Just a Little Something I Knocked Up Today for the New Book

Here's just a little something I knocked up today for the new Book. The scene is in an attic room converted into a 'schoolroom' in a country house in the south of England. It's more a scene-setting thing than anything else but give it a try anyway. The pictures are just a couple of things I've found and nothing really to do with the story as such. Oh! And it may well be full of typos, for which my apologies in advance - it is at that kind of stage; please let me know.

The Importance of Keeping Count

She stood resting against the wall at the back of the room. Here she could observe the scene without the girls being certain they were being watched. It was that element of uncertainty that was so important in fostering the sense of being under control she wished to reinforce in her charges; it kept them off balance. Levering herself upright she wandered between the school desks, casually observing the girls’ work as she moved toward the front of the classroom, their twin beribboned heads bent dutifully to their studies in the unnerving silence.

Today she had dressed in her white blouse, the crisp white shirt-collared one that she knew exaggerated her tendency to appear domineering; but that was something of an advantage here. Trim waisted and tailored where it mattered, it emphasised the aggressive thrust her long-line corselet gave to her bust. Finished off with a dark grey tie that tucked in to the waistband of her skirt, it also provided just a hint of intimidating masculinity. This she had teamed with a dark grey worsted pencil skirt having a hemline coming to within a couple of inches of her knees. Her athletically trim legs were encased in perfect dark-tan stockings of the old-style fully-fashioned variety she favoured and showed off calves stretched to their most adventurously shapely extreme by a pair of black stilettos.

Her coloured auburn hair – she’d had it dyed especially for the impact she wished to achieve - she had swept up, pining it behind a half-moon tortoise comb and forming an austerely tight bun. The latter’s rich hue, she knew, threatened to clash with her thin lips and nails - both attributes painted a glaring matching post-box red - but she knew it was a look she could carry off. Even if, against her naturally pale, almost alabaster, complexion, the effect was a little stark, she knew that element of starkness was something she could use to her psychological advantage.

Having reached the front of the classroom she stepped up on the dais, turning on her heel and stepping smartly in front of her desk, her heels clicking noisily on the hollow platform as she did so. Leaning back lightly against the desktop, supporting her weight with her left hand while simultaneously rattling the school cane against one of its legs with her right, she feigned a cough.

“Sit up straight! Now, girls, pick up your pencils – you are going to be taking notes; we’re going to be discussing your futures, your prospects if you will.” The imperious hazel-eyed school mistress surveyed the scene with what she fondly imagined to be a friendly, almost affable smile on her expertly made-up face. Discipline bolstered by punishment, yet tempered with love, even if affected; that was the way to mould the minds of impressionable young women like these two. By the time she was finished with them the two of them wouldn’t know if they were coming or going – but they would know how to obey her, they would want to obey her. In fact they would seek to earn her approval at every turn.

"Tell me, what do you see as the purpose of education?” It was a rhetorical question, as so many were that she posed; smiling, she went on without pausing for an answer. “Well, I’ll tell you – very little in terms of academic subjects as far as girls of your very limited levels of accomplishment are concerned. To be honest, there are very few jobs out there these days suitable for girls, such as your selves, that are… how should I put this? ...somewhat intellectually challenged, as far as I have been able to determine. Those paths that are available are unlikely to be particularly academically challenging.” She smiled condescendingly at the timid pair of young girls seated trembling before her as she spoke, her gaze shifting from one to the other in turn, continuingly gauging the effect her words were having on further quashing their spirits. She went on, leaving a pause for effect.

“…Domestic service, perhaps waitressing? …Shop girl?” She pressed a finger to her lips pensively, as if genuinely actually pondering. “…No, no, not shop girls – too much initiative required. And you, Alice, with your agoraphobia, your fear of the outdoors… Well, I guess waitressing would be out of the question…”

The sour faced school mistress softly laughed at that observation, her hands now in the attitude of prayer, her index fingers tapping together in an expertly affected show of faux consideration. Absentmindedly flicking an errant strand of hair that had somehow had the temerity to have escaped the austere grip of her tightly wound bun, she went on.

“…It would have to be something ‘live-in’ I think… Not children’s nanny - I don’t think you could be considered a responsible enough adult to be trusted with children; not with your history of drug problems. And besides; you’re ‘known’ to the police – that alone should be enough to put most people off!” She gave a knowing little laugh as the target of her belittling reddened prettily, the teenager’s glowing cheeks set off by the diagonal red stripe incorporated into her school tie and hair ribbons. “…No, for you, young Alice Marchment, it would have to be something ‘domestic’, something ‘in service’ as they would have said in the old days, but nothing too intellectually challenging; it would have to be a pretty menial position, I’m afraid, something right down at the bottom of the pile.”

Alice bristled inside, yet rather than the steaming anger that might once have soared up within her there was instead a sort of grumpy ‘acceptance under protest’. It was so unfair, all this constant questioning of her intelligence. She had been doing quite well at school… She had – hadn’t she? But that school report she had been handed… and now that letter, recently arrived, cancelling the university place that had been offered ‘on advice’… What did all that mean? She had become such a ‘muddle-head’ of late, perhaps… No, she was clever than that, she knew she was… If only she didn’t feel so ‘sheepish’, if only she had more self confidence! But she looked like a child, she felt like a child… No…they’d made her look like a child… they’d made her feel like a child.

Whatever the truth, nevertheless Alice sensed her shoulders sag, felt her eyes drop away, heavy with shame and she began to contemplate the Formica top of the school desk she was made to sit at day upon endless day. She knew every inch of its annoyingly finely ruled beige chequer pattern, just as she knew every nuance, every accent, encoded within the insistent, incessant tick, tick, tick of the school clock up on the wall and the fact that, try as she may, it was never possible to hear anything of the world beyond that nerve-twisting sound… The sheer monotony made her want to scream, to the point at which her teacher’s voice, even at its most humiliatingly belittling and bullying extreme, had become something that she mentally begged for – anything to fill in that dreadful silent void between one ‘tick’ and the next…

And every so many ‘ticks’ would come a heavier ‘tock’ - and every so many ‘tocks’ there would be a slightly heavier, more resonant, sort of woody, ‘tock’. Then there was that odd, metallic ‘scrunch’ – that only happened a few times per day; but she knew exactly how many ‘ticks’, ‘tocks’ and ‘woody tocks’ had to pass before a ‘scrunch’ came… It was important! She knew exactly how many ‘ticks’ made up a ‘tock’ and how many ‘tocks’ made up a ‘woody tock’ and exactly how many of those had to pass in turn before one of those metallic ‘scrunches’ would arrive.

More importantly she knew, or thought she knew, how many of those crunchy metallic ‘scrunches’ constituted a ‘school’ day. She had decided they would be hourly, it being a mechanical clock and all. But the trouble was that the roughened metallic quality was not particularly prominent, in reality little more than a subtle change in the character of the clock’s chanting, perhaps some defect in a cog somewhere; it had to be listened out for. She could – and did – count the ‘woody tocks’; but they constituted an even subtler variation in the timepiece’s voice. The basic ‘ticks’ and ‘tocks’ were easier to differentiate, but there were so many to count… so, so many. A cough, a chair scrape – the teacher’s, hers and Angel’s were an integral part of their desks –and the count was gone. Similarly the click of the teacher’s high heels – and she often wore stilettos more suited to a ball than to a classroom – would wreck her counting. She had burst into tears on one occasion simply because her teacher had risen from her desk and strolled across the room, yet still she had counted on.

She’d tried keeping time, surreptitiously tapping a toe when some sound detracted from the school clock’s rhythm, counting the taps rather than the ticking – she was doing it now while the teacher was speaking. Sometimes, if she’d been caned, the throbbing in her bottom would interfere and she’d find herself counting that instead. She’d also tried to stop herself, but that had failed also. Nor could she ignore it; it wouldn’t let her.

If only the hands would turn, as a clock’s hands were supposed to – but she knew they wouldn’t, they never had; it just ticked and ticked and ticked… What was the point of a clock it didn’t tell the time? Ah! But it did, it did! If you could only count the ticks and the tocks and the clicks and the clunks…

She’d lost count again, she was sure of it… It was so easy to lose count… And if she was made to do arithmetic, then how could she concentrate, how could she not lose count then? It was no wonder her school work was so poor…

What was the woman saying now? If she was going to make a good impression… what was that… sewing and cleaning and serving at table… no she’d be too clumsy at that…cleaning and polishing then…and keeping her uniform crisp and her apron starched, yes she could do that, that was important too! Sewing lessons, domestic training – no maths, no sums… it was going to be so much easier to keep count… she wouldn’t lose count… and it was important to keep count. If only that damn clock would stop that incessant ticking! But then she’d lose count, there would be nothing to count… Damn! She’d lost count… She’d have to start again… She was always losing count… Why was she doing it? Losing count or losing her mind? Or was it both?

Why was she thinking about losing her mind? She wasn’t losing her mind – just because her stepmother had her seeing a psychiatrist or psychologist or whatever… just because that woman wanted her in that clinic of hers, in that psychiatric hospital… just because they made her dress in school uniform, bend for the cane and didn’t let her leave the house any more. Why, perhaps that hospital would be a way out, if she went along with it, with what the psychologist woman wanted – she would be out of her stepmother’s grasp there, she could get help there… if only she could keep count…but the teacher’s voice…can’t hear the clock properly…I’ll go out of my mind if I can’t hear the clock…

“…Alice! Alice!… Alice Marchment – are you going out of your mind? Stop tapping your foot this instant… Get yourself out here and get yourself bent over my desk immediately – knickers down, skirt up and arms folded across the small of you back. Six strokes for you my girl – for inattention... and make sure you keep count!”

That Anoying Pop-Up Box: What is a 'Favicon'? From Whence does it Come?

Thanks to all who have been in contact for the messages of support! I am not entirely 'back' yet – not yet firing on both barrels – but I think I'm on the road to recovery. At least I have been able to summon up enough enthusiasm to play around with the idea of a redesign for the cover of INSTITUTIONALISED Vol 1. I'll be the first to admit that the layout of these two early offerings are somewhat... how should we say?... crap! (Perhaps 'confused' would be a kind comment) But at least I'm making a start.

In case anyone out there is wondering, by the way: Yes I was on antidepressants many years ago (early 80s and early – mid 90s) but they didn't ever seem to do anything other than give me a dry mouth and, on occasion, an upset stomach. The last time I got really bad -
back in 2001 when my dad was busy dying and I was trying to stagger on with my PhD (I had just lost my gran,too) - I discovered that (apart from beer) the herb, St Johns wort, seemed to help, albeit at several times the recommended dose! I usually fall back on the ale but booze is not really an option this time; indeed, I fear I may have already damaged my nervous system. Certainly there are hints of alcoholic peripheral neuropathy.

Now: If you are finding you are encountering pop-up box popping demanding some sort of password please ignore it. it is not of my making and I don't know where it has come from. You can close the box by clicking on the 'X' in the top right hand corner as you would any other dialogue box and then proceed as normal to read the blog, leave comments or whatever. Unfortunately this 'password box sometimes opens again, but it does so a maximum of 3 times. So if you find yourself obliged to close it again, please have patience and do so in the same manner, while taking comfort in the fact that the third time is always lucky in this case. But I have to admit that it really is annoying nonetheless!

The trouble is, I am at present unsure as to how to get rid of the bloody thing. As far as I can gather it is due to the author of one of the blogs that my blog houses a link to having set up some sort of 'hotlink' to something or other called a 'Favicon' whatever that is – I fervently wish he or she hadn't!

Something similar has happened before. But the last time it occurred it did so immediately following my having added a couple of blogs to my 'bog role' and so was easy to track down. Then it proved to have something to do with certain of the 'Thumbloger' blogs I had added - which is why all the 'Thumbloger' blogs are now listed in their own section of the sidebar, in a manner that allows no direct link back which is why there is no mention of their latest update nor any thumbnail, logo or what have you - as one might ordinarily expect to see in a conventional 'blog role'. On this occasion, though, there are few clues as to this annoyance's origination. This time it just seems to have manifested from thin air;; certainly I have added no new blogs to my blog role for very many
months. Because of the latter I am at a loss as to how to track down the culprit... any ideas out there?

An Update and a Money-Off Offer

I know it has been a long while, but I have been sick - more psychologically than physically, but more of that in my next posting. For now I just wanted to draw attention to this limited period promotion that the online book seller, LULU, is running. Meanwhile I have begun a reworking of the cover of INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 (as I have never liked it, but wasn't capable of much else at the time) and also have begun reading / answering my emails (after many weeks of being unable to face as much as turning on the computer) as a gentle way of easing myself back into things.

Purchase any of my INSTITUTIONALISED titles with 30% off with coupon code FEBRUARYCART305GBP

Simply use the coupon code FEBRUARYCART305GBP at checkout and receive 30% off INSTITUTIONALISED or any other available title on Lulu.com. Maximum savings with this promotion is £50 You can only use the code once per account, (but you can make multiple titles / purchases at that time). This coupon works in US Dollars, Pounds and Euros and I think (but I am not sure) you can buy other author's work and other stuff with it too!

THIS GREAT OFFER ENDS ON 19 FEBRUARY 2012 AT 11:59 PM SO TRY NOT TO PROCRASTINATE! (They said that, not me!).

A Moan, A Change of Title, A New Cover - and a Chance for YOU to Contribute some Ideas

I have had to take on some desk research for a market research company to earn a crust (which is now grinding to a halt) and in between there have been bouts of depression during which I haven't done much at all. Quite a lot of the latter has been due to LULU messing around and f*%*ing everything up. I had hoped to just finish and get out INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3 (A CONTINUUM of DISCIPLINE) and then dump everything and get on with a new project and never think about any of it ever again.
But even as sales were taking off LULU was hard at work in the background putting a halt to it: "We are unable to distribute volume 1 as its title comes to close to the edge of the cover to print correctly" But INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 had been distributed through Amazon et al via LULU since May 2008!!! (I have 3 printed proof copies myself). Then they came out with: "There are too many characters" in the full title of volume 2. But once again this was near-on two years after it had been published. Now they have removed all the PDF downloadable versions.
I am not sure how successful their new strategy is going to turn out commercially though, either for LULU as a company or their authors, at least insofar as my experience to date. Now I know we are not exactly talking 'Harry Potter' here in terms of sales but I had been shifting 2 or 3 most days, but since all the changes they have made at LULU I have yet to sell one single copy of any of my three volumes. In fact, sales just stopped dead after 21st of September (other than two print copies of the first title via distribution – Amazon or whatever - which obviously date to a much earlier time as they take a while to filter through).
And there are other concerning issues too:
My first volume in particular once had several really glowing reader reviews, all of which – bar two - have disappeared (and I had about eight on volume 1 including one that said "destined to be a classic of the genre" which I was particularly proud of!). Admittedly most of these reviews vanished a long time ago, after a previous reshuffle at LULU (about the same time that the ranking device seemed to cease to function and the hit counter that used to feature on their site disappeared).
Secondly: When I use the LULU book search facility, entering the usual keywords pertaining to books in the same genre as mine, I am hard pressed to bring up my own books, despite the fact that I know what I am looking for. In fact only my second volume surfaces at all now. And it is not just me that thinks there is a problem in that department, either. Several folks have emailed me saying that if not for following the links from my blog they would have never have stumbled across any of my books from a random search of LULU (though they had come across and bought others via LULU previously).
But all is not necessarily negative; I have a strategy of my own: What with my paid work now coming to an end and there being no sign of anymore in the pipeline for the foreseeable future I am at a loose end. I plan to spend a little time fixing the cover of volume 1 to keep LULU happy, but using it as an excuse for a cover redesign since my skills have come on somewhat since 2007 when it was created and I'd like to make it appear a little more like Volume 3 (volume 1 is apparently occasionally mistaken for a psychology text book!!!). While I am at it I plan to change the title: It will still say ‘INSTITUTIONALISED: BEYOND THE STANFORD EXPERIMENT’ on the front cover but will be recreated on LULU under an alternative title – one hopefully more eagerly grasped by their picky search engine.
Now this is where you - my readers and other visitors - come in to the equation. If you were given the task of re-naming this, my first ever book (or had you been its author) what would you call it? All suggestions welcome. Please bear in mind that from as far as I can tell LULU’s search engine looks for keywords in the title. So words such as ‘spanking’, ‘caning’, ‘corporal punishment’ and so on need to be incorporated as early as possible in the title but without it becoming too ‘cheesy’. Perhaps do a search on LULU with a few key words and see what crops (Ha, Ha!) up? Meanwhile I am going to carry out a quick (I hope) experiment involving volume three.

Amother Excuse and a Weird Piece of Kit

I was going to to tell you all about the exciting new links I have added today. Except I'm not, because I forgot to email myself the document I'd prepared and now I'm out down the pub. The aforementioned document also contained the links I have just mentioned so that is the end of that for the time being – perhaps tomorrow? But what it was to have been about was something that came to light while doing a little research for that commission piece I mentioned last time.

Did you know that there was a specific jodhpurs fetish? Not just for horse riding gear generally or that fairly well known 'pony-girl' thing but jodhpurs in particular – not even 'riding britches' (no I don't know the difference either!). Not that the subject is necessarily connected to my client's interests - discretion is everything - but it just happened to crop up in a search I did (if you pardon the pun... crop, get it? riding crop? Oh, please yourselves!)

Well, there is quite an extensive literature it turns out and next time I shall be posting up a plethora of links to prove it (well, perhaps not a plethora). I'll also be adding a few new blogs to the blog listing, including a young lady who has added her blog link already as a comment someplace – I'm too pissed to remember where – naughty, that, but she has a nice school uniform she wears so I'll have to put that up as a focal point for a link just for the irony of it (and the fact that it looks great! Though it is typically American and she hails from South Shields – somewhere in the north of the UK apparently; but I'm a Londoner, what do I know?)

Meanwhile, here are a few shots of another of my little distractions – hands up who knows what it is,,, Yes, you at the back, there?

Looks technical though, doesn't it?

Time to Sound the ‘All-clear’ and Punishment Clothing Sans Armholes

Yes at long last it is time to sound the ‘all-clear’! With the indispensable help of several volunteers I think we have finally dispensed with the last of those tenacious little typos that had somehow clung on to a few of the pages of INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3.

Partly I have been hard at that task (making the corrections that is – I am dyslexic, so there is little point of my checking through myself) and partly I have been doing some prelim research for a private commission I have received to write a bespoke piece. The latter is especially exciting as I was becoming more than a little jaded, not to mention disillusioned. Now, having been presented with someone else’s vision for a story framework, I find my self all ‘fired up’ again. Obviously I can’t say much as regards the brief, but surface it to say that even a preliminary scratching around has spawned all sorts of new ideas.

Going back to the proofreading for a moment; a very special ‘thank you’, I feel, must go out to ‘Orage’ who has proved especially diligent in this task. That is not to belittle all those others that have contributed of course, to whom my heartfelt gratitude goes out. Now, despite having now passed through several different individuals’ hands at various stages in the process, it is such an elephantine work – weighing in at well over a quarter of a million words – that some errors and stumbles may yet have fallen through the net, so if you have downloaded a copy since yesterday (Thursday 2nd June) - which was when I created the latest revision – please let me know if you spot anything glaring.

Now, in my defence as to my apparent neglect of this blog of late, I have not been quite the laggard I may appear. I have made several additions to the ‘Useful Resources’ section of the side bar and added a couple of blogs to the blog list. The trouble is that I have failed to make a note of each addition as I have been in a perpetual rush most of the time – it has been the half term school holidays and I have had to do my share of that ‘parenting’ thing – and so you will have to check through to see what has changed. I have also sourced a couple of affiliates that seem suitably appropriate for the direction this blog usually explores. Lupus Films, in particular, always seem imaginative in terms of the plotlines they develop and authentic in terms of their costumes and sets – where else can you see young girls put in button through overalls / work dresses as part of a disciplinary régime? The nurse delivering a spanking pic from SIT-Spanking could almost come out of a certain scene in the new book – at least as depicted in this shot. You can find the links in the right hand sidebar someplace. 'Spanking Shame' is another affiliate I will be adding soon (Bared buttocks at school desk, above)

As for the other half of this entry’s title; I have been playing around with the idea of dresses and blouses etc designed excluding the provision of armholes as an adjunct to certain bondage / discipline themes. I am not talking here of just sewing up the arm holes of pre-existing and commercially available garments but rather of tailor-made bespoke garments, carefully fitted and designed with the aim of making the wearer appear as if a double amputee. The question I find interesting is exactly how such designs would appear to the eye and how one might put that impression over in writing. Your thoughts, please.

A Little Fashion Fame - And There is a New Book Out There Some Might Find Interesting

Hi there! Unbelievably A website called Fashion Trending has used a quote from my blog - the first few lines of that 'Happy Birthday Poly' thing I wrote to celebrate the birthday of the invention of polyester under the headline: 'Women's Satin Dresses A Must Have For Any Womanly Wardrobe'. The mind fairly boggles. And this crops up on the same page as ''How Michelle Obama Is Influencing Women's Fashion' ! The snippet they have pinched off me (quote?) is: "There is something about the delicate combination of the dress of a young girl of thirteen or fourteen with the rather slender yet womanly figure and confined waist of a young lady of perhaps seventeen or eighteen – a woman in her own …" And there they leave it. So now I'm a fashion guru and trend setter... So the you are - just accessorise, girlfriend! (said in uber-camp voice with a twee shrug of the shoulders and a flicking back of the forelock - well' I can manage the last part - anyone seen my alice band?). I mean; boy! are they off course, or at least whoever it is who does their research is - it all smells of some sort of automated robotic 'intelligence' gathering thingy if you ask me.

It is a warm (-ish) sunny evening here in Londres and I am enjoying a pint in my local Whetherspoons pub, The Tollgate (crap - but cheap; there's a slogan there somewhere; must buy some shares!). Anyway, it is my first pint in just over a month and so a new record level of sobriety has been reached - three cheers for me!!!

I reckon I have earned it coz I was up working on the rear cover of the new book until 4 AM and was up working on it again, as I was still far from satisfied, at 9:30 AM. Then I had a lunchtime nap. The bloody thing's done with at last, all 473 (I think) pages. The rear cover here I have boosted up the 'Gama' a bit to better show the background image, but it will appear darker behind the blurb in the print copy.

The front cover you will have seen before but without the title (or with an incorrectly spelled title if you were one of the 'early birds' who glimpsed it before I changed it and then buggered off to Spain).

The center image is something I created as an amalgam of images some time ago for another purpose and that has been pressed into service, horizontally mirrored and recolored, as a semi-transparent image behind the text on the rear cover. Snoozz (whom I rightly credited for the nurse and straitjacket computer-generated image I used in the posting before last, it turns out), supplied several of the elements making up the front cover and my thanks go out to him for that (though I need to revise the book text as I just realized I have not added that credit - not a problem while it is only on Lulu, but would be later if it was to go out on the e-book format!). The latter is the reason I have a team of dedicated volunteers carrying out one final round of proofreading for me - and my heartfelt thanks go out to them also; 473 pages would be a little too much for me alone! All the chapters have been proofread previously as the project has progressed through the efforts of various folk of course, otherwise...

Oh!... And it is now up on Lulu!!! Check out the link in the right hand sidebar.

New Hypno / Mindcontrol Blog List - Oh! And I Have Finished Writing!!

Just a quick update today as I am away from home for a couple of days. A big 'Hi!' to 'Wringer', 'Madmonkey' and others who have left comments or emailed me - I'll be getting around to dealing with comments tomorrow or Monday, depending on when I get back. I have had my head down slaving over a hot computer these last few days - practically non-stop and practically to the exclusion of all else. But it's been worth it. The book is finished!!! All bar the shouting (whatever that means - I've never been too sure). All that are left are little details such as getting the page numbering right (that part got all messed up when I did a little editing on holiday using OpenOfice 2 on my netbook) and that sort of thing - a bit of fiddling about, basically. Even the chapters are numbered - all 38 of 'em!! - and the problem with the front cover has been corrected. There is one chapter I want to read through again and a couple of pages or so that I hacked out but that I may now re-include (if I can make it work) now that I have a little time to spare, mostly because the piece is highly descriptive and I am sort of proud of it. I may also put together a little something to make the back cover more interesting along with the usual blurb type of thing - mostly because I enjoy the artwork side of it so much.

I could do with a little help with the final proofreading - there are over 400 pages in the thing - so if there is anyone out there willing to take on 100 pages or so, please step forward now. I'll send the whole thing out to each as a word file and with a page range to proofread / edit. The first five or six folks to email me perhaps? I don't feel I can impose on those that I have already roped in for the initial proofreading of the individual chapters, although I will send PDF versions out to all those concerned for their opinions of the finished (but probably still imperfect) product once the formating has been finalized and I have converted the files.

Changing the subject: I have now added a brand new section to my blog list specifically to house links to blogs having a strong mind-control / hypnosis content as pertaining to the world of D/S, domination and corporal punishment etc. This new section may be found between the French Language blogs and the Thumblogger blogs in the right hand sidebar - explore and enjoy. I have also added to the main blog list a family of blogs I have just stumbled across; namely 'The Pink Report', 'The Pink Papers' and 'The Pink Reviews' (all listed under 'P' for Pink rather than under 'T'). Click blog titles here to visit or check out my list in the sidebar. Despite the 'Pink' nomenclature none of these have anything to do with the Gay scene (not boy-on-boy anyway) but very much to do with the gentle art of spanking - well worth checking out!

Now, those of you that have read INSTITUTIONALISED volume 1 may remember the description of the heroine's father's funeral and the streets and roads the procession passes through. If so, do you recognize anything about the two photos above? Well guess what; it was based on the area of London I grew up in - Queen's Park - and this is what it looked like (the two pics above). Anything like the imagery you had in your mind at all? I'd love to know! Bye for now!!

Just Before I Off to Sunny Spain...

I will be off to Spain in a few hours; Carib Player, 12Km or so east of Marbella on the Costa Del Sol via Gatwick and Malaga, Back on the 27th or 28th - I am a little confused about it. Anyway, here are a couple of short extracts from the new book - not fully proofread / edited these, though. The title shall be: 'A Continuum of Discipline' but as has been kindly pointed out a spelling mistake had found its way onto the final cover design which I will deal with on my return (well, I am dyslexic). The book should be out one week after I return. Thanks to all those 'early worms' who pointed out the error! See you all in ten days, unless I find a WiFi point where I am staying.

.....

Uncomfortably perched on the narrow bench seat of a modern copy of a cramped Victorian-styled school desk, its plastic tackiness adding to her discomfiture, a furtive glance up and to her right and those dulled eyes would meet with the equally soulless gaze of the window, one of three identical lining the wall. But she daren't - and besides, there was no relief to be had from monotony there, only whitewashed frosted glass cowering behind a guard of similarly whitewashed steel bars. To the front, no more than a couple of meters or so away, hung the reason why she daren't.
A single glimpse of the supple rattan, its heavier bamboo cane sibling and its leather-strap cousin and her eyes fluttered quickly back to her schoolwork; already she was falling behind with the dictation. Tears welling in those pretty deep violet eyes the realisation was finally dawning that there no matter how hard she tried, there always seemed to be some obstruction to her terminating her tenure, some excuse, some reason they could cite to justify extending her residence.
Discipline prevailed in this establishment, rigid, repressive, personality stifling control that threaded its way through every aspect of an inmate’s existence and insinuated itself between every fibre of a girl’s consciousness. Here a small cohort of girls in their late teens - and some even older – sat erect and attentive in polyester and rayon school uniforms underpinned by longline open-bottomed girdles, full-bodied and long-legged interlock cotton knickers, thick woollen stockings and ungainly bottle-green plastic T-bar shoes, fastened with white nylon buckles.
Girls that under other circumstances one might suspect prone to petulant sarcasm at the drop of a hat, or a smile from the wrong man - one who may have had the temerity to have aged, be balding or become fat, say – now responded contritely when addressed and curtsied prettily with knife-pleated hems between finger and thumbs. Here girls that might once have been fractious, sulky and belligerent – almost certainly rebellious in some way – waited compliantly with hair firmly plaited, scraped back from pale carbolic-scrubbed faces with nary a single curl left untamed to relieve the severity and tucked away beneath Victorian-style bonnets tied with bottle-green ribbons to match their uniforms.
Here Lessons commenced with fingertips on shoulders, heads erect, six pairs of eyes facing forwards and backs straight – today was no exception. But this was not even a school, not a proper school. It was a sham, merely something set up as a ‘behavioural psychology investigation’ in the bowels of a privately run psychiatric hospital and sanatorium. Not that the place was ever referred to as such – it was a ‘retreat’ where one might undergo ‘rehab’; if one could afford it. Nor were any of these cowed ‘schoolgirls’ actually of school age – all would have ordinarily been starting at university or just entering the job market. These were volunteers, hoping to make more in a three months tenancy than in lord knows how long in any other way. Except that once in place, no one seemed to leave – three months became six, became a year… even longer. But then this small group had been hand-picked to become ‘long-term’ from the start, their backgrounds investigated, their circumstances probed and cover stories put in place should anyone ‘come knocking’. Most had been runaways, grateful for a bed for the night let alone a respite from a winter that seemed to go on for ever.
Yes most were runaways that would never be missed, even if they were never seen on the streets again – most, but not all! Certainly not Lavinia Vitesse, her of the once waist-length jet locks and stunningly bright deep-violet eyes – her residence had been bought and paid for from day one. Not that this was intended to be the be-all and end-all of her existence, quite the opposite. This was merely a stepping stone on a carefully laid out path that somebody out there had had put in place for her.
A sombre yet imposing figure walked the floor between the two rows of cramped Victorian desks, up and down, up and down, the creaking of a tight leather skirt, the swish of expensive nylons and the tap, tap of high heels the only sound to break the oppressive wall of silence.
The teacher was standing over her now, craning over her work – a formidable woman; tall and imposing with corseted wasp waist, thrusting bustline under her silk shirt, huge dark eyes and jet-black hair swept up in a neat no-nonsense bun. She would see now, she would see she hadn’t kept up, couldn’t keep up – her attention had only strayed for a moment, but that’s all it took. It was inhuman, she’d tried to catch up, really tried, but the recorded dictation just went on and on regardless, monotonously, relentlessly droning on and on and on. Her beautifully made-up face bereft of humour, this teacher – and there were three - was particularly intolerant, and of even the smallest lapse in concentration. She carried a wickedly pliant riding switch in her gloved hand and didn’t hesitate to use it, whether it be for a slip in dictation or an incorrect answer, or the tiniest infraction of uniform regulations come to that.
“Hands out please, palms uppermost, left on top of right – you know the way, girl.”
The silent air whistled and was split with her scream. Not once or twice but three times – and repeated on each palm! She was learning the hard way that freedom could be as tenuous as a spidery signature scrawled on a crumpled document - and the longer they kept her there the more likely it would be that she would docilely sign on the dotted line the next time they told her to, just as she had the last time...and the time before that...and the time before that. But then, they didn't need her to sign anything, not any more – at least not to keep her here. It had all been dealt with, once and for all. It was all official now, unimpeachably legitimised at the sweep of a pen and overseen by three of the keenest minds in psychiatric practice, at least in so far as her incarceration went.
But there were other things a person’s signature might be required for. There were certain parties out there that would be anxious to obtain to hers - and those, geographically closer, only too willing to apply the necessary pressure to overcome any reluctance on her part. ‘The Unit’ ‘The department of Experimental Behavioural Psychology’ Whatever they called the place, it was merely a euphemism for what was in reality: a prison, a privately-run gaol for which one need not have committed any crime – at least not one that would be recognised as such by society at large...

Of Wayward Girls and of Immoral Women
Elsewhere... The woman reached out, proffering a bunch of photographs, each its own plastic pocket as if recently retrieved from a portfolio or archive. “Perhaps an example: the 'finished article', so to speak – our Pauline. That one was something of a tearaway – once.”
In the first photograph she had been handed, this 'Pauline' of theirs – she felt sure it was not the girl's true name - appeared somewhat younger than the seventeen years that she had been assured that the girl in fact was. A dark-haired girl, her long chestnut mane had been tightly braided each side before being coiled and then pinned up so as to form a plaited whirl on either side of her head, each fastidiously tied off in the centre by a large bow formed from a length of gloriously shiny broad pink and blue candy-striped satin ribbon. The effect managed to be somehow both severe and childish at the same time and was obviously not a style the girl would likely have chosen by choice off her own back. No, somebody had lavished time and imagination in devising that style for the girl and undoubtedly an element of humiliation had been at the forefront of his or her mind.
It made for a very disciplined look, an impression that was underlined by the high Eton-style blouse collar that buttoned tightly beneath the girl's chin and that seemed as if designed to cause her to carry her head tilted ever so slightly to the rear. The latter collar was tightened still further around her neck by a neatly knotted school tie that was in a soft pastel blue, diagonally striped by bars of baby pink so as to match the ribbons in her hair. The potential masculine severity of the blouse itself was softened by its pink and white vertical candy striping and by the overwhelming femininity of the - perhaps somewhat overstated - puffball shoulders, which along with the outdated styling of the collar, tended to give the impression of the garment owing more to the Victorian era than the present.
The fabric itself tended to add further to that impression of strangely-restrained childish femininity; the blouse had a definite sheen of satin about it, catching the light with a gloss to rival that of her hair ribbons, and yet at the same time gave the impression of smart crisp stiffness, as if starched in the traditional manner. Some sort of horrid man-made fibre was Madison guess; functional but hardly likely to be comfortable if worn for any extended period. Then again it was also Madison's guess that some degree of physical discomfort was the intention, to counterbalance the psychological discomfort the uniform was undoubtedly intended to create in the young girl.
No, clearly comfort didn't come into this equation at all - it was only a head and shoulders shot but already she had seen enough to realise that every detail had been worked out with one aim in mind; the imposition of a regime of the strictest discipline. The result could be seen in the girl's pretty sea-green eyes, washed clear of defiance almost as if brainwashed, and by the embarrassment painted on her cheeks as vividly as applied blusher. The girl possessed the sort of pretty, yet childish, oval face which, as devoid of makeup and well-scrubbed with carbolic as it was, appeared ageless.
The next photograph was a full length shot. The girl’s uniform was well-fitting, neat and pressed, her collar starched and her tie tightly and correctly knotted and placed. Madison’s practiced eye was instantly drawn to the creases at the elbow of the girl's pink and white candy-striped cotton blouse. As sharp as if the blouse had been new-on that very day, the crisp delineation of those wrinkles was matched, as if in deliberate opposition, by the featureless smoothness of the fairy-pink perfection that constituted the juvenile-styled school pinafore the girl had on over it, with its panelled flared skirt and square-topped, yet narrow-waisted, yoke.
The fabric making up the latter – at least as identified by Madison Bartlett's fairly-expert eye – was almost guaranteed to crease at the drop of a hat, yet it was as perfect as if freshly ironed. Taken together with what she had been told regarding the chronology of this shot, those two features - the steam iron-fresh smoothness of the dress and the hardly-worn crispness of the blouse - spoke of a young spirit curbed and wayward behavior constrained. Together it all implied one thing: Here was a young lady well-bowed under the heavy yoke of the strictest of discipline – Madison found herself having to take care so as not to give away her shortness of breath, having been quite overcome merely at the thought.

Copyright © 2011 Garth. P. ToynTanen

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the Publisher.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious as is the storyline – it is a work of complete fantasy and should be treated as such. Any resemblance to real events or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters can be assumed to be over the age of 18 or the local age of consent in the reader’s region or jurisdiction.

Institutional Punishment Illustrated

Hi there: Sorry you have not heard from me for a while out there but I have been a little indisposed. For one the foot / knee thing is still giving me a little trouble but in addition there has been a beer festival going on spread across the various branches of my favorite pub chain, Wetherspoons, and that has coincided with some unseasonably warm sunny weather here in London. Ordinarily I would have posted an update or two from one of the various pubs on my rounds but for whatever reason I seem to be encountering all sorts of difficulties with finding working WiFi hotspots of late and in addition, as I have said before; creating blog updates while out at large can be loaded with difficulties due to the propensity of the average pub-goer to peer over one's shoulder. This is not so problematic as regards text and text editing but any pictorial content has the potential to raise eyebrows - as can sight of the blog page itself of course. Fear not, though, chums because despite my periods of depression and overindulgence, I have been hard at it proof reading quite a lot of the time (aided in no little extent by my ever-vigilant chum over there in the US of A - you know who you are; thanks!). There are perhaps another five chapters to proofread and some reorganisation to work through but most of the writing is done (at least I can't think of much else to write) other than for a few words of explanation here and there to orientate the new reader and to link the various scenes. Saying that: It is with some heaviness of heart that I am going to have to edit out one or two incomplete scenes and perhaps consign almost an entire thread to a separate volume - should it ever get written. Part of the reason is simply the amount of time already invested verses the likely returns and the fact that I can no longer really afford to indulge my little hobby - in short I am going to have to get a job! The other part is due to the unwieldy file size / page number should I publish everything I have written in a single work (not to mention the complexity of the storyline). Now: I am due to fly to Spain on the 19th of this month (staying just outside Marbella - ca 12km) for an Easter break staying in the 'other half''s' father's time-share (nice-'n'-cheap!) and my plan is to get some sort of version out by then on Lulu - perhaps with a temporary cover, that sort of thing, just as did with volume 2. I am still not too sure of a title so that may be temporary also; but at least it will be out. Later I can deal with the niceties, perhaps an improved cover design and later still an illustrated version in collaboration with another chum in the 'States while I sort myself out and look for work. Talking of the latter, I thought you would like a few examples of what the aforementioned illustrator has been playing with of late, though not directly linked with the new book - thanks 'Snooze' I'll be in touch soon! Next time I'll definitely have a short snippet of the new book for you. See you in a couple of days. Best wishes, Garth.

Nurse Spanks While My Foot Throbs and the Economy Drops - Or Something Like That!

Once again I am stuck for the weekend at my girlfriends house and thus restricted in time and to using my netbook – or rather I will be a little later. Right now I am sitting in a pub situated in Turnpike Lane, North London nursing a pint and a suspected Lisfranc mid-foot fracture / dislocation of the right foot (for the more medically minded among you). We have a term for that in English... Fu*%ed-foot. Prognosis? Well, we have a word for that too: crap! Depressing, but nothing that a few pints can't make look better – and there is a real ale festival on, spread across the various Wetherspoons branches! Mind you, the chancellor has just put up the duty on a pint of beer by 4 pence (which seems to equate to a increase of 10 pence per pint somehow – I wish I understood economics). This is nothing to do with the United Kingdom's deficit, however (we aint got a king and what's 'united' about it) but rather is supposed to 'save' people like moi from ourselves. Talking of budgets and deficits (which we do a lot over here – when we're not spending our hard-earned cash on bombing the shit out of someone with those nice shiny expensive cruise missiles of ours – good to know they work though!) can any one tell me how practically the whole world can have huge deficits all at the same time? It seems to me that everyone owes everything to everyone else! Are we all in debt to each other or am I missing something? Unless someone, somewhere is trading with an alien planet how the *$%£ can we all be in debt unless someone is raking it in someplace – do the Chinese own the whole planet? I find it just as mystifying as the concept of this constant 'economic growth' we are all supposed to be striving for and that will save us all – apparently. How can every economy grow at the same time in a closed system which - in the absence of the aforementioned little green economy - the 'global economy' is (I presume – but perhaps I have had too much beer).

Talking of nursing (which I did – sort of – above) I found this intriguing little tableau on one of the French language blogs I featured last time. Any one know where they originated and what is going on. The blog author seemed convinced they originated from New Zealand TV – but that is based on a Google French-English translation. Now, I pride myself on always replying to emails sent by those who have read my 'stuff' or blundered across my blog. Well, fairly recently I replied to an emailed comment only to have the email bounce back with the error message; “Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently: message rejected by the recipient domain” or something similar (no I don't know what it means either – some sort of robot talk). Anyway, I hate the idea of someone out there becoming convinced that their opinion has been overlooked or worse, ignored, and left feeling slighted. So to ever it was (it was signed but I can't betray the confidence in case the writer wished anonymity) I thought it prudent to post my reply as a sort of open letter, along with the original email in the hope that the sender might recognize his or her missive and be reassured that his / her comments have indeed been read (see below).

Dear Sir. I have read INSTITUTIONALISED with considerable interests. I find both the premise and many aspect of the execution outstanding. I was especially impressed with the subtle psychological manipulations involved in the process to make a great read. My one [reservation] is that while many of the individual episodes worked really well the flow of the story seemed to be somewhat disjointed. Once you have completed your trilogy you might consider a revision making the tale more chronological and perhaps elimination a few repetitive passages. I can’t help feeling the material would have been even better used in several smaller stories. Of course the story doesn’t exactly hit the sweet spot of my personal kink – seems a shame to keep such attractive young women in deliberately ugly and unflattering uniforms to my way of thinking. I understand the psychological control and humiliation aspect (and like it too) but I still think a captured young woman looks best in (preferably locked) heels and corset. Be that is it may I have one suggestion that might make sense in the context of your story: Induced dyslexia. I’m talking about ensuring complete illiteracy by appropriate treatment. It seems to me illiteracy would be a great way to foster helplessness and dependency in a modern setting while restricting unwanted access to information. Not critical while the girl in question is properly institutionalized obviously but it would have a number of obvious advantages but when it comes guarding against excessive independence “in the wild” and. If discreetly introduced in the initial stages of the relationship to a young women targeted for recruitment may serve as a basis for establishing and tightening control. After all you describe quite an extensive operation requiring considerable resources and expertise to run. There must be a considerable [customer] base availing themselves of the services on offer in the field of women-control.

Thanks for a good read...

I Answer

Sorry it has taken so long to get back to you but I have been away from home for the weekend and although I managed a blog entry I had prepared it beforehand and managed to do very little beyond that.

I thank you for your kind comments regarding my book / books. It is particularly gladdening that you found the basic premise behind the story exciting and appreciated the psychological aspects I attempted to weave in. If you have read the earlier entries on my blog your know that from the outset my primary aim when I set out to write was to create a corporal punishment orientated story that stepped outside of the usual margins and limitations of the genre in terms of story and character development and the rest. I also set out to build some sort of at least semi-plausible premise under which to explore explain why the various characters should behave and develop in the way that they do , ie, to come up with circumstances under which a teenage girl in today's world might be expected to submit to the imposition of strict discipline, uniforms, corporal punishment and so on. And in this to some extent, hopefully, I have been successful.

To some extent in striving for this latter aspect of plausibility I made a rod for my own back in that it would have been relatively easy to have set the story in the late Victorian era or at the turn of that century and invoked all sorts of sinister figures such as strict governesses and corrupt church officials running homes for 'wayward girls' and just about anything would have seemed possible or even probable without much in the way of further exploration. Setting such a story in the modern world instantly creates all sorts of problems revolving around 'believability'. The other aim I had in mind, one that only really developed momentum once I started working, was to tie in as many different and yet related fetishes that might fit within such a storyline. Quite a few of these fetishes are not particularly of interest to myself or even to my taste and so in this aspect I'm not sure that I've been quite so successful.

I do understand what you say about the somewhat disjointed overall flow of the tale. Partly I set out to explore the modern trend for novels to chop and change between scenes and involve both flash-forward and flashback - a tendency seen in recent years in such TV series as 'Lost' if you have seen it over there. The real reason though, if I'm to be honest, is that I never actually set out to create a book at all to begin with but rather I started out to write for my own amusement the sort of thing that I couldn't find in other peoples writing or that was missing to some degree or other even in those books I had read that came close yet never quite 'got there'. My very earliest attempts were not even complete vignettes but rather more resembled a story framework or sometimes even consisted of little more than just a list of ideas that I would have liked to have come across incorporated in some story or novel somewhere; these were thrown together and put up on various suitable newsgroups in the hope of stimulating someone somewhere to write the sort of thing that I'd love to read. As time went by and so few of these ideas and bare bones story frameworks were taken up and expanded upon by others as I'd hoped, if any, I more and more became interested in writing pieces for my own amusement that was close as I could get to the sort of thing that side fantasised about stumbling upon on the net or in various bookshops that I've frequented over the years.

Before I knew it I had built up quite a body of work and the basic framework - as the principal of plausibility was and is as important in my imagination is on paper - developed quite naturally after having read various pieces on old psychology experiments such as the so-called 'Stanford experiment' aluded to in the subtitle of the first book. The latter though did demand some reworking of my original ideas as just like so many others I started off myself weaving ideas and fantasies around the Victorian era through to the 1930s and tying in all the usual stereotyped scenarios such as corrupt privately run reform schools, insane asylums and the rest.

It was only much later and having discovered self publishing by such print on demand companies as Lulu that I decided to try to develop what I had into some sort of book form - but even then as much as anything it was for my own entertainment but also in the hope that it might stimulate other far better writers to extend their imaginations beyond the usual envelope. If I had my time over again and assuming that from the start I'd set out to write a book, I'd not have published to this point in time right now and as you suggest I would have put together the story in a simpler more chronologicaly ordered manner. Indeed, in such a form - with the traditional beginning middle and end - the task of writing I am at present wrapped up in would be much simplified and my work made far easier. Once again, you see, I have created a rod for my own back.

The present book mostly focuses on events that happened before one of the characters comes to the institution but also picks up at the point in the second volume when two of the three main characters leave and the life of the third goes on behind bars (I have been a little sketchy there just in case you have not read the second volume) and we watch as she becomes helplessly more more entangled in the clutches of the institution. The trouble is that having set out along the path that I have with the first two volumes I am stuck with a similar approach to the new book with all the complexities of writing that produces - for example some of the writing I have integrated in the new volume dates back well before starting the first book, being based around short sections I originally wrote way back in 2005. Besides anything else my style has matured beyond all recognition since that date requiring extensive rewriting.

I have considered, once the new book (or books - I'm still considering splitting it in two) is published later on reworking the entire tale and shuffling the various chapters from all the books into some sort of chronological order telling the story in the simpler more conventional beginning middle and end form. This is complicated by the fact that many people will of by that point read the first couple of volumes if not the whole lot. A second complication is that the first two volumes are also published as e-books via a publisher with whom I have a relatively long-term contract. None of this precludes me later publishing a revision of the whole story in Lulu in print on demand from, though. There is also work going on behind the scenes on an illustrated version and this might well end up being rejigged to incorporate elements from the whole series in a sort of abridged form.

I love the idea you have about the induction of illiteracy, presumably through psychological mechanisms, and how it would induce dependency in a young lady even in a modern setting. Believe it or not this is an area I have been exploring in fantasy for some time and a certain aspect of it has been included in the new book and has been aluded to - fairly vaguely admittedly - here and there in the first two volumes. I don't want to give too much away but there was an interesting series of behavioral psychology experiments carried out in the 1930s into the genesis of stammering popularly known in the literature as 'The Monster Experiment' which has turned out to be a rich vein of ideas. Primarily they set out to understand the development of stammering by deliberately attempting to induce the condition in their hapless subjects. I'm sure you get the idea.

Composite Uniform Design and the Imagination

'Madmonkey' wrote to me recently by email (well, 4 days ago) to say: “ Awhile back on your ‘behind the barred window’ blog you asked what everyone thought was the perfect fantasy school uniform [It was Thursday, 2 December 2010: Best Gymslip Design of all Time? You Tell Me (click to view)– Garth the ever attentive Archivist]. Attached is a picture I made from a composite of other pictures and is what I think of as the perfect school uniform for the recalcitrant young lady (or grown woman one needs out of the way).”

Well, here is the fruit of Madmonkey’s labour (above left). Thanks for that, Madmonkey old chap. It’s an interesting idea don’t you think, this composite idea. The would-be designer could in principle put together all sorts of combinations of elements on the figure of one’s choice, pillaging from both old and new. In particular some of those old classic black and white shots could be first colourised in Photoshop or its equivalent and elements – or perhaps whole outfits – put together in imaginative ways. Alternatively the designer might leave the source material in monochrome and convert any more modem elements one might choose to include – such as the school ‘jumper’ of Madmonkey’s vision – into monochrome to match, the idea being to recreate that pastimes air of strict reform-school discipline. The one proviso I would add is that the uniform should be clearly designed to conform to the biologically adult form of the late teen. Whether one starts with a 3D computer generated figure as a framework (an interesting concept in itself) or one drawn from some other source (one has to be careful here) it should be possible to morph the impression of a mature figure into one’s design. So there’s the challenge – let’s fry those imaginative little grey cells out there! I’m always looking for creative input to aid in the design of the new book cover and it may be possible to integrate the outcome into the design as it presently stands.

Now you will have noted my absence for some time from these pages: I have been a little 'indisposed'. Some fool using a mobile phone drove over my foot while parking close to where I was crossing the road. This did my foot no good at all as I only had trainers on, although x-ray revealed nothing broken (don't know how - must be made of rubber!). The real problem is that I have osteoarthritis in my right knee that I refused an operation on as long ago as 2001 (I was coming up to the 12 month report stage of my PhD and couldn't afford the time off involved). Of course it has worsened somewhat over the years.

It is little surprise that when, having argued with the driver, he subsequently leaped out and jumped on me from behind (brave chap) my knee promptly gave up the ghost pitching me onto the ground - whereupon said driver proceeded to give yours truly a 'good kicking', as we say here in the UK. Hmmm nice! No real damage was done other than a bit of bruising and I felt absolutely nothing (I was very, very drunk - of course!) but it has made my knee swell and walking painful, so I am using it as an excuse to springboard myself back onto the treatment track. I had no GP so I have been in and out of x-ray and registering myself at a GPs surgery and all the rest to ‘get the ball moving’. After all this time I would imagine we are talking knee replacement surgery (at least that is what I am hoping - they have some good stuff these days). So a little bit of a silver lining there!

Despite these...er...distractions, I have been working my way through my files from time to time and cutting and pasting into the book. At last a logical story progression is emerging. The upcoming new book now stands at 315 of 9 by 6 inch pages of 10 point text, should it be published as a single work. Of this figure, perhaps 300 pages will likely survive further editing by my estimate. Unfortunately the next part to be inserted will not be such a simple cut and paste job as I am going to have to run through it first, changing the tense it is written in. You see there is a section in which one of the characters first encounters her new ‘home’ - her first impressions of ‘The Ward’, as the place is euphemistically known - which at present is told in flashback at a later point in the girl’s mind's eye. After the adjustment I propose, the reader will encounter the layout of ‘The Ward’ in 'real time' as the girl first enters. It makes for much more sense that way from the point of view of storytelling, as the reader immediately has the backdrop picture painted in their mind for the action to then play out against. As always the devil is in the detail and the essential thing is that the action should flow in a logical sequence.

By for now – have to fly.

The New Book - A Short Clip

Hi Folks! Bright and sunny today (but cold-ish)... so I am bright and sunny - hurrah! I have been making good progress filling in the gaps and reorganising the story flow of the new book (I've still not got a sensible title though!). I thought you might like a short clip, so here we go. The whole thing will need proofreading at some stage so there may well be typos, but see if it whets your appetite - or not (don't be shy!).

.....
An Extract

.....

Even with the soft vinyl inner layer of the hospital-issue pyjama bottoms, and the close-fitting plastic incontinence underpants she had on beneath, the thin flannelette did little to ameliorate the discomfort of the hard wooden seat – already her buttocks were going numb, which ironically only served to make the griddle pattern of thin cane wheals crisscrossing her bottom throb all the more. No longer in contact with the ground, the naked soles of her feet now throbbed too, in the simple rhythm of her pulse. It was another irony; whilst her feet bore her weight, the aftermath of the doctor’s martinet consisted of little more than a fiery, overall burning sensation. Once seated, with her legs swept back beneath the chair and her hobbled ankles fastened by way of their leather restraint cuffs to two short lengths of chain that hung down from beneath the seat, it felt as if dozens of red-hot hooks were embedded in the undersides of her feet and were tugging rhythmically downwards in unison. Taken together these reminiscences of the cane and of the martinet were what had been responsible for the girl cutting herself off in mid-flow and also for the sudden contrite, apologetic retraction that had so quickly followed.
It was humiliating, but it was better than suffering a repeat performance. Besides, it was fear of humiliation, in a manner of speaking, that had earned her the six cuts of the cane across her bare behind and the twelve slashes of the multi-tongued martinet across the sole of each foot in the first place. Indeed, in a way the retribution, correction - call it what you will - had not been entirely unrelated to her tirade; it never was. The very best way to ensure receiving the attention of the doctor's supple length of rattan was to speak of being a volunteer behavioural research subject or to protest against the validity of any part of the doctor's diagnosis. But that hadn't been the cause on this occasion, not directly at any rate.
The doctor was fond of setting impositions to fill her time when confined to the tiny anteroom that had now become her home - to keep her mind active, the doctor said. In some ways she almost felt as though she should be grateful, after all, there was no window and once the heavy, padded, outer door had been shut, closing off the doctor's office from the prison-cell-like floor-to-ceiling hinged array of vertical steel bars that kept her secure, the silence was very nearly perfect. In fact the only thing that tarnished that perfection was the rushing-hiss of white noise - and that, she knew, was only there to make absolutely certain that her isolation was complete. Even that, though, was not entirely the truth; there were times, if she had been perhaps particularly stubborn, when that background mush would be accompanied by an insistent and repetitive beeping. It was not particularly loud, just an irritating little bleep that would constantly interrupt a her train of thought and that seemed to come at irregular intervals like a sort of modern electronic take on the Chinese water torture until she would find herself incapable of concentrating on anything other than trying to predict the next bleep.
On this occasion she had been set the imposition of writing an essay; 'How I Benefit from Being Kept in Long-term Residential Psychiatric Care '. But how was she supposed to write something like that, how could she? And then there was that adjective included in the title - 'Long-term' - that was surely there purely to increase her feeling of hopelessness. And it worked - she had put pen to paper, carefully copied out the title in the copperplate hand that was always demanded, then she had simply sat staring at it while weeping uncontrollably until the time allocated had run out.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, at least one thing the doctor had just said rang true to the girl, the part about her looking like a prison-camp waif. The double chin was anything but waiflike, and the pyjamas she was dressed in were definitely not quite as baggy as they had once been - but with their broad green and white stripes and soulless, shapeless design, what else did they look like other than a prison-camp uniform? Crestfallen, she looked away, tears welling.