyes at me......so I picked them up and rolled them back......the temperature tulip-ed.........sorry, rose......when I kissed her......she screamed......I kissed her again, but this time I took the cigar out of my mouth......we heard footsteps......we both froze......I kissed her yet again and we soon defrosted......there was another tap at the door......I went to turn it off and the door opened......there was a man standing there with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, who asked, 'Have you got a light Mac?'......I replied, 'No, I've gotta dark brown overcoat.'......He said, 'Cut the lip,'......So I did and he bled to death.....I squashed him into the case and shut the lid......case closed!!!

My latest crime novel opening - would you read on...?

Prologue

Soon.
It would be soon.
It was strengthening.
The urge teased his soul, jabbing at his heart. He passionately believed it was the right thing to do, but could he do it? The proverbial devil and angel on each shoulder were at odds again. There was now an intensification he was struggling to contain. It was only a matter of time until he succumbed. Of this he was certain. Vulnerability accompanied the urge, an apprehension of the inevitable, of the imminence, and of the severe consequences.
After all, someone had to do something.
He stared at his reflection in the vertical mirror, psyching himself up, before purposely pulling on a pair of black leather gloves, a faint tremble of his hands, more in anticipation than fear. However, he knew fear was good, for it provided focus. An unwavering determination expunged any latent self doubt. He tied the laces of his walking boots tightly before rolling the hem of his black combat pants over them. The black trench coat was his funeral coat and a cloak of grief engulfed him as he put it on, resurrecting memories, reinforcing the urge. The Navy blue woollen hat completed his attire and he gazed into the full length mirror musing that his uniform was ironically not too dissimilar to that worn by the enemy – colour-wise any way, a tactical choice for both he and them.
He slid the retractable baton up his left sleeve and headed for the door, perversely relieved that he had finally chosen, and the deliberations were concluded. He hesitated momentarily to consider his last minutes as a respected member of society, of a society that was on its’ last legs like an ailing animal, but he was the antidote. Picturing his brother a surge of emotion engulfed him, though he didn’t slam the door. After all, there was control…
…for now…