Stories 4 You: Rick Haynes

Showing posts with label Rick Haynes. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

A Lesson in Life by Rick Haynes

Displayed on the wall of my local pub

Rick Haynes

The following was sent from a mother-in-law to her new daughter. It’s a rough guide to the battle of the sexes, apparently, and is displayed on the wall of my local pub.

As she said, it’s not meant to be taken seriously.

If Julie, Della and Susie go to lunch, they call each other, Julie, Della and Susie. But if, Tommy, David and Mikey go to lunch, they call each other, Toss-Pot, Ginger Knob and Numb-Nuts.

When the ladies receive the bill, the calculators come out. But when the boys decide to pay, they each put in a £20 note as they have nothing smaller and they’d never admit they want any change.

A woman would pay £5 for something she doesn’t really need. Whereas, a man would pay £6 for a £5 item he needs.

A man has about six items in the bathroom cabinet. Toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, aftershave, razor and shaving foam. The average number of items in a ladies’ bathroom is usually over 100. A man would not be able to guess what most of them were.

A woman always has the final word in an argument. Anything a man says afterwards is the start of a new argument.

Women love cats. Men say they do to ensure another argument doesn’t start.

A woman always worries about her future. A man only worries about the future once he’s married.

A successful man is one earning more money than his wife can spend. A successful woman is one finding such a man.

A woman marries a man expecting him to change but he rarely does. Whereas a man marrying a woman expects she will not change, but she does.

A woman will always dress up to go shopping, take the kids to school and visit friends. Her man will dress up for weddings and funerals.

Men will wake up looking reasonable. Their other half takes an hour in the bathroom to look the same but usually better.

Ladies have an in depth knowledge of their children. What they like, what they hate, their friends and social activities, even their dreams. Their partner has some vague idea of small noisy people running around the house.

Written by K.

Thursday, August 15, 2019

Outcast by Rick Haynes

A fantasy tale of love, betrayal, and giants

The freedom of youth quickly disappears as a maelstrom of evil erupts. Torn between blind loyalty to his evil master and freedom, Sigbjorn chooses to escape from the clutches of Lord Uddi. With his two sword shields following, Sigbjorn leads them to Humli, a small peaceful town in the hills. Their hopes of finding a place to call home are soon dashed as a shadow grows in the east. With the vile Guths threatening to align themselves with the mysterious giants, only a tidal wave of hero’s blood can prevent the carnage. https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1093832541

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

Missing by Rick Haynes

Missing

https://www.rickhaynesauthor.com

My life was as empty as a cracked piss-pot. And with each day merging into the next I had no idea of time. With my best friend, Cissy, missing, my world had collapsed. The taste of any food was like chewing cardboard. It made me retch, but being so weak, I had to force myself to eat something. Eventually, I opened a can of baked beans; with hot sauce the taste was palatable. Starving to death was no longer an option but I still cried every day.

Why did she disappear? Is she still alive? How did I allow this to happen? No matter what I thought, the idea of me being responsible never left me. Trips to her favourite place, attaching posters to telegraph poles and placing pictures in shop windows, all failed to produce any results. Even the police showed little interest.

A week passed. The telephone rang. A man with a deep voice spoke in harsh tones. His English was poor and he frequently repeated himself. He demanded money. I was worried about how Cissy was coping without her medication and without thinking, I instantly agreed to his demands. He gave me specific directions about where and when we should meet and I was warned that Cissy would die if I didn’t comply. The bank asked questions about my withdrawal of £1000 in cash, but my insistence paid off.

The relief in knowing that Cissy lived was like a lottery win that didn’t exist. I was overjoyed she was safe, yet terrified I’d never see her again if I made a cock up. I imagined she was tied up, blindfolded, perhaps tortured. Nothing else mattered. My lass had disappeared and as long as I followed the instructions, all would be well.

Going over his directions one last time, I set out to be reunited with my beloved, Cissy.

The clouds had finally decided to play elsewhere. After my long climb through the forest, I could now see the top of the disused lighthouse. Inhaling deeply, I took in the clean air lightly scented with salt. Weathered steps of stone curled around the stone colossus but that wasn’t the route I was instructed to take. Looking to the right, I saw another track overgrown with thick bushes and low slung branches.

Once more my mind wandered. Would she be waiting? Would she be unharmed? It was time to make the last ascent. Slowly, like an old man in fear of falling, I placed one foot in front of the other and followed the track towards my destiny.

A shaft of light arrowed through the greenery before instantly disappearing. Would it be my star of hope? Without thinking, I quickened my pace. Calling her name made me want to believe she would greet me at the summit. Faster, I told myself as I ploughed on. The treeline ended and all trace of the shadows vanished as a sunray illuminated the small clearing in front of me.

And there she was, securely tied to an old tree. I looked around, saw the empty bag, placed the cash inside, untied Cissy, picked her up in my arms, kissed her and quickly retraced my steps. Little did the kidnapper know I had left a tracer inside the bag and spread a little poison over the notes.

Rot in hell, I mumbled as I walked back down the slope.

No one steals my dog, my best friend, Cissy, and gets away with the crime.

rickhaynesauthor.com

Monday, May 6, 2019

Why did I write – My Little Runaway?

Little Runaway

By Rick Haynes

Some years ago, I was asked by a lovely, caring lady author in London to contribute to a scheme highlighting the plight of neglected and abused children in the USA.

With my weapon of choice being the mighty pen, I decided to write a Drabble come poem. With only 100 words to play with I knew that it had to be punchy, yet thought provoking, and with an important message in the last line.

Luckily, the title - My Little Runaway - immediately jumped into my head. And the messages of what to write flowed like a never ending tap, only abating when I had finished. But with only 100 words to play with, excluding the title, I had to pare back anything superfluous to the tale. I must confess, finding the last few words for the ending did take many hours to appear in my grey matter. Eventually, though, a smile passed over me. All the hours of thought had been worthwhile and I was satisfied with the final line.

Life can be so hard for some children, whilst others are blessed with all the home comforts. As the law of nature rules, no child picks their parents. Yet, we are all the same, or as my son says – ‘Same, same, but different, Dad.’

As a man, I deplore man’s inhumanity to man. As a father and grandfather, I loathe any cruelty to children no matter who they are or where they live.

My Little Runaway was dedicated to all those alone in the dark.

And finally, I’ll leave you with this thought.

Grown-ups may rule the world we live in but only our children have the power to change it.

As my Drabble has been previously published, there is no place for it here. However, if you would like to read it, I’d be pleased to send you a copy.

http://www.rickhaynesauthor.com

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Monologue or Soliloquy by Rick Haynes

Monologue or Soliloquy

By Rick Haynes

I always get these mixed up so looked at the definition of both.

Monologue
Delivered by one character to other characters, or at least overheard by other characters if delivered to an audience.
It should serve a clear purpose and reveal something about the speaker and/or the situation that cannot be revealed by dialogue or character interaction.

Soliloquy
Delivered alone by one character without any other characters overhearing.
I’ll concentrate on the former.

A monologue will have a clear beginning, middle and end. Like a mini story within the bigger one, the speaker has a realisation or revelation at the end. As in any story a monologue should grab the reader’s attention immediately – the hook if you like. A strong voice will enhance the tale giving the reader a sense of character. Past or present, the character should use memory in bringing forward past events.

A clear ending is important as it brings the tale to a conclusion.
Think of William Shakespeare and his monologue in Henry V, the speech before the battle at Agincourt. Here is the main part

.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

All good so far, I thought, but then I realised I needed to write one. As I love medieval fantasy, perhaps I could think of a rousing speech before a battle? That was easier said than done but eventually, I succeeded. With sincere apologies to the great bard, here is my humble offering.

“You men, my comrades. Strong of arm and fearless in battle, now is the day to show your worth.

The enemy is near, their banners bright and their spears sharp. Yet most are mercenaries who will run at the sight of a true warrior. Listen to them, they’re screaming like a gaggle of washerwomen. And who among you has ever been afraid of foul words from a gathering of she-cats?”

“I share in your laughter yet would urge you to look again at their front ranks. They may strut like peacocks but see the terror in their eyes.”

“You have earned the right to stand tall and now it is time to send these upstarts to hell. I am proud to stand before my men, my sword shields, my friends in battle, for today we fight together as one clan.”

“Are you with me?”

“Advance!”

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Saturday, February 9, 2019

A Story Retold with Old English

A story retold with Old English

By Rick Haynes

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rick-Haynes/e/B00CK8IXFO/

I wanted to write something a bit different by using some Old English words.

Thus, I've written two parts to the tale.

The first is written in English.

Once you have finished reading, you will see parts of the story retold in Old English.

Attack - written in modern English
Moving slowly through the bracken, the warrior constantly looked around, searching for any sign of the enemy. His helm was dull and covered in dirt, his tunic and trews faded with age. Pitted after so many battles, even his sword lacked lustre. Only his dark brown eyes set in an old face shone in the fading light.
The sound of bold voices carried on the gentle breeze and instantly, the man lowered himself below the foliage. Like a wraith in the night, he made no sound, his breathing slowed and he concentrated on what lay ahead.
He heard a noise behind him and relaxed. The loyal face of his sword shield, Athelstan, drew level with his own. Grinning like the village idiot in their home at Winchester, Athelstan pointed.
Patton followed his line of sight. The fools were speaking like a gaggle of washerwomen. Suppressing a laugh was difficult but Patton doubted whether the fighters would hear them as clearly they were all drunk.
“Are you ready for the slaughter, Patton?”
Patton wet his lips rubbed both hands on his soiled trews and grinned.
“Time to be brave, Athelstan.”
They took one last look at each other and nodded.
“To victory,” Athelstan whispered.
“Kill!” They screamed together as they emerged from cover.

Attack - written in Old English
Moving slowly through the bracken, beorn constantly looked around, searching for any sign of the andsaca. His helm was dull and covered in dirt, his tunic and trews faded with age. Pitted after so many battles, even his sweord lacked lustre. Only his dark brown eyes set in an old andwlita shone in the fading light. The sound of arod voices carried on the gentle breeze and instantly, the man lowered himself below the foliage. Like a wraith in the night he made no sound, his breathing slowed, and he concentrated on what lay ahead. The treow face of his sword shield, Æthelstan, drew level with his own. Grinning like the village idiot in their home at Wintanceaster, Æthelstan pointed. beorn followed his line of sight. The fools were speaking like a gaggle of washer women. Suppressing a laugh was difficult but beorn doubted whether the fighters would hear them as clearly they were drunk.
“Are you ready for the wael, beorn? beorn wet his lips rubbed both hands on his soiled trews and grinned. “tid to be modig, Æthelstan”
They took one last look at each other and nodded. “to sige, Æthelstan whispered.
“cwellan!” They screamed as they emerged from cover.

Let us know how much you understood when reading the Old English story without referring to the modern English version.

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Thursday, January 10, 2019

The Number 19 and Me #OurAuthorGang

From The Artful Scribbler,

Rick Haynes

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rick-Haynes/e/B00CK8IXFO/

The number 19 and me.

I was born in the late 1940’s.

My address was 19 Hoyle Road somewhere in darkest London. Well, just after the war and food rationing still in force, none of my family had enough to eat, let alone pay the electricity bills.

My first sexual encounter arrived at the age of, you guessed it, 19. Talk about a leap, or was it a grope in the dark? Without such a willing and very sexy blonde partner, I guess my virgin years would have continued. Thank goodness they didn’t for the joy of sex was strong in this fumbler with the lights out.

I was brought up to be polite so always said thank you before we redressed.

Not long after, I found myself surprisingly engaged to the blonde haired bombshell. I was still only 19 years old. Don’t ask me how or why, but the young lady in question was definitely not up the duff. In new English speak that means she was not pregnant, with child, or in any other way you wish to call it.

I hadn’t reached my 20th birthday when we split up. Alas, she had found another mug; I mean a nice man with lots of money who treated her to all the things she yearned for. Surprisingly, she returned my engagement ring. Unsurprisingly, I bought a very nice red and white motor car with the money from the sale of the ring.

I worked in an office in the City of London with the address 19-21 Moorgate. They were happy days but the traveling - a two-hour journey into London from my home on the south coast of England, then from the midlands - wore me down. It took me 19 years to break the long distance travelling habit.

Writing my first short story in 2014 should have been fun but I ceased at 19 words because it was complete rubbish. My writing group were far to kind to say so, but their faces told me all I wanted to know. It was back to school, big time.

My mottos are,

Laughter - the best medicine in the world.

Reading and writing- the best pastime.

Laugh Loud – Love Always – Live Long

Yep, you guessed correctly, they total 19 words. Another relationship to my legendary number then.

If that isn’t a coincidence, what is?

Tenuous Links.

In Tarot, the number 19 is associated with the sun. I love the warmth of the sunshine and am really active in the summer months. If I could hibernate in winter, I would, as I absolutely loathe the cold.

The number 19 is masculine and that is definitely me.

November 19th is International Men’s day and without any doubt, I am a man. If asked, I would like to think my lovely wife would confirm that very fact.

Rutherford Birchard Hayes (1877-1881) was the 19th president of the United States. With only the -n- missing in his surname, I’m sure we are related as I looked up the ancestry of the old English name of Haynes. Hayes was clearly a derivative of Haynes. And if you replace the letters Bir with Ri, you have Richard. No doubts now are there? Maybe I should run for president?

The average age of the combat soldiers in Vietnam was just 19. The war started on November 1st 1955 and ended on April 30th 1975. It thus lasted for 19 years; we’ll forget the extra six months. Don’t you see what this means? If I had been born in America, I would have been drafted in 1967 at the age of 19.

Nearly the end.

19 backwards is 91. I hope to live that long as I have so many novels to write and publish. And that’s ignoring all the ideas floating around in my overworked brain.

Rick Haynes

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Rick-Haynes/e/B00CK8IXFO/

I was called many names as a kid but luckily my original moniker has stuck with me over the years. I can imagine the confusion if I was still called Doughnut or Onze instead of Rick.

My passion is fantasy and my two novels, Evil Never Dies and Heroes Never Fade, have received excellent reviews. The third in the Maxilla series, Magic Never Ends, should be available later this year once my new novel, Outcast has been published.

As one reviewer posted about Heroes Never Fade – ‘Fans of Games of Thrones must read this book!’

From the time that my dad told me tales when I was young, I have always loved short stories, and with his inspiration, I have written several collections, as well as being invited to submit tales for other anthologies.

I do like a little bit of fun and Chocolate Chunks From Crazy Crete - a collection of tales from that magical isle - is as zany as the people. With the locals asking me to listen to their stories, how could I refuse their plea to put them all in a paperback? You’d never believe what they told me so you must read my book.

The first reviewer posted, ‘It landed on my Kindle this morning and I haven’t stopped laughing.’

With humour running through my veins and my eyes sparkling with the thought of another funny story bubbling away inside my head may I warmly welcome you to the world of my vivid imagination.

Love and Laughter.

Rick

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