LJH

Hope you enjoy your stay here ...write on...

Michael collected the post at the Johannesburg Post Office every day but there was no reply forwarded by "Father". There was a time when he wanted to tell Danie that he was a British spy, but he could not bring himself to do it. And in a way he was relieved that Peter was dead, for it seemed he had died with the knowledge intact, even though he had come so close to revealing all. The only other person who might know would be the killer. But he had no idea of knowing the real truth. It had

Lord Granville, in the comfort of his office overlooking St. James' Park, finished reading Michael's letter. The news was distressing; if, what he had read was true, Sir Robert was in grave danger. But it was of such a nature that he did not quite know what to do or say to Sir Robert. He was not a well man, and such news about his wife may or may not kill him. However, it was a risk he had to take. He noticed the gardens of Laburnum needed maintenance; the courtyard was quiet with a fe

It was this faceless man looming in the background that pervaded Michael's thoughts, morning, noon and night. He delved deep into his mind to find new images that might present a clearer picture. But the more he delved, the less he succeeded. He could not wait for a reply from Cecelia or "Father"; he had to act quickly. So he did the next logical thing and wrote "Father" directly. In a letter similar to Cecelia's letter. * Gordon's intention was to offer comfort to Michael and

My dearest Cecelia, This letter is written to you for there is no one else to whom I would entrust this task. Charlie is dead, at the hands of a highwayman. Several other people whom I have befriended are also dead for various reasons. Before he died, Charlie wrote a note saying Madelyn had asked him to follow me to Africa and see to it that I do not return to England. I believe she has hired a killer who followed me to the Republic of the Transvaal. I must digress and say that I fear for

Christmas on the highveld was a warm show of evergreen goodwill. The men, cheerful and drunk, boisterous, and filled with life, sang carols about their fires. Some enjoyed duck, gammon and turkey, salads, pap and boerewors cooked over a slow brick fire. Michael watched Danie chew his food delicately with a closed mouth. He watched him walk, bandy-legged with a swagger, to collect more. His speech was quick and sensible. His heart said Danie would make a perfect companion. Companion or

Several policemen accompanied Peter to the stand. He hobbled up to the chair before the Magistrate and seated himself so that he could face him. He had spent the night thinking and remarkably, was not tired. To him this trial was about proving his innocence. He could tell the magistrate that Michael was attracted to his own sex, but that would mean incriminating himself. On the other hand he could hang for crimes he did not commit, and they would bury him in an unmarked grave and forget about

Michael arrived at Tweelingsrus after a long journey without saying a word. He closed the door to his room and lit a candle, then lay on the bed with his eyes closed. A knock Daniel entered, closing the door gently behind him. "I am worried about you." He said, softly, approaching the bed. Michael sniggered, he was worried about himself, he said, swinging his feet over the bed. Danie continued in a voice that was slightly unsure of itself. "I have much to thank you for. And I

thanx john. Sorry, I have been away from GA for a couple of weeks. Glad you enjoying it, i know I have to post more and I will, immediately after church today...expect the worst and hope for the best in this story. I write so that everything seems to be all mixed up but comes together as the story unwinds...that's just how I do it. I know it drives readers crazy, but it's a habit I picked up early on in my writing attempts...have a bliss day and write on friend...

So beautiful, so wonderful. Sometimes the genius of writing comes up with something quite profound...thank you.

As aleays, thankyou. Your my ace reader...lol. Don't hang all your hopes of seeing more of Charlie, though. I know he is a cute character and I'm deliberately not giving him more colour. You'll see why. Am I writing now. Editing, yes. Lots of work to be done on Dun and Evenb Stars Die. Thanks for the read and alles...(everything).

He wore only black clothes and promised to remove them when Peter Sheffield was found guilty of all charges. So he was relieved when Pretoria informed him by means of a subpoena, that the trial would take place on December 14th. Even as a witness he counted down the days to the trial, consumed by an intense feeling of fear. If this had happened instead of that perhaps things would have turned out different. Yes, he needed laughter. And Gordon succeeded very well in supplying it. Afte

The stubborn old Boer with the tall black hat and round, white beard sat on the front stoep of his house in Church Street. The wise old man, a national hero who had killed a lion in his childhood and taken down the British at Majuba. Here was the man that forced the great British colonial power to recognise the independence of the Transvaal and he would make sure it stayed that way. Here was the man whom Peter had come to see. Two guards stood at the lions One of them accompanied hi

Michael was dumbfounded when the Colonel gently placed Charlie’s body onto the red sand. He approached slowly, dropped to his knees beside the body, and cradled it in his arms. The Colonel turned away. He rocked Charlie gently, then turned to the Colonel and asked, “Who did this?” He did not know. Michael laid Charlie’s head on the ground, “Could it have been Peter Sheffield?” "The man called Charlie by name, twice. This was a planned murderous act, and the man who did

The coaches were well equipped with blankets and mackintosh sheets, a cooker, drinking and eating utensils, coffee and bread. There was space inside to carry twelve passengers, and this morning there were a lot more passengers than usual. Another six passengers rode on top of the carriage. The driver checked his ammunition box and bugle that he carried for night driving, then wiped his shiny black rifle free of dust. After checking each of the fourteen horses for injuries, the journey began

Well written for flash fiction. I like the fact that you took two snapshots and developed a storyline around those two frames and then you leave it up to the reader to assume that Alex will accept. I could see this happening. In my home I have a large original oil painting by a south african artist who captured two guys on a remote beach, removing their clothes for a dip in the ocean. I read your story and added it to the ambience of that painting I have and .... hey presto, suddenly the painting came to life. Not real life...you know what I mean.Nice one

After breakfast, Michael showed them the diggings. Trenches had been built marking the claim, sand had piled up high and rocks and pebbles were placed on one side for sifting. The site looked more like archeological diggings than a gold mine. Danie stepped forward and smiled confidently when he spoke. “We need a dolly and a battery to crush the ore. The gold is deeper. Inside the rock.” “Perceptive.” Michael remarked, vividly impressed, then said, “And the reef lies at an angle, so

Many of the diggers did not have the equipment to continue working beyond ten feet. It became clear to Michael that he would have to purchase land and take the chance of finding gold and reap its huge financial favour, or not find gold and return to England poorer than when he started out. The buyers knew that in order for gold to be profitable, they would have to own as much of the land as possible, purchase expensive machinery, and dig, dig, dig. In the mean time Michael and Charlie s

Reviews, crits, and feedback. So important for the aspiring and published writer. I've been on several creative writing courses and in every one of them it's taboo to leave a review like: "This is good." Period. Writers don't describe things like this. 'He was a good boy...' or "the scenery was good to look at.' but the writer goes flat out to describe the "goodness". So, yup, I have a problem with reviewers who describe a story as "good" and leave it at that. Please tell me where the goodness is. Tell me where the badness is. Describe your feelings to me. You see, there is no such thing to me as a good or bad story, for each story has something, whther it be good or bad. And there are so many categories one can hone in on for a review: the mechanics, the hook, the viewpoint, characters, pacing, resolution, middle, use of the language...so many categories, so leaving a review like "this is good" does nothing for me. So the story left you grieving, or emotional. Tell me that and maybe go a step futher and tell me the reason. Most of my reviews follow a set formula. If I am overwhelmed by your work I will probably send you a one opage review, or at any rate, a review you will be proud of. UIt seems to me, that people who leave one wrod reviews, like good, perfect, excellent etc, simply read to gain your review on their work. The question is, did they really read it? spoke in the wheel lol LJ

So the boys live on to see another day. Swift, clear writing. Strong characters, an equally strong plot and you have the perfect recipe for a darn good yarn. The epilogue has done its job, seeing them go from teenagers to young adults in an imperfect world. A dog eat dog world. A world where the strongest survive and both of your characters have that will. I loved this story.Thanks for the journey....

I could not, in all honesty, not include a young black guide. This story is really character driven, so I need to make the characters as colourful as possible...excuse the pun

Peter's a nasty piece of work...and more are going to die before the culprit is revealed and why...a shocker awaits you...lol

yup, I'd like to know who this guy is too. Coming soon I guess...

o hell, i hopwe they don't get shorter than a sentence. I've seen that. Quite strange and perplexing but true...hahaha

hehehe. no problem...lol