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Diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of eleven T L Spencer turned to writing as a way to cope with her condition. Her vivid imagination and love of all things paranormal influenced her writing. T L Spencer enjoys all forms of literature and is currently studying at university, hoping to become a teacher.

Friday, 30 September 2011

Gutted - A Yeast Moment

I’m not just bread; I’m the most sophisticated, scientific bread around. I am not that plain and icky white bread, nor am I the snobby wholemeal type that gets jammed between the teeth. No. I am something much more important: I’m the best of both. The last slice. Here in the dark coolness of the bread bin, I am King. Kingston’s to be exact.

It is true. I am the tastiest bread around. When I’m fresh. At present, I am a little on the stale side. In fact, just recently, I have acquired a small fur coat in the top right corner of my being. Usually, were I by myself, this wouldn’t really matter. However, being in a bread bin, I am joined by some rather unscrupulous pastries. The sweet cinnamon swirl does nothing but sing all day and I find myself being bullied by the brioche. Well really, what do you expect? It’s French.

Escape is paramount. Escape is the name of the game; to be free from the black void of wooden woe, away from the pastries and bread buns, away from the cheap and cheerful cellophane bags which we carbohydrates are continuously captured in. Today is my lucky day.

Light appears to shine above me and a scuffling sound is heard. I can’t move so I just wait to see what happens. Seconds later I am chosen. I am the chosen one. I am taken from the black hell which I was thrown in and brought into the light. A warm hand plucks me eagerly from the bag, rids me of my fashionable fur coat… And then puts me in a box. Damn. 

This new box is metallic and has no lid. The inside is dull with a sort of criss-cross pattern on it. I briefly wonder what it’s for but then I stop. I hear a noise. A clicking sound, click, click, click. I don’t know what it is but it doesn’t sound all that nice. It’s an ominous clicking, like a countdown. 

Nothing happens for a few seconds and I am lulled into a false sense of security. For a few seconds all is quiet and peaceful and then the clicking starts in earnest.

The metal which I am resting on begins to warm. It really is quite pleasant at first but then the odd criss-cross shapes surrounding me begin to glow. A red and orange angry glow and my fibres begin to tingle. The heat is starting to hurt; it is crisping me from the outside in.

Not a minute later, I realise that I have become a little dirty. Black stuff coats my once pale body and I am concerned for my safety. In fact, I get angry. How dare this person put me in a cage and heat me up until I’m no longer worthy of being seen in public? 

Just when I reach my limit, I spring up from the box in a bouncy fashion. Like that dude that darts from the box. The sudden relief from the heat dazes me and I for a brief moment in time forget all about my troubles, until I am squeezed mercilessly by the person too dumb to wait five seconds for me to cool.

Does every bread slice go through this pain, this torture? Is it a rite of passage for a bread slice to be cremated and bounced from pillar to plate?

A glint of silver slashes before me before being covered by a coat of creamy yellow slime. My future isn’t looking bright, it certainly doesn’t look orange. It’s more a dismal mushy colour. 

With no warning I am smothered in a thick unforgiving layer of disgusting slime. I believe the humans call it butter; a fatty repulsive substance which damages the health. I find it should be called uncomfortable ooze. As if this isn’t insulting enough, a brownish goo is spread over the ooze. What a charming day.

The glint of silver returns and if I could, I would scream in pain. The idiot is chopping off my crusts, the glorious skin of my bready goodness. But it doesn’t end there. The human won’t be satisfied until he’s seen me cut into iddy biddy pieces. Fantastic, I am being drawn and quartered. How historical.

I am not looking forward to being demolished, for this is how I see it. I’ve been bullied, imprisoned, cremated, smothered in suspicious substances, drawn and quartered.

There is only one word for it.


Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Sexiest Vampire Alive

I spent an entire day at college, attempting to better myself. But my main priority? That was getting home in order to finish off the latest Sparks novel in the Love at Stake series.
Gregori Holstein's story was eagerly awaited and it didn't diappoint.
With the vampire world in peril, it fell to Gregori, a young and bottlefed vampire to save their kind and persuade the President of the United states to declare the video a hoax. Enter the President's daughter, Abigail. There will be an alliance between the vampires and the Americans on one condition. Gregori must keep Abigail happy and in order to do that, he must take her to China.
Because China holds the key to her mother's health... or does it?
A brilliant read and I simply cannot wait for the next installment!

Friday, 23 September 2011


The garden furniture got a makeover this morning as we said goodbye to the old and tired brown paint on the JacknJill and our lovely picnic table. It took three hours but the result is fantastic.
The JacknJill has come up brilliantly and looks oddly similar to vimto. It certainly adds a certain something to the garden and makes it alot lighter. After all, no one wants a dingy garden do they?
The picnic table isn't quite finished, it needs another layer on top and the fiddly bits haven't been done yet. I'm looking forward to finishing it; it gives me the brilliant excuse to get dirty and maybe have a paint fight.
I'll just have to make sure that when I get my hands dirty, I don't itch my face!

Thursday, 22 September 2011

Professional Writing

My second week of the professional writing course has past and I find myself hard at work and the challenge itself is surprisingly refreshing. After nearly a year of staying at home, the change is welcome, even if it is really tiring. I'm looking forward to next week.

Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Blood Prophecy

Three women are destined to save humanity from the darkness, but they must find each other first.Here is an extract from Blood Angel, volume one of Blood Prophecy:
The house was black as pitch, not one thing could lift the cloud of darkness that veiled my eyes as I tip-toed inside the house, weary of the evils that hide within its walls. Out of nowhere, I was attacked, Mother had hit me hard. All I felt was the usual sensation of glass hitting bone before I was unconscious on the floor. Blackness descended upon me, my last sight before darkness took me was of my Mother being subdued by a masculine figure. My guardian angel – a comforting thought as my mind was claimed by hell.
“Easy”, a voice, full of masculine heat and concern steadied me as my head spun, “your head took a knock. I could kill your Mother for that.” I lay back down, held my head and asked what time it was. “Two thirty in the morning. Let’s give you some fresh air. I think you need it.” Before I had a chance to protest, Gregori lifted me with ease and took me out into the garden. I huddled close to him as we went outside; I lifted my head skyward and thanked everyone and anyone up there that Gregori had followed me home. He had possibly saved my life, again.
By the pond we gazed into the night sky, pitch black, strewn with glittered stars, far away and old. Most already dead, even as we named them. Gregori and I scarcely spoke, I was just so thankful he followed me home; he must have an instinct for these things.
I got thirsty, needing a glass of water, so I headed to the kitchen. An overhanging willow tree blocked the light from the moon creating a dappled effect when the gentle breeze blew through. Beautiful. Until I got closer.
The veranda, barely visible through the overshadowed light of the moon. Nothing to be heard but the sound of silence. Trees echoed the souls of the departed, leaves rippled and crept across the ground towards the seemingly empty house. Shadows clasped at small things that passed them by, waiting for a victim. The door sliced open; a shadow snaked through. Shivers slithered down my spine at the vision but despite the warnings, I continued indoors regardless.
How foolish of me.
I entered the farm kitchen; my drink was cold and refreshing as it slid deliciously down my throat. I shut the refrigerator door, turned and dropped my glass as I screamed I terror. Before me stood the two most frightening people I had ever laid eyes upon. If people is what you would call them. Their eyes, ruby red, were fixed on me like predator upon prey. My heart rate increased. They licked their lips.
Suddenly their mouths began to move, I didn’t hear what they were saying but I felt power behind their words. A tugging, a desire to go to them. It was this that terrified me. Gradually I put my hand behind my back, onto the kitchen counter; there was a knife around. I took a risk and looked for it. One risk too many.
In a flash they were at my side, leaning in, baring pearly white elongated teeth. Fangs. Vampires? I screamed as the man who, on closer inspection, was an older version of Gregori, grabbed both my wrists and pushed me hard into the counter. His body pressed against mine, I felt disgusted. The woman came from behind him, gazing at me with shock and amazement, “You’ll make a good pet...” she cooed in my ear. I couldn’t move; I was helpless. I did the only thing I could. Screamed.

My cat, the Huntress.

A moment of moggie...
A funny sign is on the box and all I want is to catch bugs. Its still dark and I haven't been outside for hours. I'm a cat, I need to hone my skills, perfect my nunting technique... but my humans won't get up!
I make noise, verbalising my disdain for their laziness. They simply fidget in their warm nest and moan, 'Its too early'. I have no idea what that means but it doesn't sound all that good. They ignore me once again and I get impatient. Every minute they lie there, I miss hundreds of hunting opportunities. What could they be thinking?
A funny looking paw, they call them hands i think, hangs over the nest, flopping loudly to the floor. It is the male. My whiskers twitch as I walk over to it and nudge it lightly with my cold nose. My whiskers tickle the hand and it moves unexpectedly. I jump back, startled, but it doesn't stop me. I want those bugs, I want those flies. I want that odd animal that hops up and down and sueals when I poke it with my claws.
The hand stills and I approach it slowly. I nudge it again but nothing happens. Plan B.
I lift my paw and bat the overhanging article with a hard determined swat. The swipe gets his attention but he still doesn't move. He really needs to move. I let air shoot through my nose in frustration as my mouth moves in irritation. How dare he?
Angry, I swipe him again but this time, I unsheath my claws and dig them into his frail skin. Satisfatcion purrs from me as he sits up nd curses under his breath, definitely awake. I make an impatient meow and he stands up.
'Fine,' he says and covers himself with that temporary fur he is so keen on wearing before trotting down the stairs. I follow gladly, knowing in less than two minutes, I will be in my garden, catching things.