Time For Some Hamster Fiction Methinks!

On this occasion I think I’ll serve up a nice little (random) extract from this rather pleasant e-book…

And here it is…

Well after that it all went swimmingly. Both Rootley and Joan learned that Darkwood’s father – Longbeach the King of Sponx – had sent his eldest son out into the world to ‘learn a few things’ before he returned to his homeland where he was expected to dispatch his father (enfeebled by age as he would undoubtedly be by then) into the next realm of existence, and then take over the throne.

Darkwood had been interrupted only once, and surprisingly it had been by the normally quiescent Joan.“Excuse me for interrupting – but you have a most unusual name. Your dad does too. How come?”

Darkwood was surprised that none of his audience was aware that in Sponx the royal children are always named after the place of their birth. “I, for example,” Darkwood had explained, “was born in a dark wood. My father came into this world upon a long beach. Of course naming a child after their place of birth doesn’t always result in names quite so poetic: My younger brother, for example, was born in a public lavatory when the Queen was caught short on a Royal Visit to a neighbouring land. Now everyone in Sponx prays that I survive my experience in The University of Life: The name King Brick Shit-House would make their kingdom the laughing stock of the known world.

Well as time went by they all learned something of each other – though neither Darkwood nor Rootley could comprehend either that Joan had slipped from her own technologically advanced world, via an invisible, and undetectable, trans-dimensional portal: through into their semi-medieval land. Or that custard could be frozen: And that there was at least one factory in Hamster Britain producing the delicious sweet.

Margarita comprehended in a second, as cavies often do, and was most impressed with Joan’s ability to ‘walk between worlds’, and offered to carry her wherever she desired, free-of-charge, with the promise that although she was a cavy she would temporarily refrain from the characteristic Perambulatory Defecation Syndrome that was so prevalent with beasts of burden like herself.

“Thank you,” Joan replied, “I might take you up on your kind offer. Of course I didn’t know I could walk between worlds: They must have inadvertently opened a door inside my brain when I visited the Institute of Hugely Important Studies for a series of psychic tests. I’m certainly feeling cleverer and cleverer with every passing second: Perhaps in time I might achieve the level of genius. Or perhaps it’s nothing more than the lovely clean air you have here. I don’t know. But that’s by the by: What do we do next?”

Darkwood was very impressed with Joan’s verbosity, and recognised that he would have fallen helplessly head-over-heels in love with her if he hadn’t been hamster-sexual, and only really fancied hamsters with squelchy bits that dangled. And as things stood, Rootley appeared to be the only ‘talent’ available currently. Unfortunately he was a mere serf with whom Darkwood would countenance no dalliance under any circumstances.

“You’re looking at me funny.” Rootley observed.

Although caught out, Darkwood quickly recovered. “I’m royalty: I’m allowed to look at people funny.” He snapped. Then added, “You’re local: Answer me this: To which location do you suggest we transport ourselves next? Food, shelter, and a safe refuge from an inevitable pursuit by the Lawmen of Weasels Pit would be a prerequisite.”

“Dunno,” replied Rootley, “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Well don’t think too long,” Margarita piped up from the shrubbery, “I can hear horns being blown in the village below.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan

This e-book is available at many outlets. Might I suggest you take a look at some of the better-known ones by checking beneath the ‘header’ or looking on the ‘sidebar’ for easy access.

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Amaze Yourself on Amazon!

Mister Nolan is pleased to announce that these e-books…

…now appear on the Amazon Kindle site. You are herewith invited to visit and peruse them at your leisure.

Look: Nook: Fook!

Were you to visit the Barnes & Noble site, from which you can purchase e-books for your wonderful Nook device, you would discover that these books now appear there…

So what the hell are you waiting for!

Remember the Earplugs!

I say that because it’s been an awfully long time since I completed the last tale; and a new one seems quite a ways off yet. Due to circumstances beyond my control, photography on the aforementioned ceased shortly after commencing, yonks ago. But yesterday the hint of a re-invigouration (if there’s such a word) occurred. I took a few minutes out of my busy day to create this…

Yes, it’s another flying machine; and what’s more, two new characters will pilot it in the next story. Their names are Richter and Beaufort Skail – and they will be central to the story. Can’t say too much about the plot, except to hint powerfully that found-footage and global cataclysm go hand-in-glove. Can’t wait to start snapping the pictures…eventually.

Tooty.

Again the Psychic Historian!

Following a period of near blogging silence, I felt that you, as my loyal readers, deserved another bout of the Hamster-Sapiens giggles. So here is another excerpt from this most wondrous tome…

It had been a shorter tale than anyone had expected. The audience was caught totally unaware as the screen seemed to go out of focus, then turn dark once more.

“Is that it?” Farmer Jacksey exploded, “I was just getting into that. All those references to debauched sex – but none on view. I feel empty inside – like me guts have been torn out!”

But others felt differently. They also felt differently towards Henderson, who was just regaining consciousness. His upbringing must have been difficult. Having a fondant profiteer as a father, and a brother called Legsakimbo who was a ‘chip off the old block’, and who in turn became a fondant pirate, must have made his childhood a living hell.

This opinion was reinforced when Henderson, still a little groggy, confessed, “And I was terribly ill too. I suffer from the worst kind of motion sickness: The sort that makes you really sick. And I mean really sick: Sick for days on end just for riding pillion on foldaway scooter. So sick, in fact, that I actually considered throwing myself from the gondola of my father’s dirigible.”

“What stopped ya?” Farmer Jacksey jeered from where he sat beside his diminutive wife, the former Miss Gultrot.

“I threw up before I could clamber over the rail.” Henderson replied with a complete lack of defensiveness in his tone, “I then slipped in my own vomit, and knocked myself stupid on a cast iron support flange. I was hospitalised for a week. That’s when they revoked my flying licence. But my love of fondant remained, and in between becoming a professor of Pox and Pustules, I opened my own shop on the promenade at Chunderford. When Horatio Horseblanket destroyed that wonderful emporium of nature’s elixir of life he took everything that was precious to me. I now pray that you understand my motivation for wanting to kill him, and request that you turn your backs whilst I conduct the dirty deed.”

Horatio may not have been the sharpest blade in the cutlery drawer, but he could recognise a fabulous argument in favour of murder at a hundred paces.

“But I didn’t destroy your fondant shop,” he yelled as he stood – heedless of the imaginary sniper, “I was on board the Dragon Slayer that day – but I didn’t make the propeller fall off. A board of enquiry exonerated me utterly. It was determined that the fault lay with a boiler-room technician who accidentally whacked it with a broom whilst fighting off an attack of mosquitoes. If you want revenge – then I suggest that you turn your considerable mental ability to finding a means of eradicating the mosquito.”

For a moment utter silence reigned. No one had ever heard a young hamster say so many words without breathing in pure oxygen for at least five minutes previously. They were astounded. But once they’d recovered from the intense feeling of admiration for their local celebrity, good sense made them consider his words.

“Yeah,” Boney was the first to speak. He addressed Henderson Dangerpimple directly, “Why don’t you do exactly what he said – and do us all a favour? I hate mozzies. I s’pect we all do – deep down inside.”

Well the inference was clear to Dangerpimple as the crowd quickly got behind Boney and Horatio. “Death to mozzies! Death to mozzies!” They cried.

“Is it true?” Dangerpimple spoke directly to Horatio for the first time since Colleen Slapper had walked away whilst still wearing her wedding dress, and with her knickers still firmly hitched. “Did they really exonerate you?”

“Scout’s honour.” Horatio smiled with relief, “But if you don’t believe me you can look it up in the town library. There was a full transcript printed in The Bucktooth Times. I’m sure they’ll have a copy of it: It was a big story.”

Henderson Dangerpimple nodded acceptance. “Thank you, Horatio.” He said.

Horatio was puzzled. “For what?”

“For giving new meaning to my life.” Dangerpimple replied, “I realise now that a future in fondant icing isn’t for me: I shall do as you suggest, and turn my considerable intellect to the problem of exterminating an entire species. And as regards your theft of my wife…well I now consider that fair payment. She was really only window dressing anyway: She couldn’t hope to have competed with me in intellectual conversation: I would have tired of her very quickly, I realise that now. But for you she’s perfect. You can both talk endless crap from dawn ‘til dusk. When you finally marry her I hope that you produce a vast number of small Horatios: Hamster-Britain needs more heroes. Good luck.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan

This e-book has been available at pretty much every e-book seller upon the planet. It has not sold in its millions. So, if you would be so kind, how about you visit some of those stockists (mentioned beneath the header of this blog) and make it a huge hit. After all I can’t really call myself a literary genius and Internet sensation without your help can I!