Before Becoming a Ghost

Six thirty, mid May.

Grant looked out his window to greet a wonderful sunny day. He was sixty -one, still young in his mind, though grey bearded and thinning in top, but what the hell, he was still alive, and was still in control of his faculties, which was more than some folk were.

Early sixties, born in the early sixties, that had a bit of a ring to it, almost poetic.

He laughed inwardly at that thought.

He was an amateur writer, had been so for years, and in his retirement was at last beginning to gain a bit of recognition as a poet in his home town, and online also, as if that mattered.

He wrote poetry and  also short fiction.

His poetry was wryly funny, very much influenced by the work of Roger McGough, who he claimed never to have read. His own thoughts believed him to be influenced by Dylan Thomas, and this claim was often met with comments of derision from his 'critics'.

He had published a pamphlet of poems two years previously to brief acclaim, and then nothing, it had died on the vine so to speak.

His online selling of the publication hadn't taken off , and self promotion had never been one of his strong suits, so he gave the remaining pamphlets to fellow poets at local readings, at a writers' group he sporadically attended,  and to charity shops.

He wryly thought that the phrase  'charity shop chapbook', would fit well in one of his poems, but dismissed the thought, with no internal laughter this time.

The sun shone in the window, lighting up the room, and the birds were doing their best approximation of song.

A new day, a new beginning, he thought.

He had recently returned to writing prose, his ambition was to write and publish a collection of ghost stories before he became one himself.

The work of Stephen King had always been an inspiration , especially on his early writing, and through King's work, and reading about his influences, Grant had discovered a whole slew of authors writing supernatural or ghost stories. He particularly liked M.R. James , Edgar Allan Poe, and Robert Aickman, and had amassed a large selection of ghost story anthologies over the years. Their dusty presence in his garage had reawakened his interest in the genre since his retirement, and he was once again exploring his literary roots, which had first sprouted back in the eighties.

His first effort , 'The Office Goth', a fictional reminscence of an old work colleague, given a Jamesian flavour, in his opinion, worked well, and went down well online. He began to write more, they seemed to flow from his fingers , or his pen, depending on which method he had chosen on a given day.

Today, he really he really felt that this project could come to fruition before he indeed became a ghost. He still had the enthusiasm for writing that he had when he started in the early nineties, and as friends had said, he still had time on his side, at least ten years, which was a good thing.

As cliche would have it, he would keep on keeping on, until the book was complete, the marketing, and sales , he would worry about later.

Worrying wasn't a big thing in his life these days!