Mark A. King

#FlashDogs in the wilds of London.

Ah, love this. 👏
Also Twickenham was just a short bus ride from my childhood home.
Hope London treated/is treating you well.

Massive relief to take 8,000 words of reflective writing process notes and turn them into something resembling structured academic writing. Not saying it's any good, but my brain sure feels a lot better.

Celebrating the agent query success of new friends is a lovely highlight of my day.

Hope to have a positive experience to report one day myself.

I do. Longer fiction seems so wasteful. It's weird having to control pacing. Not something you have to worry about so much with flash fic.

Writing is divided between the study work (creative stuff on pause while I prep for formal submissions of research stuff), and my novel I did for my MA - just finished a Path to Publication course, so agent submissions will be soon.
My poor brain.
How about you? Where is my Grind Spark sequel? 😀

YouTube video by Tull Stories GRAND THEFT HAMLET | UK theatrical trailer | IN CINEMAS FRIDAY 6TH DECEMBER from TULL STORIES

This is the mashup the world has been waiting for.

#GrandTheftHamlet

youtu.be/MLpGIHjwhNE?...

Thanks, Tam.
The optimist in me thought Musk would realise he was burning the place down and bring a hose. Instead, he threw more petrol.
Saw your blog post and realised you were right. So I fired up the dormant account here.
I'm good, thanks. Hope you are well, too.

Ah, thank you so much. Really appreciate it.

Ah, thank you so much, Jenn.
You have contributed so much creativity and talent to the community and beyond.
It's people like you that made writing on social media so special.

And you.

Rebuilding connections after such amazing times on Twitter feels hard, painful almost, but necessary.
Thanks for following or interacting, it's making it all so much easier.

A hare stood on its hind legs, ears erect, whiskers twitching. It watched the lone figure descend, until the night swallowed her. And then it vanished, too.

The Between is at a loose end in Episode 25, as we talk to the inspiring @makingfiction.com.

Visit writteninhope.ink/the-between

The Silent-scream Vending Machine will neither confirm nor deny that it was the hen and stag (from these previously unknown parties) that thought it was wise, in the moment, to do such things.

Who wants to hear about lurid moments of passion, inebriation, and foolishness anyway? Moments of unfastening, of being squashed against the wall, of two people in the moment, uncaring that CCTV might be only feet away?

A few nights back it was the merging of a hen and stag party.

The machine has stories to tell. But no means to tell them. It has a hidden camera. Always looking, always watching.

Sometimes in UHD, sometimes in the spectral night-vision glow of green-on-green. It never judges. But it’s done many a thing it’s not been programmed to do.

Like the machine is screaming into the abyss, across the black waters and towards Europe. This space, this land, this diamanté vision of Britannia, was once connected to the continent.
Any connection to Europe seems like a dream, as distant and alien as the surface of the moon.

The gangs, hard-as-(manicured) nails, can’t even tag the machine with spray-paint as the manufacture has thought of that too. The spray simply drips to the ground like droopy neon-hued gravy.

The machine’s mouth, its dispensing flap, sits slightly skewed in the winds.

The kids arrive in packs at night, fists slamming the glass, elbows smashing the metal, they push, rock and tilt the machine. But it’s been tested for worse. It’s constantly watching them without them even knowing.

It’s easy to pilfer from the unwary who watch this town rust itself into the North Sea.

Boys; skin-fades beneath baseball caps pulled low. Their baggy jeans sag, suspension ropes slung beneath dirty grey pound-store boxer-shorts.

~ The Silent-scream Vending Machine ~

The vending machine sits near the entrance to the dilapidated pier, some place on the East Coast, the arse of England.

It’s seen a thing or two.

It’s no stranger to teenagers on stolen scooters or bikes.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Poll on Twitter decided the first location and story should be: Seafront Vending Machine.

For more information on #vssphd see: https://t.co/uiNa00qkHw

(c) Mark A. King 2024. This is a work of fiction. All elements in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Once upon a time... this beautiful thing happened.
#FlashDogs
Wishing you a wonderful #WinterSolstice

Massive few weeks ahead.
Probably biggest night of career in the day job, tomorrow.
PhD formal proposal due by end of month.
And a trip to Killarney to celebrate by brother's 50th.
Brain is melting.

I actually texted my brothers before the game and said Romaro would be sent off. He was overdue a red. And Chelsea, like Liverpool, are a team we always struggle with. But, yeah, it was weird.

It's fair to say, Spurs were always going to be Spursy. And that was most likely to start once we played Chelsea. 😱

Thanks for the lovely welcome, Leslie. It already feels better.

Looking forward to reading more from folk I know. I've not checked much on Twitter - so I'll try to keep an eye out. Good luck.

Likewise, sir. You OK?