The white purity
Of my poetical soul
Illuminatus

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

Inspire-O by Claire Buss

My heart started beating faster. I’d got one. It was there. Tip of my tongue. Like that first delicious sliver of ice cream slowly melting in your mouth. But I didn’t want to know just yet. I was savouring it. It might be my last.

Since the technology had been launched, there had been so much research into what ‘it’ actually was. That was how the early millionaires were made. They were the lucky ones now. They didn’t have to bang their heads in frustration trying to find the next one. And where did they come from anyway? No-one knew, no-one had any answers or if they did, they weren’t sharing and were making their own fortunes instead. You couldn’t blame them.

Imagine, people used to think it was like golden dust that fell upon us, landing on only one in a million. Thankfully that wasn’t the general rule but for the unlucky ones, it might as well be. It had been scientifically proven that some people were genetically predisposed to get more than others. And what about the poor schleps who never had one in their whole life?

Well, we all knew what they did now. They served. And if they refused they were… recycled. Their genetic material destroyed so as not to dilute the process in the future.

It might not be a perfect world order but it had certainly created order. Criminals were stopped before they even fully knew what they were going to do. War was a thing of myth. There was no need for armies or generals or even Presidents anymore. The true kings of the world were the idealists.

And all it had taken was a simple thought processing chip. The big giants like Google & Apple had missed the boat, they were dinosaurs now but at the time they’d scrambled for a piece of the pie. They were too late. The Inspir-O had been born and thanks to a forward thinker high-up in world governance, everyone had one. Whether they wanted one or not. Easier to distribute that sort of thing then you might think. Nanobots. Now that was one in a million.

Forget political connections, forget prestige, forget platinum blonde & fake tan celebrity-itis – what now defined the winners and losers was a single thought process. Often one you only ever had subconsciously. It made and broke entire families in the blink of an eye. They used to say you could never have a bad one but that was debunked early on.

People had tried lobotomies, mind wipes, telepathic shielding, isolated living – the whole nine yards. In the early days, those with the funds had even tried running into space. It hadn’t made a difference. The Inspir-O was a machine in more ways than one. It caught them all, the good, the bad and the ugly. It didn’t matter who you were. It just boiled down to whether the logarithm agreed or not.

My phone pinged. Game over. Inspire-O had picked it up. Now I would know. Was my idea worth.

Claire Buss

Read the story behind the story.

To enjoy more writing by Claire Buss check out The Gaia Effect and Tales from Suburbia

So we tracked down Claire Buss and set about perplexing her with some deviously difficult dilemmas!

Q1: Cake or scones?

Now you’re actually asking an English person to choose between cake & scones when it’s a well know fact that scones form part of afternoon tea or high tea if you’re super posh. Afternoon tea not only comes with ridiculously small and pointless sandwiches it also comes with delicious cakes of which scones are one option. Together with jam and cream. In fact, the definition of scone is as follows:

If you had asked me whether it was scone or scone, I might have been able to answer.

Q2: Which is your favourite British iconic symbol?

I love that we have a royal family. I can’t quite explain what it is about them that fills me with such national pride. It might have been that I was born within days of Charles & Diana’s wedding so maybe I absorbed all that patriotism whilst still in the womb. My own little boy was born within days of Prince George and together we have waved our nation’s flag and cheered loudly when the Queen came to visit our little borough.

Q3: Would you rather be a dragon or a unicorn?

Dragon because … look, I don’t want to go into it but everyone knows that unicorns can’t be trusted. It’s all those rainbows coming out of their ass. And who in their right mind would want a horn in the middle of their forehead? Dragons, now dragons get to horde gold and be bad tempered and eat anyone they don’t like. What’s not to love?

Dear Reader Who Writes,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV and you will, of course, be aware that I am the author of “Fatswhistle and Buchtooth” – a peregrination by two quintessential heroes through a fascinating multiplex universe of fantasy and science fiction worlds. This dazzling tour de force has been riding high on the Amazon Best Seller list at Number One (Million) for the last two years.

Perusing the wonders of the worldwide web I came upon this pathetic attempt at a blog and, seeing what a veritable dog’s petit dejeuner these two ladies are making of it, simple humanity demanded that I should shoulder them aside when my exacting schedule permits and offer you my golden nuggets of wisdom on the pitfalls of this literary milieu.

Thus, having presented you with my bona fides, and assured you of my good intentions, you will readily see that I offer the summum bonum of excellence in writing practice.

So I bid you pay heed, fair Reader Who Writes. Oh and to save my valuable time, I will reduce you to initials for the rest of this, RWW.

How to Start Writing a Book – Lesson 1. The Write Environment

Did you see what I did there, RWW? Now, the important thing, if you want to write a book, is to be properly prepared. You don’t just sit down and start writing, you need calming rituals, mood music and the perfect scene. More of those vital rituals in the future, today I want to look at how to establish a perfect writing environment.

It is all about location, location, location! Personally, one has one’s supremely masculine writing cave in a small undercroft that was historically used for storing coal. I will admit it was not my first choice – that was the sitting room with its pan-vistic views of my neighbour’s back garden and her laundry line, from which depend many interesting items with which a writer of erotica should be conversant. However, Mumsy wisely opined that the cosy confines of the combustibles storage facility would offer me much less distraction and more opportunity to focus on the call of Calliope.

Mumsy’s wisdom also means I can exert complete control over my writing environment, and that, dear RWW, is crucial to the success of your little writing project! Let just one little thing be out of place and your concentration will be distracted – and distraction is the bane of all writers and the cause of many an unwritten magnum opus.

So, choose your writing location with care, and the next time I drop by I will offer you my expert guidance on how to equip and decorate it to exacerbate the manifest prognostications of genius.

Until then, dear, dear RWW – bon ecrit!

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

From Hart of Mine by Annie Arcane

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She held up the crumpled document between us. My Last Will and Testament had been rolled into a fucking baton. “N-no.”
“No, you don’t understand? Or no…”
She reared back and smacked me with the damn thing before tossing it in my face. “I don’t want your money.”

Well, this was going splendidly. I smoothed the papers against my thigh with a steady palm. This was right. Admittedly, I did a ton of shit wrong but I knew this was right.

If I were to get hit by a car and die upon impact, she would have nothing to worry about. If I woke from a coma with no memory of who I was, she would always be taken care of. If I broke my goddamn neck and she couldn’t deal with the aftermath, our children would be set for life.

Fate could be a bastard and fuck with me all day long, but I would never be caught off-guard again. I would leave nothing to chance.
Liabilities were mine.
Assets were hers.
It was simple.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts.

“Doesn’t matter what you want, Mickey. It’s yours regardless.”
“Seriously?” She was staring at me as if I’d sprouted horns and was in desperate need of an exorcism. “Can you even hear yourself?”
I didn’t bother answering. Of course, I could hear myself. I was making perfect sense.
She gave a loud sigh, “I hate it when you act like this.”
“Like what?” The pussy-whipped husband who spoils his wife rotten? The pathetic fool who empties his bank account at her feet?
“Like this. Like a dumb idiot. Like a controlling jerk. Like…like…” Another sigh. Louder. Far more exasperated. “You. You’re acting like you.”

My fists clenched.
Great. Now I’m jealous of my hypothetical competition. Keeps on getting better and better.
“And who would you rather I act like?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she countered sweetly. “How about a reasonable human being?”

Oh, fuck, no.

“How the hell am I not reasonable? I do anything you ask me to. I do everything you ask me to. Even when it’s a blow to my ego, I swallow my damn pride and do whatever you want. For Christ’s sake, we just got married at a drive-thru because that’s what you wanted,” the reminder was bitter on my tongue. “You think that’s what I wanted? You think I spent months learning to stand on my own goddamn feet again because a fucking drive-thru wedding was my end goal?

“But you say jump, I say how high, right? So, by all means, let me know what else you need me to do, Mickey. Tell me how else to prove I trust you because I’ve literally given you every single thing in my possession and it still isn’t good enough. Because I’ve placed my entire life in your hands and…shit!”

It happened so fast.
The crazy girl tackled me.
I didn’t even see it coming. Which was fortunate since I probably would’ve broken something had I braced for impact. She tipped my chair over backward, knocking me right out of the damn seat. And landed hard on top of me, knocking the wind right out of my lungs.

As the room swirled, her panicked voice clawed through the fog, “Oh, my God, Cale. Are you okay?”
Crazy fucking girl.

I nodded, attempting to catch my breath while the fancy-ass ceiling tiles came into focus. Guess I must’ve cracked my skull on the floor too.
“I can’t believe that actually happened.”

A sixteen-pound titanium wheelchair with no brakes vs. a stunningly gorgeous human torpedo with no fear.
Physics 101.
What the fuck did she expect would happen?

“I was only trying to distract you.”

More like trying to kill me. Closing my arms around her, I managed a hoarse chuckle. It was more of a cough. I took a ragged breath and murmured, “You don’t have to try.”
She relaxed into my chest and whispered, “Sorry.”
“No harm done.” Minus the splitting headache.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yeah, except…”
Her head snapped up. “What?”

I curbed a smile, knowing full well this was going to cost me dearly. There was no doubt she’d make me pay for it later.
She scrambled to alleviate her weight, hovering inches above. “What?”
Worth any punishment, “I can’t feel my legs.”

God, that laugh.

Who cares about the consequences?

I’d sell my soul to hear that laugh.

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… who just may be one of the sexiest heroes you’ll ever meet

Question 1: How much has your life experience changed you? And has it made you a better or a worse person?

That really depends on how you look at things.

I can’t say running a company, getting injured, and going through a divorce has made me a worse person per se, but it’s definitely made me cautious, even cynical to an extent. On the other hand, I never would’ve met Mickey otherwise, so you’ll never hear me complain. I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. Not even regaining the use of my legs.

Plus, that crazy woman challenges me to be a better person. Whether or not I succeed? You’ll have to ask her.

Question 2: Name three things that people do or say that really annoy you.

1 When people try to push my chair, which happens more often than you’d think. There are no handles. No. Handles. So don’t try to f*cking handle it. Except for Mickey. She can do whatever the hell she wants whenever the hell she wants to.
2 Tardiness is my pet peeve and an absolute dealbreaker. Again, my wife is the only exception to this rule (and every other rule). If you work for me and you miss a deadline, you no longer work for me. End of discussion.
3 “You can’t.”

Question 3: Where would be your perfect holiday destination?

This sounds like a cop-out answer, but I don’t have an “ideal” destination. Anywhere you can think of, I’ve probably been for business, or pleasure, or both. For me, it’s all about the company.

That said, I much prefer snowy mountains over sunny beaches because wheels and sand are a match made in hell. Besides, cold weather equates to hot tubs and cuddling by the fire, which leads to other things if you catch my drift…

The Book Boyfriend

“He used books to spell out a proposal?!” Megan swooned. “That’s soooo romantic. Tell me you said yes!” Liberty rubbed her temples, in dismay. She knew telling Megan about it would be a mistake, they only sat together in English class twice a week. It wasn’t like they were friends, more like “friends” in the social media sense. Megan clearly hadn’t listened to a word she’d said. Liberty shook her head.

“I SAID he was a book boyfriend, you know, not real.” She waved a copy of “A Way with Words: Literary Lovers Part One” in front of Megan. She grabbed the book and raised an eyebrow at the cover, before mentioning that she “must get a copy for herself”. Liberty was about to offer hers when Megan’s phone buzzed, it gave her a moment to reconsider. Megan hadn’t even displayed the courtesy of listening to her, she sure as heck wasn’t going to let her get her grubby hands on her boyfriend. Book or otherwise. Liberty took advantage of the phone’s distraction to do a runner.

She didn’t have any classes this afternoon and the sun had made an appearance, for once. Liberty made for the nearest tree to sit under in a quiet spot. She opened the book at its final chapter and began to read.

Cam took her hands in his, as his eyes searched for an answer. He knew they were meant to be together, he’d known ever since he’d spotted her from across the courtyard. Something had drawn him to her, although he knew not what. But he had to see her, his heart spelled it out in quick, short beats. It seemed he was always waiting for an answer from her, from the moment he plucked up the courage to speak to her. Cam laughed at that first question, it had been so lame. A typical conversation starter to an avid reader, but it had worked. Hours later, and with the sun setting, they were walking arm in arm towards their first date. And now? Cam’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of one word. Yes.
The End

Liberty gave a sigh, and then nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the clock tower ringing 6 pm! Where had the time gone? She’d only read a paragraph. She looked at her feet and noticed leaves cluttering the grass around them, what were they doing there? The ground had been immaculate when she sat down to read, she hadn’t noticed any strong breeze coming through. And it was summer, anyway. None of it made sense… unless. Liberty opened the book, once more, flicking past the dedication and author’s notes.

Chapter One

It was a cool autumn afternoon, one that begged for Cinnamon Apple Tea and long sleeves for the shade. Under the Oak tree was just such a place, but the cold didn’t bother her as long as she had a good book. The afternoon had faded into early evening, somehow, and the spell this particular book had cast; left her out of space and time. As startling as the clock tower had been, a bigger surprise awaited her.

A movement in the corner of her eye made her almost afraid to look up, she clasped the book tighter. It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be. The tall, handsome stranger gave her a reassuring smile and her heart flipped over itself. It gave her the courage to look up-

“Hi, my name’s Cam. What are you reading?” He cringed at the terrible opening, then stared at his shoes. Liberty gave a rueful smile back and dropped the book to one side.

“I already know that”, she chuckled lightly. “Why don’t you join me, it’s a good one.” She tapped the ground lightly. “I think you’ll enjoy it”, she continued as she nodded towards the book.

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Question one:

A nice cup of tea or a cocktail? And why…
A cup of tea (Earl Grey, hot) for two reasons, 1 – Captain Picard and 2 – tea lasts longer because I went off it when I was pregnant and never got back the taste for it. I can make a cup of tea last a good hour, it doesn’t matter if it’s cold. Plus, the brand I can get over here (in Germany) is called Admiral Nelson and makes me chuckle when I buy it!

Question two:

When was the last time you did something naughty and what was it?
Eating chocolate in the kitchen whilst encouraging my daughter to eat a ‘healthy snack’. I totally understand why chocolate sells to adults because I scoff in in two seconds flat, for fear of getting caught.

Question three:

Who would be your ideal dinner party guests? (Can be real or fictional, alive or dead)
Benedict Cumberbatch, so I can squeeze his knee. Dame Helen Mirren for the stories she can tell. Shakespeare because I want to know if he wrote the work he’s attributed to, and to see how he’d react to the high-brow treatment of his bawdy work. The Brothers Grimm simply because I live in the Black Forest and you can’t find a wooded area without a Grimm Diorama in it 😁

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