It's all about the extracts - 'The Watchmaker'

Sixteen eclectic short stories on Kindle for USD$2.99

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Today’s extract is from Joshua Holland’s The Watchmaker…

THE YEAR IS 1765 and I am making my first watch. My father is hovering over my shoulder, making sure I do not make a mistake. It takes me over three hours to craft and, while it is basic in design, I am fiercely proud. So is my father, who hoists me on his shoulders and parades me around the village and proclaims my achievement. They say blessings and give both him and I pats on the back for our fine work. Back at home, my father says I can keep the watch. I hold it tight and thank him. I place it in my keepsake box.

The year is 2072 and I have jumped again. I seem to be drawn to this period and its people. I have a girlfriend and many good friends. I am living two lives. I am at my girlfriend’s home. She looks at me and says she loves me and never wants to let me go. I smile at her and lie, telling her I will never leave her. I know I will jump again. She knows as well, but seems to enjoy hearing the lie. We make love.

The year is 1769 and my father is dead. Raiders attacked our village and burnt down our home. My father perished saving me. I stand at the edge of my home, watching the flames dance around the wreckage. The only thing I am able to save, apart from the clothes on my back, is my first watch. I cry as I remember my father and all he taught me. I hold my watch close to my chest. Many of the other villagers were attacked. Some come to console me and put out the fire. The village priest pulls me in against his cloak, hugging me and saying reassuring words about God. I continue to cry.

The year is 2075 and I am married. My new wife and I stumble over the threshold of our honeymoon suite and laugh. I pick her up and carry her to the bed. We look each other in the eye. I smile at her. She smiles at me. I never want this moment to end. We make love all night. In the morning I get up and go out to the balcony. My stomach churns as the familiar feeling washes over me. I am going to jump again. I call out to my wife, but it is too late.

About the Author

A random collection of cells, sinew, nerve endings and grey matter came together to form a consciousness of infinite possibility and wonder. It taught itself to read, write and speak in a beautifully lyrical cacophony of sound and meaning. Then it started drinking too much sugary drinks and playing too many video games. Its name is now Joshua Holland and it resides somewhere in the ichor of the internet.

READ the entire story in it’s all about the writing available on Kindle for USD$2.99 at www.amazon.com/dp/B00AVS9AR0/ref=cm_sw_su_dp.

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It's all about the extracts - 'Words on the Page'

Sixteen eclectic short stories on Kindle for US$2.99
www.amazon.com/dp/B00AVS9AR0/ref=cm_sw_su_dp.

And you don’t need a Kindle to read it. Simply download theKindle app for PC, MAC, tablets and smartphones.

Below you'll find a sample of my short story Words on a Page...

WHAT YOU ARE READING is about, well, nothing really. Rather than a traditional story, the following is an exercise in developing my writing style while attempting to keep you entertained. There’ll be no settings for you to imagine, no heroes for you to follow and no villain to make your blood freeze in your veins. Plot: nope. Theme: strike two. Dialogue? That’s right, no dialogue either. But you can hear me whispering in your ear, can’t you? No, not in your ear, in your mind. I may not be able to say your name or today’s date, but I am here with you, speaking to you. And you are replying, aren’t you?

Go ahead and laugh—I am.

Like a Tolkienesque wizard of wonderful words, I am in your mind pulling the strings connected directly to your emotions—the gateway to your soul. At first this may seem like an apt assumption, but I see myself more as a Jedi apprentice. I am in a Jedi writing mind-meld, my pen an azure blade of pure energy.

With little conscious thought, I arrange letters into words and those words into sentences of varying lengths to evoke pace and tension. My pen weaves intricate patterns on the page as if it were a natural extension of my body, each stroke so precise it appears as though the words are creating themselves and I am merely the vessel.

Do or do not: there is no try.

Notice how each paragraph contains a series of sentences that add meaning upon meaning in a logical progression of thought until the last, which ties the whole idea together and prepares you for the next; and how the words flow with contrasting sound and rhythm. Some statements grab your attention. Others remain as long-winded as ever, allowing you to dwell on what I’m saying. They are intentionally arranged this way to downplay their importance, distract you from the many subliminal messages and create, in you, a sense of unease and confusion.

Inflection, suggestive power, rhythm and cadence: these are the weapons at my disposal.

So far the mood has been quite casual—inviting—and not at all alarming. But now that I’ve brought this to your attention, you might expect things to change. Don’t worry, I’m not using mind tricks on you. This is foreshadowing at work.

About the Author

Editor and contributor Emanuel Cachia won the 2011 Melton Short Story Competition, was Highly Commended in the 2010 competition and the 2010 Henry Lawson Literary Awards and was on the short listing panel for the 2012 Ada Cambridge Prize for Biographical Prose. He is a freelance editor, book producer, workshop facilitator and, when time allows, an avid gamer. He has a Diploma of Professional Writing and Editing, is studying a Bachelor of Communications and dedicates his writing to his wife and two children, who mean worlds to him.

PURCHASE this story and fifteen others for US$2.99 www.amazon.com/dp/B00AVS9AR0/ref=cm_sw_su_dp. 

ORDER your hard copy for $15 including worldwide postage by emailing me – payable via PayPal, bank transfer, money order or bank cheque.