‘Susan Shocks’ my new book for children. Get it now for £2.30 ($3)

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Seven brand new stories for children. Strange things are happening in the seaside town in which Susan lives. The seagulls have grown tired of begging for food from humans and have taken control of the promenade. Most of the grown-ups have run away screaming in terror. Eight-year-old Susan is not running away. She enlists the help of mysterious odd job man Mister Sixty in order to save the town from danger. The pair go on to face such weird threats as rebellious TV sets, out-of-control baths, and giant goldfish in order to defend the sleepy coastal town.. Finally, they must pit their wits against The Happysad in order to win the battle once and for all. The stories are exciting, funny and heart-warming and will captivate children from eight years old and upward.

Get it from (USA)

https://www.amazon.com/Susan-Shocks-Jon-Kenna-ebook/dp/B01II8D4TO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1468624011&sr=8-2&keywords=jon+kenna

Get it from (UK)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Susan-Shocks-Jon-Kenna-ebook/dp/B01II8D4TO/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1468626296&sr=1-4&keywords=jon+kenna

Will you let him in?

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“He comes to my room at night…”

In 2014 ‘Mr. Mad’ was published.

Imagine a box. Imagine putting all the darker aspects of yourself, all the things you would rather no-one knew about you, into that box and imagine closing the lid. Feel better?

Doctor Georgina Barnes is a respected psychiatric consultant on a busy hospital ward. She knows exactly how to convince people that she is confident, capable and in control. All of the darker aspects of herself are safely locked away in a box. No-one can threaten the façade. Not even Junior Doctor Billy Craig?

A year ago, Redman was a detective with the police. Now he’s an in-patient on a psychiatric ward. When a fellow patient falls to his death from the hospital roof, Redman’s cop instincts re-awaken. People say the old guy took his own life. Redman is not convinced. But if the man was pushed from that roof… who pushed him? And why are the hospital authorities so keen to avoid an investigation?

The doctors have suggested Redman imagine a box. They say he should imagine putting the symptoms of his illness; the voices, the hallucinations, the paranoia… into that box. Redman battles his symptoms in order to uncover the truth about the man who fell from the roof. Everyone on the ward is a suspect, even Redman himself. To solve the mystery, he must face his own demons. He must open the box

For a limited time you can download ‘Mr. Mad’ FREE. Click the link.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00THCJ11Q?keywords=mr.+mad&qid=1455055683&ref_=sr_1_2&sr=8-2

Stories or Chapters?

‘I initially wrote these as separate stories for children age 8-13 but found that, even though most of the stories can be read independently, there was a definite plot progression which meant that they were best read in a particular order. So it may be that the stories end up being called chapters or maybe I’ll just have a list of titles. Anyway, here’s the stories/chapters/titles in the correct order.’ JK

Contents

  1. Evil Seagulls
  2. Susan Shocks
  3. Bad Television
  4. Talk Talk
  5. Inside the Machine
  6. Ice Scream
  7. The Happysad

New look for jonkenna.com

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I have an official writer’s website which has just got a bit of a make-over. I’m going to try to use it a bit more than I have in the past so I’d love it if you’d take a look by going to

jonkenna.com

The first of the planned regular posts is a list of my top 5 books of fiction. How does it compare with yours? It would be great if you could become a subscriber at that site as well as this. If you do, I’ll come round to your house and bake you a cake.

Give your opinion on ‘Evil Seagulls’ story for children

No-one has seen this story until now. The title of the series of stories is Susan Shocks and the first story in the series is called Evil Seagulls (Parts 1 and 2). It’s the first time I’ve written anything for children, previously I’ve published two books for adults. I’m aiming at readers aged 7-10 and I’d really appreciate your feedback either as a comment here or to my email address. jonkenna69@gmail.com

SUSAN SHOCKS

Evil Seagulls

PART ONE

 

One morning, Susan noticed that the seagulls were bigger. She lived in a town by the seaside so she was used to seeing seagulls every day on her way to and from school. Until now, they had all seemed to be roughly the size of, say, a football or a family-size, frozen lasagna. Today, though, Susan pulled back her bedroom curtains to find something perched outside which was much bigger. She’d never seen such an enormous, feathery, beaky creature before, not counting Mrs. Blenckinsop her head teacher.

Craaaaaawwww,” it squawked, orange eyes glaring.

“Hello,” Susan gasped. “Were you that big yesterday?”

The seagull didn’t reply but just scowled. Seagulls are great at scowling.

As she finished her breakfast, Susan mentioned to Mum about the giant seagull.

“Really? That’s nice love,” Mum smiled. “Oh, by the way… have you remembered that it’s swimming club after school?”

Equipped with swimming costume, towel and goggles, Susan and Mum rushed out of the front door of the house, to join Dad in the car. Once they were all belted in, they reversed out of the driveway and hurtled up the street like a spaceship hitting hyperspace.

Susan’s school was surrounded by cars as all the parents tried to drop off their children at exactly the same time. It was a rumbling, chugging, choking, honking mess. Just like Dad.

Mum and Susan jumped out of the car and headed up towards the school. Just then, another massive seagull, similar to the one Susan had seen earlier, fluttered down and perched on top of a road sign. Fat and feathery, the thing swiveled its head to watch them pass by. It looked to be at least twice as big as a normal seagull, maybe even three times as big.

That was the day that Susan was chosen to be class prefect for the week. Being a prefect meant that she would be responsible for helping making sure children kept the classroom tidy and lined up quietly at lunch time, all of that sort of thing. She got to wear the special golden badge on which was stamped ‘CLASS PREFECT’. Her teacher, Miss Balfour, pinned it to Susan’s top and told her that she must take very good care of it and not lose it because it was very precious and important. Susan could see the badge glittering on her chest and she couldn’t stop beaming.

Forgetting about the monster seagulls, she felt like she was the boss of the class with her prefect badge on; as though everyone would do exactly as she said when she was wearing it. She tried it out on Martin Jarvis and Anita Harris. She told them to tidy up their pencil shavings and collect in the number books. They just ignored her though. It seemed like this prefect thing was going to be harder than she’d thought.

After school, Susan went to swimming club as planned. During the lesson, she easily did the breast stroke and the back stroke but when it came time to do the butterfly and the crawl she was slower than the other kids in the club. It was weird but she actually felt like crying. It wouldn’t have mattered of course because the tears would have mixed in with the water from the pool so no-one would have noticed. She didn’t risk it though.

Mum was waiting for her when it finished. Susan knew that she was very lucky to live at the seaside but walking home from swimming club was still a drag because she was always starving. When they reached the beach, Susan took off her shoes and socks and scuttled down the stone steps to the sand.

Suddenly, ahead of her, there appeared three birds. Each was enormous, more the size of an emu than a seagull. They stood there on the beach, staring at her. She was forced to stop walking as they barred her way.

“Hello!” she called to them.

Craaaaaawwww,” one of them called.

“I’m on my way home and I need to get by,” Susan went on, “Is that all right with you lot?”

Six orange eyes looked back at her, unblinkingly.

“If you don’t mind, could you make space for me to get past? The beach is for all of us, not just you.”

The seagulls didn’t move

“Okay,” Susan said, “well, I’m coming through then.”

She began to walk forward. At first the big gulls stayed where they were but finally, as Susan got close, they took flight. One of them launched itself into the air to the left; another swooped off towards the right. The middle seagull aimed straight at Susan. She held up her hands to protect her face. She felt the scary bird claw at her with its beak then shoot into the sky.

“They’re a flippin’ nuisance,” a voice said.

Susan was still shocked by the monster seagulls when she noticed that an odd-looking man had appeared next to her. He was wearing scruffy overalls and had a peaked cap on his head.

“They’ve been causing havoc all season! Bigger than usual, did you notice?” the man said. “I think you’re going to need my help, young Miss.”

“Help? Why?”

“To get your badge back,” he told her.

Susan glanced down at the place where her ‘CLASS PREFECT’ badge had been. There was no badge there, just an empty space. The seagull must have grabbed it in its beak as it had flown past her. If she lost that badge she’d be in big trouble at school tomorrow.

The man grinned. “Don’t worry. I can get it back.”

“Can you?”

“Of course. It’s my job! Chief Badge Finder.”

She frowned.

The man glanced around as if he was about to share a secret, then he pulled forward the collar of his jacket. Pinned there was a shiny, little badge of his own.

‘CHIEF RETRIEVER OF BADGES’

“Good eh? Nice bit of lettering. What’s it say on your badge?”

“‘CLASS PREFECT’”

“Mmm. That’s only two notches down from Prince Charles, isn’t it?”

Susan had a thought. “I’m not really allowed to speak to strangers,” she told him.

“Quite right. Don’t you say another word. Just leave it to me; I’ll get your badge back.”

“Thank you.”

The man winked.

Heading away, Susan looked up toward the promenade where she saw Mum standing talking to another mum.

“Don’t worry!” The man called to her. “I’ll get it back for you. First, though, I just need to find the door.”

“Door?! This is a beach. There’s no doors.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’ve walked along here hundreds of times and I’ve never once seen a door.”

“I don’t mean a normal sized door, no, no. I mean a small door; about this big.” With his hands he made an oblong about the size of a shoe box or a packet of supermarket boiled ham.

Susan frowned. “There are no doors on the beach, not even small ones.”

The man froze. He was staring down at the ground. There looked to be nothing else there, only sand.

“There it is!”

She stared where he was staring. “Is it invisible?”

His narrow eyes got narrower. “Doors are often invisible… until they’re opened. Pity I left my tools in the van.”

Susan was just about to head over to where Mum was when she heard him cry out.

“Yes! ”

She was amazed to see that he had managed to open what did indeed look like a small door in the sand. Inside there were switches and dials, buttons and levers. It was like some kind of weird machine.  The man threw himself onto the ground and lay flat on the sand with his right hand delving into the opened door.

“This controls everything,” he murmured. He flicked a couple of switches and twiddled a few dials.

“Everything?! Even seagulls?”

“Oh yes. I just need to type in the right code…”

Susan watched as he pressed some of the keys. Blue numbers appeared on a little display screen. Then she saw him twist a knob. As he did this, something incredible happened. Daylight faded.

What had been a bright, sunny day gradually got dimmer and dimmer until it became first a gloomy twilight then a dark, black night. The man seemed to have switched off the sun by turning a small knob. The two of them and every other person on the beach suddenly found themselves in the middle of the night when, five seconds earlier, they had been in broad daylight.

“Oops!” She heard the man say but she could not see his face in the dark. “Wrong dial. Blast! I left my torch in the van too.”

A second later, the daylight faded up again. He must have turned the dial back in the opposite direction. The other people on the beach looked a bit puzzled. They were trying to figure out how it had been day, then it had been night, and now it was day again all in the space of a few seconds. No-one panicked. You would think that people might panic if the daylight got turned down all of a sudden but they didn’t. Maybe they all thought that they had imagined it, maybe they all thought that they had each had a funny turn.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” the man said, “I’ll try again.”

Hands on the controls under the sand, he tapped in another number and pulled a lever. At first, Susan thought that nothing was going to happen but then she saw it. The clouds in the sky, those white, fluffy pieces of nothing, were changing colour. As he moved the lever the clouds changed from white to green, then to orange, then to pink!

“It’s playing up again,” he grumbled.

Susan felt her mouth drop open in amazement. “You can control the colour of the clouds?!!”

“Noooo….!” He shook his head. “Not just the colour. I can control the shape of clouds too. What shape of cloud would you like to see?”

“Errrm… I dunno… a unicorn?”

Twiddling about with the switches again, he stuck out his tongue in concentration.

Susan held her breath. Was she about to see a bright pink, unicorn-shaped cloud gallop across the sky? Apparently not. Nothing happened.

“Hang on a minute!” the man jumped onto his feet and looked all around. “This is the wrong door.”

Soon, he was feeling the empty air with the palms of his hands, holding them out straight as though he was touching the surface of a glass window. It took him a while to find what he was searching for. Another door flicked open. It was about the same size as the first one but this one seemed to hover in mid-air. He had opened a door in the middle of… nothing!

Inside the door was an array of buttons and dials similar to that behind the first door. He messed about with them, tongue sticking out again. And there it was; a giant, pink unicorn made out of a cloud, galloping across the sky.

“What do you think?!” the man seemed pleased with himself.

“Wonderful!” Susan was staring upward in astonishment.

“Now all we’ve got to do is get back your badge.”

“How come you can do stuff like this?” Susan was still stunned at the sight of the pink cloud unicorn. “How can you open a door in the beach; turn down the sun; change the colour of the clouds?”

He wibble-wobbled his head and laughed. “The sun, the sand, the clouds… It can all be changed, adjusted, shifted… if you know how. Twiddle a dial, flick a switch, type in a number… you can control all of it. And that’s what you want, isn’t it Susan? It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

Susan gave him another frown. “How do you know my name?”

He stared back at her. “I know everyone’s name. It’s my job.”

“What’s your name?”

My name?”

“Don’t you know your own name?”

“Of course I do. How could I not know my own name?”

“What is it then?”

The man laughed nervously; “well, it’s… it’s Mister… Sixty. Pleased to meet you.”

She thought to herself that Sixty was more of a number than a name. “Well, Mister Sixty,” she said, “what I want, what I really, really want is to get my badge back.”

He stood still for a long minute, smiling. “Right then,” he said finally. “Let’s get started.”

Evil Seagulls

PART TWO

 

Susan had told Mum that she’d lost her badge and that a nice man in overalls and a cap had promised to get it back for her. Mum had marched across the beach to the man and asked him about it.

“The gulls have been causing chaos all over the town,” he told her. “We’re used to seagulls being cheeky; pinching the odd chip maybe. But this is something different.”

“He can get my badge back,” Susan piped up.

“Yes, love, but how?” Mum said.

The man reached his hand into the door in the beach again and pressed a few buttons.

Mum was baffled. “What’s that you’re doing?”

A few seconds later something happened above them. From the sky dropped a series of what looked like climbing ropes. They were similar to the kind of ropes that you can climb up in playgrounds or school gyms.

Mister Sixty put his arms around the shoulders of Susan and her Mum, drawing them in so that no-one else could hear. “There’s a rock,” he whispered. “It sticks out of the sea about a quarter of a mile off the coast. The monster birds live on it. There’s nothing on that rock except giant squawking seagulls. We have to go there.”

Mum was horrified. “We’re not going anywhere with you! Have you been CRB checked? I don’t even know your name.”

“He’s the Chief Retriever of Badges; CRB,” Susan offered.

Mister Sixty pushed back his cap. “Sorry to say, this is the only transport I can arrange at short notice. It’s the cuts, you see. They’re charging for green bins as well. We have to swing over there on these.”

Gazing at the dangling ropes, Mum was horrified. “Where did they come from?! Are you completely bonkers?!”

You’re the one seeing gym ropes in the sky, love. Ha ha, bonkers, that’s a good one.” Mister Sixty handed a rope to her and another to Susan.

“There’s no way we’re swinging anywhere on these!” Mum was in no doubt. “There’s not even a safety harness!”

A moment later all three of them were swinging across the wild, seaside sky like three jungle monkeys.

Susan held onto her rope tightly as she went. It was quite a tricky move, actually; you had to concentrate on hanging onto one rope while, at the same time, watching out for the next rope as it got passed back and trying your hardest to grab it. Below them the sea crashed and surged like a big, grey beast.

“Not far now,” Mister Sixty called back as they swung across the water.

The three of them must have been swinging across the sea and sky for ten minutes or so, arms getting unbearably tired, before they saw the black outcrop of rock sticking out of the water. Even from this height they could see that it was peppered with giant seagulls.

Once they had found a place to land that was not in view of the birds, Mister Sixty signaled to Susan and Mum to let go of their ropes. Susan and Mum, miraculously and luckily, landed on their feet. Mister Sixty, who had brought them here, landed right next to them but upside down, his face in a rock pool.

“Everyone okay?” Mister Sixty asked Susan and Mum after spitting out a mouthful of salt water. He had some seaweed stuck on his face like a moustache which made Susan giggle.

“Okay?! Of course we’re not okay!” Mum was livid. “You almost got us all killed! Take us back this minute!”

“But Mum, I have to get my badge back,” Susan reminded her.

They crept across the craggy rock towards the crest of a hill. Peeping over the top they saw nestling hundreds of over-sized seagulls.

“How did they come to be so big?” Susan wondered.

Mister Sixty scratched under his cap. “Good question.”

“Maybe they’ve been twiddling with buttons and dials and switches… you know, like the ones you have.”

“No, no, they’d never be able to get into those control hatches. Only a qualified mechanical engineer and general certified genius like me can do that.”

In the centre of the flock there sat one especially large bird. Lying at its thick, yellow, rubbery feet was what looked like a small shiny object; Susan’s badge. But how could they reach it?

“There should be a control hatch just about here…” Mister Sixty in his overalls was scrabbling about in the gravel at their feet. Susan guessed he was searching for a door similar to those he had opened on the beach. Eventually he found one. As he eased it open, he exposed buttons, dials and levers.

Susan and Mum exchanged glances.

“Ah, here it is!” Mister Sixty stroked a small, round dial. “This has been switched right up to the max! The correct position is down at the minimum. All I need to do is turn it down and the seagulls will go back to normal size. Then we can just walk straight in there and grab the badge.”

But however hard he tried to twist the dial, it refused to budge. “I can’t understand it. It’s like it’s been jammed. Someone must have been tampering with it. No-one’s supposed to mess with these controls except me.”

It looked like the enormous seagulls were going to be staying enormous.

He thought that he might be able to shift the dial by thumping it with a rock. He said that even precision instruments occasionally needed a good whack. Grabbing a nearby stone, he whacked it against the controls a few times. Susan noticed that one or two of the monster seagulls looked round at the noise. Mister Sixty hit the controls with the rock a few more times and more seagulls turned their heads to look over in their direction. None of them got any smaller. They all remained gigantic. Susan tried to tell Mister Sixty to keep it quiet but he was too wrapped up in what he was doing. By this time, some of the birds had started squawking messages to their friends, perhaps telling them that they had heard intruders.

“I can’t understand what’s making this thing stick,” Mister Sixty was grumbling. He hadn’t noticed that the seagulls had heard him bashing the controls and were now starting to shuffle over to investigate.

Susan tugged hard at his sleeve but he ignored her and carried on trying to turn the dial. Mum was frozen to the spot in fear as she watched more and more enormous gulls moving towards them.

Finally, hundreds of the outsized birds were perched on the ridge looking down on the three people hiding amongst the rocks. One of those hundreds was the biggest seagull of all, the one who had been sitting at the centre of the flock. Its shining, orange eyes glared at them.

“It’s no good, I’ll have to reset it back to factory settings…” Mister Sixty grumbled.

By now, Susan was punching his arm to get his attention.

“Ow!” he yelped. “What was that for?”

She nodded towards the line of birds. “L,l,l,look!”

He looked. “Oh.”

And then something really unexpected happened. The biggest of the giant seagulls opened its massive beak and spoke.

Why have you come here?”

Mister Sixty’s mouth dropped open. “How can you possibly speak?!”

The king-size seagull didn’t blink. “We are bigger, stronger, better than before. We have been given powers. We won’t give them back”

“Who gave you these powers?” Mister Sixty asked.

“Mind your own beeswax.”

“You’re scaring people. You’re taking stuff that doesn’t belong to you. That makes it my beeswax.”

The biggest seagull moved towards them. “Bigger, stronger, better…”

    Mum was frozen to the spot, her eyes bulging in their sockets.

     “Never again shall we be hungry, never again forced to beg humans for food.”

“You might be bigger but you’ve also got bigger bellies. You’re going to be hungrier, did you think of that? You’re going to be no better off, mate.”

The gull snarled the best way he could with a beak.

“You can’t change things by shouting and screaming and pinching an old lady’s fish and chips,” Mister Sixty told the seagull. “Change takes centuries. It’s called evolution, big guy.”

As the man spoke, Susan scurried past the line of birds and headed over to where her badge had now been left unguarded. They were all busy glaring at Mister Sixty. None of them had noticed Susan snatch back her badge.

“I’m here to keep things in order,” Mister Sixty was telling the biggest seagull. “I’m the balancer, the fixer… And you’re about to get fixed.”

The seagull leader waved a wing and the rest of the flock began to respond. Launching themselves into the air they rose, soaring into the sky. Then, one by one, they turned back down. They were now heading towards the three humans.

Mister Sixty watched them all hurtling towards him and he couldn’t move. A flock of over a hundred monster seagulls was swooping down on top of him.

But in a second, everything changed.

Every one of the seagulls began to shrink. As they flew, they got smaller and smaller until they were the normal size of seagulls. But it didn’t stop there. They carried on shrinking until they were the size of budgies. Confused, the flock was forced to land harmlessly on the ground, leaving the humans unharmed.

Whirling round to check the control panel, Mister Sixty was astonished to see Susan crouching there. She had managed to turn the dial, the one which he had been struggling to shift; the dial which controlled the size of the seagulls. Twisting it, Susan had altered the size of the gulls from monstrous to minute.

“You did it!” Mister Sixty was beside himself with joy. Peering into the control panel, he saw how she had done it; she had taken the pin of her school badge and jammed it into the controls.

“Oh look at them now,” Susan urged, “they’re so cute.”

She, Mum and Mister Sixty watched as the tiny birds turned and waddled away like Easter chicks.

When they’d swung back to the beach on the gym ropes, Mum thanked Mister Sixty for his help. She seemed a bit droopy as though she was struggling to believe what she had just seen.

Mister Sixty nudged Susan. “Don’t worry, I’ll flick a few switches… she’ll think she dreamed the whole thing.”

Before she and Mum left for home, Susan whispered something to Mister Sixty. “Could you do me one other favour please? Twiddle your dials and flick your switches and make me a brilliant swimmer for swimming club next week. Could you?”

Mister Sixty shook his head. “I’d never do a thing like that, Susan. It wouldn’t be fair on all the other boys and girls in the club.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” She was disappointed.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter about beating everyone else. All that matters is that you do your best. That badge you got says PREFECT… Not PERFECT.”

“Yes,” she said. “Sorry.”

At swimming club the following week, Susan did great at breast stroke and crawl, as always. When it came time to do the butterfly stroke, she wished she had been able to persuade Mister Sixty to make her into an expert.

Then, to her surprise, she suddenly found that she could do the butterfly stroke easily. Her arms ploughed through the water perfectly and she shot forward like a torpedo; much faster than any of the other children in the group. The same happened when it came to the crawl. Her arms flew round and round like the sails on a windmill. The water was churned into white foam. Her arms were so strong that when she reached the end of the pool she carried on swimming! In fact she shot out of the water and into the air, still doing the crawl. All the staff at the swimming pool and all the parents, crowded round to watch their own children, took an enormous intake of breath at the sight of this little girl with super powers

“Is that Susan?!” they gasped. “Really?! Susan?! What a shock!!”

Writing for Children: How Hard Can It Be?

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Over the last few months I’ve been trying to write stories for kids. In the past I’ve written a couple of books for adults which were fun to write but also a hard slog at times. I was thinking that writing children’s stories would be an easier ride. Nope.

I decided to write stories rather than a novel. I wanted to do a series of stories about a number of regular characters. I thought it would be good if they fitted together in a similar way that episodes in a television series do; separate stories fitting together into an overall story arc. I remember reading Enid Blyton stories as a kid especially the Brer Rabbit and Amelia Jane stories. In these, there was a limited number of characters inhabiting a particular environment, e.g. animals in the countryside, toys in a nursery etc.

So far I’ve written five or six stories about a character called Susan who is a seven year old girl, and a more enigmatic character called Mr. Sixty. The regular characters are Susan’s mum and dad and various other people such as Susan’s school teachers and friends. The characters live in a small seaside town.

As I wrote each one I started off feeling really pleased but I then read them aloud to my seven year old daughter and, although she liked them from the start, I noticed several parts that didn’t work. The main problem with those sections was that they were either too rambly or too description-heavy. I realised that children’s stories need to be lean; there’s absolutely no room for flab. There must be not one word there which is not essential. If the writer rambles on about how pretty the sea looks then he or she has lost the reader. The only things you need are character and story. That’s it. All the rest of the stuff, the bits which show what a clever writer you are, go out of the window.

This is undoubtedly the hardest writing I have ever done. I still lack confidence when doing this kind of writing and so I wondered whether I dared to publish one of the stories here on my blog so that I could get the views of all those who read it. If I do, would you be prepared to give me your opinion, either as a comment here or as a message to my email address? I’d be really grateful. I may post the first story of the series here so you can read it and then give me feedback. What do you think? My email is jonkenna69@gmail.com

IMAGINE LOCKING ALL THE DARKER ASPECTS OF YOURSELF AWAY IN A BOX. FEEL BETTER ALREADY,DON’T YOU?

Imagine a box. Imagine putting all the darker aspects of yourself, all the things you would rather no-one knew about you, into that box and imagine closing the lid. Feel better already, don’t you?

That’s what my book Mr. Mad is all about. There are two main characters in the book. Doctor Georgina Barnes is a respected psychiatric consultant on a busy hospital ward. She knows exactly how to convince people that she is confident, capable and in control. All of the darker aspects of herself are safely locked away in a box. No-one can threaten the façade. Not even fiery young Doctor Billy Craig?

The other main character is Redman. A year ago, Redman was a detective with the police. Now he’s an in-patient on a psychiatric ward. When a fellow patient falls to his death from the hospital roof, Redman’s cop instincts re-awaken. People say the old guy took his own life. Redman is not convinced. But if the man was pushed from that roof… who pushed him? And why are the hospital authorities so keen to avoid an investigation?

The doctors have suggested Redman imagine a box. They say he should imagine putting the symptoms of his illness; the voices, the hallucinations, the paranoia… into that box. Redman battles his symptoms in order to uncover the truth about the man who fell from the roof. Everyone on the ward is a suspect, even Redman himself. To solve the mystery, he must face his own demons. He must open the box.

MR MAD BY JON KENNA AVAILABLE NOW ON KINDLE
IN THE USA  http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Mad-Jon-Kenna-ebook/dp/B00THCJ11Q/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1423732027&sr=1-1&keywords=jon+kenna

Routine Questions

daily-routine

How important is routine to you? I’ve got some time off work at the moment and I’m using it to think about maybe changing some routines that I’ve been following slavishly for years now. I saw a thing on TV about the Scottish Labour Leader Jim Murphy and he was saying that he goes running from 12 midnight till 2am every night! He said it was the only time he could fit it in and he found it theraputic, trundling along with Johnny Cash blaring through his earphones. Can you imagine the motivation it must take to get your tracksuit on at midnight?! I struggled to go running for half an hour at 8pm!! But maybe, once a routine is established it actually takes less motivation because you’re not viewing that action as a decision to be made but just accepting it as what inevitably happens.

That’s why I asked about the importance of routine at the start. Maybe establishing strong routines might be a way for me to sidestep my terrible lack of motivation to do… well anything really. With a routine, you don’t say to yourself ‘shall I go for a run?’; you just go for a run without debate.

I’m reading Daily Rituals by Mason Currey and I’ve learned that film maker David Lynch had a strict daily routine of eating at ‘Bob’s Big Boy’ (what?!!) I’ve got to go there!) at 2.30pm and drinking 7 cups of coffee before writing down ideas on napkins. In his thirties, author George Orwell would wake at 7am, open up the book shop in which he worked at 8.45am, write for four hours before returning to the shop and working there until 6.30pm. Artist Jackson Pollock would have breakfast at 1pm, then paint in his barn until 5pm when he would have a beer and walk to the beach with fellow painter Lee Krasner. It seems as though, regardless of what the routine consists of, creativity and productivity are boosted through the establishment of routine.

So routine is good. Great. I have a routine so I’m off the starting block. However, maybe there’s a down side to all this structure. Firstly, if your routine doesn’t leave time to do the things which are important to you then it’s probably going to work against, rather than for, you. I’m finding currently that I’m fulfilling work and family commitments but I’m not building in time to do writing. Also, I’m wasting valuable time watching bad TV or going on the net. I have to change this.

Secondly, if your routine is too rigid, too well-established, too old… then it may actually decrease creativity and productivity because it’s making you bored! Certain parts of my routine are well and truly fixed and can’t be changed such as time spent at my day job. Other parts I wouldn’t want to change such as time spent with my family. But the rest of it (and that’s a surprisingly large chunk) can be tinkered with.

Personally, I find this kind of stuff difficult. I find it very hard to change old routines and even harder to establish new ones. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve tried to establish a routine for my running. I did have a good routine for writing but even that has gone a bit haywire recently. Also, there’s lots of other things I want to do more of such as photography, blogging, videos, painting, drawing and others. I want to do healthy things too like get eight hours sleep a night instead of my typical five. During my time off I’ve got to make a big effort to get a new routine ready to start when I go back to work. Unfortunately, I do have a tendency to slide towards laziness, mindless TV watching, alcohol drinking and basic slobbing around. This can change. This will change. If Jim Murphy can go running at midnight every night then I can change a couple of little habits. Can’t I? Can I?

Why Money Doesn’t Matter. Much.

ghostMost of this post is a joke, remember. Most of it. This first bit is not a joke, though. For a limited time only my book Ghost Road is available to download on Kindle for £0.77 (or for absolutely nothing if you have Kindle Unlimited apparently. What is Kindle Unlimited anyway? Is it anything like The Milk Man Unlimited ? I subscribed to that and he now brings me Muller Fruit Corners any time of the day or night. Sorry but can’t figure out how to do those two little dots over the ‘u’ in ‘Muller’).

Even though this post is mostly a joke, the book isn’t. It’s more scary than funny (I hope so anyway!). Have a look at the description at Amazon.

 

Now, I must draw to your attention the blood, sweat and tears that were spilled in the creation of this masterpiece of fear (my book Ghost Road, I mean, not this post). Four hundred pages and God knows how many thousand words…  they don’t just write themselves, you know. All those days when you were out there running through fields of flowers, cavorting on sun-kissed beaches or laughing as you prance naked through a Cumbrian mountain stream with Lord Melvyn Bragg… all that time, I was crouched, unshaven and clad only in string underpants, punching words into a moist keyboard.

All that effort and the bloody thing ends up selling for 77 pence!! Even the Pound Shop specifies a minimum quid charge for the (auto) biographies of Robbie Williams and Joe Pasquale (sorry but can’t figure out how to do an accent over the ‘e’ of Pasquale)

This is pretty much all a joke, remember. Actually, if someone wants to pay 77 pence for anything that’s emerged from the fevered brain of yours truly, aka me, then I’m happy. To be honest I’m happy if anyone reads anything I’ve written even if they haven’t paid a penny. Maybe it’s better if people haven’t paid to read my stuff because that means they can give an honest opinion, untainted by the exchange of filthy, stinking cash which was probably obtained through drugs or blackmailing minor members of the Royal family.

So feel free to help yourself to an almost free copy of my book Ghost Road from Kindle any time you like and don’t worry a bit about the ridiculously low pricing. I needed to draw my horns in a little anyway; cut down on all that food for the kids, forget about repairing that hole in the roof of our meagre dwelling… And just so you can do that, here’s where you can get it;

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghost-Road-Jon-Kenna-ebook/dp/B00OL13GU0/ref=sr_1_1_twi_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1420241756&sr=1-1&keywords=jon+kenna

Of course the other alternative would be to pay a valiant £10.99 for a beautiful paper copy. It’s sold quite a few at that price so I really don’t mind about the 77 pence thing. No really. NO REALLY. You know this post was mostly a joke, don’t you? It really was JoKe.