SEE TRAILER

Wetched Women

OUT ON AMAZON

JOIN IN....

  

Hey guys, now that I have been brave enough to put myself out there...yeah, out there... in cyber world and the likes of twitter, facebook and Google+!  

Well now that I've been bold, brave and even slightly stupid (one might say) how about a little interaction??

Though to date I have had over 27,000 viewers on my blog, I am saddened to say - that not one of you good people have ever ventured to talk to me!   One feels rather rejected and dejected all at once!

Yeah you read correctly; I want a little interaction!  Become a member on my blogspot - thus giving you immediate right to questioning, harassing, intimidating, annoying or (only if you are feeling generous) complimenting me and engaging me in literary conversations! 

Lonely is the life of an author, sometimes one would appreciate a little interaction, from literary freaks to distant enthusiastic types, everyone is welcome!  I would love to hear from writers alike, poets, rappers, avid readers.  I want to know what interests you, what books you like and what genre!  Tell me about your favourite authors and I will tell you about mine, (no, I won't say me) and we can share in the best or worst fiction we have come across.   And although some of my cousins from across the pond may find my spelling a little weird, please remember that I am English and therefore spell in a nonsensical way (sorry guys) and hope you do not judge too much!   

I will also welcome snippets of your own work displayed on my blog, (but guys I mean snippets, not full blown manuscripts) as a means of showcasing your work to my viewers....can't say fairer than that! 

 So what do you think?  Shall we get creative?? Get those discussions underway?  Get that old competitive streak all fired up?  Join me on 

sammarllyblogspot.co.uk 

AUTHOR'S CORNER:

AN ENDING TAKES A LIFETIME TO REACH!

Time takes its toll on most; there is no escaping it.  Waiting for God is no easy task, for the ticking of our clocks make for a noisy racket with intercepting memories and painful regrets.

 

Sybil King, an author of her time, a woman of substance, once admired, adored and loved by men, finds herself cheated and abandoned by her daughters and left to rot in a retirement retreat.  Where once the world was at her fingertips, she now seems to be barely touching the world or her nearest and dearest. There is life, it seems, in old age; for she befriends a group of like-minded women, together they form a poker club wickedly called Wretched Women, or WW for short.  Here the women break all the warden’s rules by sneaking in alcohol and cigarettes and use foul language as a form of rebellion, while reminiscing on past lives.  The headmistress and her twisted past, the actress who has loved and murdered, the Moroccan prostitute, the exotic dancer, the widow of an Arab brute and the television presenter who is confused about her gender; these are the fine members of society that make up the WW.

We reap what we sow, so be very careful; because the fruits of our labour come not as the organic delights to be enjoyed, but thoughts, memories and lurid shadows which follow us around and see us into our graves. 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Wretched-Women-Sammar-Ally-ebook/dp/B01HOY9V5E/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1467211582&sr=1-1&keywords=WRETCHED+WOMEN

SOON.... TO COME....

AUTHOR'S CORNER;

OUT NOW!

WRETCHED WOMEN 

Time takes its toll on most; there is no escaping it.  Where once we were youthful, gorgeous and happy, all eventually fade away into frailty, wrinkles and discontent.  Waiting for God is no easy task, for the ticking of our clocks make for a noisy racket with intercepting memories and painful regrets.  We wait eagerly, yet fearfully as the ending is pending just round the corner… an ending that seems to take a whole other lifetime to reach!

Sybil King, an author of her time, a woman of substance, once admired, adored and loved by men, finds herself cheated and abandoned by her daughters and left to rot in a retirement flat.  Where once the world was at her fingertips, she now seems to be barely touching the world or her nearest and dearest.  In short, she has faded into age, as many do.  And behind her invisibility her memories serve as oxygen, her tears serve as water and her regrets serve as sustenance. 

There is life, it seems, in old age; for she befriends a group of like-minded women, together they form a poker club wickedly called Wretched Women or the WW for short.  There the women break all the warden’s rules by sneaking in alcohol and cigarettes and use foul language as a form of rebellion.

The story kicks off with April, the oldest member of the group receiving some disturbing news.  This prompts her to tell the others of her deepest secrets, which prompts the others to speak candidly about their lives.  

We learn about April, the retired headmistress who was forced to give up twin boys at the age of fifteen, and subsequently suffered psychological issues, compelling her to seek out one of them (unbeknown to him) posing as a pen pal, and  consequently striking up a romantic  relationship with him.  We learn about Elsa Klinger, a once famous west end actress, with a very colourful past, filled with affairs and murders.  We learn about Cynthia, who was once living in luxury as the prisoner wife of a rich Arab.  We meet Fern, who used to be an exotic dancer in her day.  Zara, an attractive Moroccan, who the group later discover used to be a prostitute with a sordid gang culture.  We meet the once famous television presenter, Luna, whose husband was a transsexual and later a transgender and her unconventional ways of keeping her marriage, who seems to be slowly showing her transsexual side once her story was told.  We learn so much about Sybil King, narrator of our story and once known author; her secret lovers, her children, her mother and the one big regret of her life – the son she gave up.

We reap what we sow, so be very careful; because the fruits of our labour come not as organic delights to be enjoyed, but thoughts, memories and lurid shadows which follow us around and see us into our graves.  

INTERESTED??? GO AMAZON KINDLE 
AND FIND ME IN A BOOK 

AUTHOR'S CORNER;

THE BOOGIE MAN

Most of us fear, because fear is real; it seeps through your senses and conquers your very essence, creeping through your veins and nesting inside your brain, thumping inside your heart.  That's what fear is.  Fear can be big or small, significant or non significant, black and white or in technicolor, but know this, no matter what the shape may be, it's yours, your fear, your shit, your dark place!  

Some seek to suppress it by busying themselves; they turn into workaholics, they get involved in political crap, they become perfect model citizens, they party, they love, they hate, they smoke, they drink, they self medicate with drugs.  They wake up each morning with sheer dread in their ribs and a weight upon their shoulders they simply can't explain; but they know it's there, it's real, and very, very present.  The only sane option is to drag themselves out of that bed and get obsessing about whatever vice they have invented for themselves; get back on that metaphorical treadmill, because it's that treadmill that holds their sanity, their wealth and well being, it's that treadmill that is the thin fine line that keeps them in the world of normality.  

Creative people do it the best; they recreate what they fear through their fictional occupation, they paint, they compose music, they write the world to rights!  Altering and changing here and there, laying out a whole new world upon a blank canvas, a world where they can, even just temporarily, submerge themselves into.  A place where they dictate and recreate and become all that they hope to be. The boogie man kept at arm's length.   Navigating through a maze of insecurities and self doubt.  Fear is real. 

But wait, wait a moment...wait a God damn fear filled moment; run and it will run right after you!  Give chase and fear will devour the challenge, like a wild dog, run and it will chase.  Stop and it may jump, attack and bite your head off.  But just like a wild dog on the chase, if you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks and turned and looked that dog dead in the eye, it will stop in its tracks because it has no chase, no purpose, no sense in a nonsensical fight.  And that dog, that wild dog, will yelp and snarl, and in its confusion will heel and tame.  Fear is real, it is a primal instinct, a survival tool. Fear is real, but unfortunately in a made-up world like ours, fear is only ever owned by you, and only you can stop and stop it.

AUTHOR'S CORNER;

LOST IN YOURSELF

I reckon life does not begin until the journey is taken, freely and fearlessly.  Life does not begin unless you actually decide to begin it; until then you are just going along for the ride, stumbling from one shitty obstacle to another, blundering from one big mess up to another...in other words, you are on auto pilot.  Then you wake up one day and stare in the mirror and notice the lines etched on your once youthful face, get an eyeful of the crop of grey hairs resting on top of your head and look back at yourself through tired eyes.  

Remember all those dreams you had?  What happened?  Remember the first time you fell in love, the second, the third?  Remember how you thought it would never end; how you mapped out your life in that one moment of pure, white, light filled love?  Again and again and again?  Each time thinking, believing that this was it, this was love, utopia.  What happened?  Remember your goals, your mapped out career?  Remember your ideologies; your belief of a better world, a just world?  What happened?  Life happened; work happened, bills happened, relationships happened, kids happened, the menopause happened.....No.  You happened!  

You happened.  And when you happened, you happened upon yourself and inflicted... infected yourself with doubts and hang-ups and the more doubts and hang-ups you accumulated the more frustrations you stored up and the more frustrations you stored up the farther you went into the forest of self doubt and hang-ups.... farther and farther you went, into the deep with nothing but a memory of lost hope and shaky fears for a breadcrumb trail.  At least Hansel and Gretel had each other, you my friend decided to go it alone; in your own head!  In short; you were the worst thing that could happen to yourself!!

I am talking about a twenty first century epidemic!  We are so conditioned to want, to need to compete to prove and be approved that we stop living, we simply act out life; go through the motions, pay the bills, say 'I love you', buy the latest gadget and quietly lay awake each night grudgingly listening to the gentle snores of our better half (or not) and imagine that life must be better for someone else!  We blame the job, the mortgage, the partner, the parents, the foreign neighbours!  We blame everyone and everything around us, but we always fall short of blaming our own selves.  Then you wake up somewhere between forty and fifty and panic that you are nearer to sixty than you've ever been.  And still you refuse to look yourself dead in the eye.  Better to blame outwardly than take the blame inwardly.  

A life spent in blissful ignorance is a life ignorantly spent.  For the people in our lives, the job, the house, those annoying situations did not just happen.  No they did not; we were not remote controlled, drugged, or held at gun point when these things happened; we were present and participating and causing!  We just chose to forget our part in it all and found it easier to remember everyone else's part. We were cowardly enough to hand over the ownership of our mistakes and farther and farther we went into that forest of doubt and hang-ups.  The result?  You lose yourself.  And not to drugs or work or fame.... no you lose yourself big time!  You lose yourself in the one place you are too scared to go, too frightened to look; you lose yourself in the one place that is guaranteed to put the fear of God into you.... yourself!  Because if most of us are honest, we have spent most of our lives running from ourselves; recreating our so called selves, pretending that we are other than ourselves, hiding from ourselves.  After all, who else can you know better than yourself?  Who else is revealed to you in complete form other than yourself?  Whose flaws and ugliness do you really know other than yourself.  The more you run, the more you seek out a hiding place, the further and farther you go into the dark forest; deep into your tangled self, deep into your pretence and denial, deeply lost within the confines of your doubts. 

And auto pilot?  That is just the opium that keeps you sedated.  In order to live life, that life that you once thought you were going to conquer, you need to rescue your mind from yourself and be brave enough to look head on at your reflection in the mirror; I mean your proper reflection, the sad one, the silly one, the frightened one, the one that didn't get it quite right.  And you need to accept, honour and understand ..... only then will the journey properly begin.