Andrew ShanahanS410: DEEP
The crew pulled on the thick, wet rope that clung to the side of the trawler. “Anything?” “Nothing!” Four faces peered into the black rising swells that pitched the boat up in the air. “Keep pulling.” “But…” “Keep pulling.” The captain stalked from the deck and the hands watched as his face reappeared in the murky window that overlooked the deck of the ship. He shouted something they couldn’t hear at them. Without a word they turned themselves back to the rope. The three hands’ eyes met as th...
Andrew ShanahanS410: BREATHE
Music plays. A calm, swell of chords that holds you steady. We begin. As you take a breath in, you close your eyes. You breathe out and your eyes want to open. Let them if it adds to your feeling of security. But as you breathe – in…out – you feel the need to open your eyes reduces. Your eyes are closed. Gradually, like the emergence of dawn, you start to become aware of the world inside your mind. It is a place of great beauty and a serene, epic grandeur. You are aware that you are sat comfo...
Andrew ShanahanS410: THOUGHTS
All the ideas and thoughts that coalesced in my brain between 19:41 and 19:51 A cosy ninja. Furry slippers. Marshmallows on the points of his shuriken. The Smiths on a camping holiday. The 100 Acres Wood implies the existence of a 100 acres wouldn’t. I bet The Fonz really struggled to buy batteries. What size would you like Mr Fonzarelli? Aaaaaaaaaaay. Floating, floating, floating, floating, floating, then not floating Tesla superchargers, Tesla superduperchargers, Tesla supercalifragilistice...
Former Guardian/Times journalist, now writing fiction full-time. Having fun playing with web3 publishing.
Andrew ShanahanS410: DEEP
The crew pulled on the thick, wet rope that clung to the side of the trawler. “Anything?” “Nothing!” Four faces peered into the black rising swells that pitched the boat up in the air. “Keep pulling.” “But…” “Keep pulling.” The captain stalked from the deck and the hands watched as his face reappeared in the murky window that overlooked the deck of the ship. He shouted something they couldn’t hear at them. Without a word they turned themselves back to the rope. The three hands’ eyes met as th...
Andrew ShanahanS410: BREATHE
Music plays. A calm, swell of chords that holds you steady. We begin. As you take a breath in, you close your eyes. You breathe out and your eyes want to open. Let them if it adds to your feeling of security. But as you breathe – in…out – you feel the need to open your eyes reduces. Your eyes are closed. Gradually, like the emergence of dawn, you start to become aware of the world inside your mind. It is a place of great beauty and a serene, epic grandeur. You are aware that you are sat comfo...
Andrew ShanahanS410: THOUGHTS
All the ideas and thoughts that coalesced in my brain between 19:41 and 19:51 A cosy ninja. Furry slippers. Marshmallows on the points of his shuriken. The Smiths on a camping holiday. The 100 Acres Wood implies the existence of a 100 acres wouldn’t. I bet The Fonz really struggled to buy batteries. What size would you like Mr Fonzarelli? Aaaaaaaaaaay. Floating, floating, floating, floating, floating, then not floating Tesla superchargers, Tesla superduperchargers, Tesla supercalifragilistice...
Former Guardian/Times journalist, now writing fiction full-time. Having fun playing with web3 publishing.
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“Just staaaaaahp! It’s atrocious! Staaaaaahp!”
The conductor’s excess and excessive As hung in the air like a full can of Lynx Africa body spray, making the orchestra’s collective noses twitch with distaste.
“This is a noise you are making. A noise!”
The second violins wondered why he pronounced noise like no-ice.
“Again, let’s take it from the fourth bar, this time be musicians, not noise-makers.”
The orchestra found their place and at a signal from the conductor the magic happened. Silence and no music was instantly replaced with the poise and climb of Elgar. It was like watching a sports car go from standing to 130mph.
It was good. Even the trombones knew that it was good and they were usually the more pessimistic of the musicians – everyone knew that. There was something about your musical output mostly being used to denote a comical downfall that got to a person after a while. The cellists vibrated with joy at getting to be musically centre-stage, although technically they were stage right, penned in only by a phalanx of double bass.
“Tut tut, staaaaahhp! Tut tut!”
The texture and art of Elgar vanished at a click of a baton on a music stand.
“Tut tut to you all! Only flutes escape the tutting. Flutes were perfect. This time just flutes.”
A rap on the stand and the flutes were piping out their melody once more.
“Actually no, flutes too, tut tut! Awful. We have so much work to do. I’m not even sure we want to do it. Do we? Can we? Should we? Will we? I cannot say. If we all follow the timpani then we will simply collapse under the weight of our own mediocrity.”
It was this rehearsal and the three others that followed that made the orchestra collectively decide that the conductor must die.
**************
S410 stands for Starter for 10 and it’s a daily live-writing meditation that I do in 10 minutes. Each piece I write teaches me something. Sometimes what it teaches me is that I suck. Other times it opens up an entire universe.
Each S410 is a 1/1 original. Owners of S410 pieces will have access to a range of benefits, from story airdrops, special performances and even the opportunity to be killed in my longer fiction works.
“Just staaaaaahp! It’s atrocious! Staaaaaahp!”
The conductor’s excess and excessive As hung in the air like a full can of Lynx Africa body spray, making the orchestra’s collective noses twitch with distaste.
“This is a noise you are making. A noise!”
The second violins wondered why he pronounced noise like no-ice.
“Again, let’s take it from the fourth bar, this time be musicians, not noise-makers.”
The orchestra found their place and at a signal from the conductor the magic happened. Silence and no music was instantly replaced with the poise and climb of Elgar. It was like watching a sports car go from standing to 130mph.
It was good. Even the trombones knew that it was good and they were usually the more pessimistic of the musicians – everyone knew that. There was something about your musical output mostly being used to denote a comical downfall that got to a person after a while. The cellists vibrated with joy at getting to be musically centre-stage, although technically they were stage right, penned in only by a phalanx of double bass.
“Tut tut, staaaaahhp! Tut tut!”
The texture and art of Elgar vanished at a click of a baton on a music stand.
“Tut tut to you all! Only flutes escape the tutting. Flutes were perfect. This time just flutes.”
A rap on the stand and the flutes were piping out their melody once more.
“Actually no, flutes too, tut tut! Awful. We have so much work to do. I’m not even sure we want to do it. Do we? Can we? Should we? Will we? I cannot say. If we all follow the timpani then we will simply collapse under the weight of our own mediocrity.”
It was this rehearsal and the three others that followed that made the orchestra collectively decide that the conductor must die.
**************
S410 stands for Starter for 10 and it’s a daily live-writing meditation that I do in 10 minutes. Each piece I write teaches me something. Sometimes what it teaches me is that I suck. Other times it opens up an entire universe.
Each S410 is a 1/1 original. Owners of S410 pieces will have access to a range of benefits, from story airdrops, special performances and even the opportunity to be killed in my longer fiction works.
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