400 years between stars

400 years between stars - novel by Benjamin F Jones - Art by Richard Stroud

400 years between stars

I am very pleased to say that my first novel is out in e-book and POD format with wingsepress.com/

You can read the first chapter here.

Reaching the planet’s surface, Dyandra is horrified to discover that only half of the crew touched down. The rest are trapped in space by a mutiny. With inadequate provisions and separated from family and friends she must battle for survival in an environment she doesn’t understand.

A science fiction novel by Benjamin F Jones - to buy it click here.

Benjamin F Jones
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I am a Guest Storyteller at SarahPotterWrites

Writing in the Rhondda

Benjamin writing in the Rhondda

Thank you very much to Sarah Potter who chose me as March’s Guest Storyteller on her blog.

She has included one of my prose poems, Freedom climbs upon logs rooted which I wrote while I was in Powfoot in Scotland, and several photos taken by my daughter.

Benjamin F Jones

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The Year it Rained

Welcome to the clockwork of The Devonshire Arms. Eleven minutes past nine and any moment Geoff will walk in through the glass-panelled door and begin unbuttoning his burgundy overcoat as he does every Wednesday night. The bar is dotted with customers. Charles-the-Shoe in residence at the end by the wine rack, draped over his stool. He stares through his wire frame spectacles at the whisky he turns in his wrinkled hand – studying the liquid as it flows in waves. As I reach the bottom of my pint, Carl is already pulling me the next. I watch its bubbles swim as the door opens with a squeak. No one looks round.

- Benjamin F Jones
New start

Looking up

I am climbing back to my feet after months of exhaustion as a result of a thyroid malfunction. I never thought that it was possible to be so tired that sitting at a keyboard for 5 minutes was to exhausting to comprehend.
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The Spigot: the Origins of Valentine’s Day

The first interpretation of this celebration originates from a small walled city called Luberus. Whilst the city’s defences were being constructed hordes of hungry open countryside armed with brushes and scrubbers roamed outside. To honour the engineers working on the city’s outer walls, a spigot was thrown so that no harm would befall them or the large hooked poles they carried while working ‘outside’. Also at this time, but in honour of the Unseen-Queen, the young women and boys were put into a transparent box with a crank and drawn by lot. The boys and girls who were matched would be considered married or ‘bell-spawn’ in readiness for the new washing-cycle which began in March. This celebration continued long after the engineers had tamed the wild countryside.

- Benjamin F Jones
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For the Sun to Fade Her

What is the question you ask when the coffee is thick as blood and the radiators carry warmth like ants into the hive? I got a parcel this morning, a rare butterfly from Cerro Catedral. I must attach the Latin name. In its lifetime the butterfly would have gone a few miles – but it travelled thousands in the belly of a boat. The manservant brings a fresh mask and boots. At breakfast my wife asks what I’m doing today, she doesn’t care, it’s just words on autopilot. I know what she’ll be doing, lounging in the conservatory with the papers and moaning about the state of the world. She’s like a butterfly – beautiful but weak. If only I could drop her into the collecting jar – watch her curl back and forth. Pinned her in the chair next to that tower of newspapers, how long it would it take for the sun to fade her?

- Benjamin F Jones
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