Cash in the bank

…some work in progress from the Cazique of Poyais story…

It had been an odd, but pleasurable experience to see Sam Jenkins in such discomfort and capitulating so quickly to what they wanted. The fear of God had thoroughly been put in him by Noemi’s threats. They didn’t walk away with £300,000 though the had a substantial sum from his safe with promises for the rest to be transferred to an account in Jose’s name at a separate, reputable banking establishment once he had done his best to fleece some of his dumber, richer clients who hadn’t yet heard of Poyais.

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…some work in progress from the Cazique of Poyais story…

The letter was by far the most shocking thing that the twins had found in the pile of papers on the dining room table. Deeds, bond coupons and a note that read: “Passage booked on Ocean heading to London on 1 August 1823. No cabins available.”

It didn’t matter much now, their argument. The adventure, or whatever it was, now approached a defining moment. With resignation, sadness and a touch of excitement, they made their way from their family home into the unknown. They had packed in silence. There wasn’t much to bring and neither of them had been on a proper sea voyage, so they didn’t even really know what they needed. It didn’t matter much now.

Wandering out the door, they saw Daniel Perez approaching in the distance. Rather than have a final chit chat with the man, they ducked behind a bush and waited for him to pass. The new owner of their house. It was hard to swallow. Jose in particular somehow never thought this day would be like this. Even without the awfulness of Uncle Tito, they would have had to abandon their home and likely never return. It just wasn’t something he prepared himself for. He put his head down and walked by his sister down to the docks of Belize Town.

Belize Town had the stench of too many people crowded into a small space. Given its size, it felt more like a small ship than the town it was and so comparisons to a typically overcrowded urban neighbourhood simply wouldn’t do. The citizens were fed up with the Poyais sufferers and wanted them out. The chief magistrate was under great pressure to do something about the situation.

Many of the sufferers, those that were capable at least, refused to give up on their dream of a life in the new world. They listened to the decree from the magistrate that they must leave and ignored it. Some made their homes on the outskirts of Belize Town and others ventured North to stake their claim. Those who remained were weak, vulnerable or simply fed up and were being ushered to board the Ocean bound for London.

This was the magistrates solution. He would deal with the others if the need ever arose. Though, he thought that was an unlikely occurrence. In any event, it didn’t really effect the Belize Town residents, so it would be ok.

The captain of Ocean wasn’t best pleased to transfer the sufferers back to England rather than proper cargo. Though he would be reimbursed by the Crown, it wasn’t really enough. He walked along the quarter deck inspecting his ship before the hordes were piled onboard, along with some paying customers he had rustled out of the woodwork. It would be cramped and no doubt there would be death. That was best not to speak of though. These people had seen plenty of death and though they hoped the long shadow what stop falling on them, they knew that wouldn’t be the case.

Quiet March

Not entirely true, seeing as March was busy, just not on the writing front. My failures were: Didn’t write a single post Only cooked two newish things and not sure they’re even worth a recipe post (also I didn’t take any pictures) I didn’t manage to complete the 50k words and submit my novel to […]

Why I write

Once, I thought, I could be an artist. Maybe a cartoonist, as that seemed to be the most appealing type of artist to be. You could tell a story with any type of art for sure, but a cartoonist told a story that felt in motion. As a fall back, perhaps some other sort of artist, I thought, that perhaps didn’t need the prowess of the more traditional forms of art. Of course, what I didn’t realise then was that any form of art required a certain prowess or at least openness of thought. Being an artist wouldn’t be for me. Certainly not in the way I had thought when an encouraging art teacher had noted similarities between the style of my random brush strokes and some well known abstract pieces. They were just being kind and then getting onto the next child. There’s no doubt that my teenage mind also took it way too seriously.

Cartoons were different. My uncle was a successful cartoonist, I could make a passable copy of some of my favourite characters from Dragonball graphic novels and I could loosely string together words for a few panels. Alas, I struggled to invent my own characters in my own style and in any event, I really struggled to get past the torso when drawing, and even then only in the head on perspective. I still sketched out panels with stick figures, though it never expanded properly past any of that. So, Cartoons out. What next then?

It was either concurrently or just after that I was trying my hand at modding old Gameboy ROMs using Hex editors and the like. I did not get far. Somehow I linked up with a person who was in the midst of translating a Japanese game into English and modifying bits slightly. It was some RPG that I can’t remember the name of. I claimed that I could translate Japanese to English and he got me on board his project to do so. Now, to be clear, I still don’t even speak Japanese. Back then, my brother was studying it a school and I thought I could make use of his textbooks to translate. Oh dear was I wrong. That was a very short lived portion of my artistic and creative life.

From then, I grew a bit older, moved on to university and then work. Throughout all of the time I had liked to tell stories. So that was it. I’m not sure my writing necessarily qualifies as art, but it is my creative outlet.