Group 99|گروه 99

Group 99|گروه 99

Another one of Laleh’s incredible tales….

A Voice from Iran

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A king of a land noticed that one of his servants was very happy. He couldn’t stand it and had to ask him about his happiness.

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The servant said: “I am happy your grace, because I have a great wife and a healthy child. I work and can provide food and shelter for them. We don’t have much but I am grateful for what I have.”

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The king later went to his minister and explained his servant’s happiness.

The minister said: “I will make sure if his happiness is real and will last long. He needs to become a part of group 99.”

The minister sent one sack of rice and one sack filled with 99 gold coins to the servant’s house.

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When the servant went home, he saw the sacks and became very happy. He started to count the coins. He counted the coins three times and it still…

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There Is Far Too Much Emphasis Placed On Planning

From 2015…

Have We Had Help?

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I know I’ve spoken about planning in the past. But like a lot of seriously overused writing crutches, it bears talking about yet again.

So many new and not so new writers insist on planning every single detail in their current work in progress almost to the point of being totally paranoid about it. It’s as if they need an Idiot’s How To Guide to be able to write. It has to be said that following this inflexible method leaves nothing to be desired. Neither does it make you think before you write. Nor does it allow you to make use of your imagination, not to mention being adventurous and therefore spontaneous. Give me research and spontaneity over planning any day.

It’s fine if you are just another hack with no imagination whatsover, ghost writing for a living. But I ask you, where’s the fun in that? Where is the…

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#YouToo, Dear Author

#YouToo, Dear Author

More from Justin in Malta..

The Champagne Epicurean

There once was an author who wrote about construction. He had long, curly hair, wore a baggy shirt and he had a tattoo of Bob Marley on his leg.

He wrote about construction with great passion. He wrote, “my lovely island is becoming a capitalist’s plaything. Down with history and up with phallic skyscrapers!” His favourite phase, which he used so much he thought he had invented it, was “Malta’s national bird is the crane.”

When he wasn’t writing (no one got to see what he wrote, only heard of it) he was protesting outside the developer’s offices. He protested by playing bongo drums, because, everyone knows, music can bring down the Man. It is well-known that John Lennon brought down the Berlin Wall and Bob Marley brought equality to Africans all over the world.

Of course he wasn’t as talented as John Lennon and Bob Marley. But he played…

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Please leave your ego at the door?

More good advice…

Have We Had Help?

In the last few days various highly inflammatory articles across the internet have emerged voicing differing opinions regarding the labelling of writers as either independent or professional – whatever that means, while delivering attacks accusing some of being lazy and unprofessional, which has been seen by some to be derogatory and rightly so.
What is the point?
How a writer chooses to publish their work is up to them. If they are taken up by a publishing house – fine. If not, going it alone is also fine. Choosing to be independent doesn’t mean you are any less professional in your approach if you are serious about your writing. To say that the whole sorry saga has done more to polarise the entire writing community in recent days is an understatement.
On one side of the argument sit those who firmly believe that the only way to produce a written…

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Picture his troubles

More from Jim 😉

Tallis Steelyard

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Some people are remarkably gifted. They are born with immense talent that just bubbles up out of them, and they merely have to use it to see constant improvement. There aren’t many of those people. Aside from myself I can think of perhaps two poets, a number of musicians and several painters. Obviously there are doubtless bouncers, coiners and those who follow horses with a shovel and a bucket who are also instinctively talented, it’s just that their talents are not perhaps celebrated in the circles that I move in.

When it comes to painters, perhaps the best example was Nedan. He was brought up as one of a large family on a small farm, and from his earliest youth would be found sketching or painting. As the third or fourth son, there was never going to be a living for him on the farm, so he came to Port…

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Up and Running!!!

This is how my bitter sweet love story Cataclysm began…

Have We Had Help?

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Just to let you know that thanks to your support and kind comments on my post Got a Minute the other day, I have finally made a start on my next novel, or novella, depending on how many words it ends up at. For now I’m using the working title – Targets Rewriting history in the twenty-first century, until something better occurs to me.

As many of you who read my blog will know, it simply started out as a series of four short stories involving my character Dr Gilbert Briggs and his team of technicians and field observers at the UK Advanced Science Institute based in Norwich in the county of Norfolk, and Briggs’ breakthrough when he took a science fiction concept (time travel) and made it reality when he concieved and constructed the Teleportation Gate; merely as an exercise to see if the idea was worthy of…

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Just keep knocking

Just keep knocking

More from Jim…

writers co-op

 – by Jim Webster

Have you noticed how there are people who never get the attention they deserve? Obviously it can work both ways. I know one or two people who really ought to come to the attention of the hangman, or perhaps that of a philanthropic assassin wishing to square his account with society. But there are also perfectly decent people who get overlooked or even ignored, often from the paltriest of reasons.

Take Morn Willit. A young man, handsome enough, intelligent, courteous and kind. Not only that but he had prospects. There again, there were unfortunate disadvantages as well. Firstly he was painfully shy. So shy that his two sisters feared he’d never pluck up the courage to speak to an eligible young lady, never mind ask her out to dine with him. Secondly he walked with a pronounced limp, from the time when a Partannese mace had…

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