Back at the writing desk…

been a hectic last few weeks… now need to start focussing on getting into a routine, but have to wait until I get into my writing studio in August. It will be so disjointed between now and then, but need to keep the creativity and ideas flowing. But why, oh why do they always pop into my head at 03:00… I don’t always get out of bed to jot them down and and have to rack my brains later in the morning to recall what my muse/genius/daemon passed onto to me 🙂 … been giving thought as to how to feed my muse… Bradbury gave me some interesting thoughts on this in one of his books…

Moments in Time

reaching, grasping, clinging, holding
 touching, grabbing, loving, enfolding
 ensuring a moment in time
 remains entrenched in the mind

a moment grasped
 can become a moment to last
 enfolding and covering
 blanketing & surrounding

moments need to be lusted for

wherever they may appear
 before they pass one by
 otherwise live would be on the fly

a moment in time is when two worlds collide,
 or when two lovers unite.
 ensuring chaos and disorder,
 for when we gaze into this abyss
 we see life, love, lust and eternity


© 2013 Michael D Emmerich

a new novella

I purchased Scrivener to assist me in my writing, and it going well thus far. Started fleshing out an exciting concept for a novella (which might grow into a novel. Will then explore self publishing options via Kindle and Amazon… new ventures beginning.

short story extract: A Grooms Tale

Cassandra stood in front of the window with the curtains gently lapping her delicate ankles. The moonlight bathed her body in an eerie glow, Ramon could see her body outlined through the sheer cloth of her night dress, and it was obvious she was as naked as the day she was born underneath the chamois. He held her gently in his strong arms, his rough hands sliding over her smooth delicate pale skin. He slipped the thin spaghetti like strap of the satin night dress off her one shoulder; the moonlight fell on the gentle slope of her smooth breast. The gentle curve of the breast was exposed to the moonlight and cast a haunting shadow in the valley between her breasts.

Ramon gazed down into her pale green eyes, he noticed for the first time that there were small flecks of brown in them, almost as if he was gazing into a distant valley, he felt himself falling into the forest of her eyes. His rough workers hands gently slide down the slope of her shoulder to rest on the top her small delicate breast. A small sigh escaped from her dry lips, she gently snaked her tongue out to moisten them, and they glinted moist, damp and inviting in the pale full moon. She slide her hands inside his shirt which was already half undone. She ran her hands through his chest hair and was amazed to find that it was soft and silky, not rough or hard as she imagined, although she felt something else stirring and getting firm. Ramon pulled Cassie firmly against his chest, his fine chest hairs gently caressed her half exposed breast, she gasped as she felt his passion for her and it caused a strange feeling to grow in the pit of her stomach, something she had never felt before, but had heard the chambermaids talking about this, when they thought she was out of earshot. He nestled his mouth against her smooth skin of her exposed neck, with his tongue he gently probed and felt her life blood pumping through her delicate neck. He slid his tongue along the nape of her neck and proceeded to gently nibble on her ear, Cassie gasped in a mixture of passion, excitement and apprehension……..

the opening selected paragraphs of a story in development: Triage

Turning to the nurse, Mike waited to be told why he was being called to give urgent medical assistance to a patient who might already be dead.As Mike had just walked from the trauma unit, past these all to familiar surroundings; the cheap grey paint peeling of the walls with damp seeping through, the smell of blocked toilets and flooded urinals, blood lying congealing on the floor from the last few patients, the smell of vomit and urine soaked linen, the sounds of patients in pain and family members in tears. He entered the room where the patient lay, he heard before he saw, an elderly lady who he took to be the patient’s mother sobbing loudly.

Up until this point the evening had been uneventful. If you could call working in a regional hospital that serviced a population of around 200 000 people, where supplies where few and even basic essentials such as gloves and needles were in short supply, or on some evenings non existent. There had been just the usual walk in patients at both the medical and trauma units, the hospital still had not caught on with the rest of the medical world and merged these units into one rapid assessment and treatment centre, but this lack of planning was evident all around you.




Despite the victory I walked away depressed; notwithstanding the effuse thanks from her mother whilst her daughter was holding my hand, and the thanks from the nursing staff who said that I had saved her life; I felt I was just delaying the inevitable, and a question kept nagging at me: “Who decides who lives or dies?”