Tag Archives: story

I Need Proof!

I Need Proof!

It is that time of the process at which point I require your assistance.

The Weathered Kingdoms and its micro-stories need fresh eyes.

Anybody with a spare hour or so, in possession of a highlighter or a document editing program/application, just drop me a message if you are interested.

What needs to be checked for?

  • Spelling
  • Grammar
  • Consistent tense (past/present)
  • Constant point of view (1st or 3rd person) (also that the narrative doesn’t jump from one person to another.)

What to remember whilst editing:

  • Vibrantly mark your changes.  No matter how many times or how diligently I check through, I always miss bits that are either in error or simply don’t make sense.  Therefore when it comes to comparing your copy to mine, being able to easily find your changes is invaluable.
  • Don’t be afraid to make as many changes as you think are necessary, no matter how insignifcant or pointless you may think they may be.  My spelling, grammar and autocorrect are frustratingly terrible and I want to make absolutely sure that it all makes perfect sense before I publish hard copies.
  • Feel free to contact me if you need context or there is something that makes no sense whatsoever.  My concentration and autocorrects are shockingly off-point.  I wrote the majority of it all on my apple tablet (wink) whilst at my breads and-butter jobs over the past three years, which gave me the means and motivation.  However, my autocorrect seems to think that it is right 100% of the time, even when putting capital letters on “in, it, is”…and my day jobs tend to require that I put interruptive customers before my stories.

So please, if you are able, I could really use your help.  You can either contact me through WordPress or my Facebook page: https://m.facebook.com/akarockynorton/

Thank you in advance.


The Hunt


The snow is firm, however, the slightest pressure and it will crunch underfoot, if we let it.
Stalking our prey requires absolute silence so our movements are slow and calculated.  Any indication of our presence and the stag, now grazing not a few bounds from us, will bolt.
A few more paces and he will be ours.
In mere moments, my companions and I will have the beast surrounded.
The need for silence will no longer exist.
A twig snaps.
My group freezes, the stag looks up.
The dratted sound came not from one of my fellows, too far away from us it was.
Our target is spooked, it scouts the area, sniffing at the wind.
We will not be able to close the gap fast enough, he will head downwind before we would be able to get to him.
A cluster of leaves rustles.
The creature starts to move away, slowly, yet fully alert, ready to run at the first provocation.
We will lose him for sure.
I give the signal.
My brethren spring forward and the chase begins.
Of course, he would usually outpace us, however this woodland is too dense to allow him to gain any distance from us.  Traversing this terrain is like second nature to us.
More noises arise from behind us now.
The indelicate oaf or oafs, who ruined our element of surprise, are also in pursuit.
I am able now, to smell them.
The undeniable stench of human beings, the hunt just became a lot more dangerous.
I emit a low howl, sending a warning of the new danger.  The songs of my party start to echo around us.
We are twelve strong, it is likely that we outnumber them.  With any luck, our calls will scare them into turning back.
Sharp, whining whistles pierce the air.
At least two of my family cry out as they are struck by sharp sticks.
Our prey is long gone.
We have only two options before us; to flee or fight.  A choice that the two legged monsters have just made for us.
This we all know we’ll, our cries turn rumbling snarls in our throats as we turn to face our foes.
The clash, violent and bloody, is over in a matter of minutes, our claws and teeth, no match for their cold, shiny tools.
My pack are either dead or scattered.
Theirs is regrouping.
All save one.
The scent of cowardice splits off from the others when the fighting broke out.  It has retreated to, what he believes to be, out of harm’s way.
His blood is rich and well fed, perhaps even human royalty.
This is no time to be licking wounds.
Shame, anger and an aching hunger drive me towards where he is hid.
He stands next to a high-bread pony, a mere boy barely breaching his adolescence, clutching the lines that bind his equestrian companion in one hand.
In the other, a grand tool, clearly forged for a human of far superior skill and age than this pup.
A short way off there is a person, the pre-pubescent prince’s guard perhaps.
It takes no effort at all, injured as I am to slip past him unnoticed.
Waiting until I am within attacking distance, I let out a low growl, to give my victim fair warning as well as a sense of fear.
He cries out in alarm.
The horse bolts, yanking the lines from his grip as I push him to the ground.
The shiny tool is knocked away, out of reach.
He throws his arms up to protect himself so I sink my teeth into the one closest to me.
A sharp stick whistles over my back, grazing my fur as it passes.
Releasing the limp arm, I turn my attention to the guardian, however there is no need as I see two of my siblings pounce, taking him down.
Movement behind me indicates the child’s attempts to flee.
Turning swiftly, I clamp my jaws around his leg before he has the chance to struggle to his feet.
Fear glazes his eyes as he attempts to kick me away.
To no avail.
Ensuring that he is sufficiently wounded enough to prevent any further escape attempt, I release him, ready to finish him off.
There is a new smell.
I hesitate.
My blood freezes.
An apprehensive growl rises in my throats and my fur stands on end.
A figure approaches.
It’s scent is completely unrecognizable, yet so dense that it chokes my senses.
My vision starts to blur, however I can still make out that, whatever it is, it has the appearance of a human male.
It makes it’s way towards me, exuding an unseen pressure in my direction, so severe that I am forced down until my legs begin to buckle under me, pushing me backwards.
Within a few short moments, it stands between me and my long forgotten prey.
It speaks using a human voice and human words.  I can hear a second voice from it at a level that no human will ever hear.
The first of these voices calms the young prince, whereas the second voice hisses and scratches, knitting together dark and unnatural spells of magic.
It draws me, unwilling, into submission, ebbing away at my very life force.
My world is going dark, all sounds fade and as I take my last breaths, I can see this creature’s true form.
I am afraid.

Can you describe them?


One of the key elements to my writing style for The Weathered Kingdoms, is the fact that I don’t include a lot of descriptions.  Bare minimum, in fact.  I have chosen to do this as I wish for my readers to create their own, very personal images of the characters and locations.  

That being said, I have decided to include descriptions of one physical attribute of each of the main characters, to lend depth.  These are few examples of what I’m including;

Proof Readers Please


I have finished the writing and typing up of The Weathered Kingdoms.

Three years of writing and a few weeks of typing have brought me the accomplishment of 15500 words over 28 basically formatted a4 pages.  And now it need to make sure that it actually makes sense.

During the typing process I changed a few names which need to be checked for continuity.  My grammar is also quite poor, especially, I believe, my use of apostrophes when used to identify a possession.  Not to mention the fact that I typed the whole thing out using an iPad and, whilst I tried to catch every auto correct that tried to insert itself, I’m fairly certain a few remain.

I feel the need to point out that, despite the fact that it is a story aimed at children, it is very wordy.  I will not be editing this issue.  Simply put, this is how I write.  When I was a child, I would read books that were more advanced that my own vocabulary because of the superior story quality.  If there was a word that I did not understand, I would learn it, and in doing so, expand my knowledge of the English language.  This is a quality that I am aiming to inspire in my younger readers.  I will include a glossary at the end of the book and also on this site (to save the digital readers the hassle).

If there is anyone out there that is interested in doing a bit of proof reading for this story, leave a comment on this page or message me via my Facebook page.



Copy, Right?


Copyright is the most basic right when it comes to your creations.  The most simple way to describe what copyright actually is, would be that it stops other people making money from something that you have created without your permission.

It can apply to pretty much any kind of creation; story, movie, art work, design and idea.

All that you have to do, in order to claim copyright, is to prove that you had it first.  

To do so, is also very simple.  Post it to youself.

Put a copy or a photograph of your creation into an envelope (I use padded, just in case), take it to the post office, make sure that it is sent with one of those printed our stamps that include the date and be sure to get a proof of posting.  

When you receive the package, do not open it.  Put it somewhere safe, with the proof of posting, until it is needed.

Alternatively, you can email a copy to yourself, although this method is less concrete as any proof can be tampered with of photoshopped, making the postal method must more effective.

Keep you creations safe, and they’ll keep you safe.
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Who is Rocky Norton?


As many of you either know, have figured out or read the info page for this blog, Rocky Norton is not my name.

It is my pen name, one that I came across on Facebook, what feels like, eons ago.  It was one of those; what’s you pirate/movie star/stripper/zombie name posts.  For an author, you had to take the name of your first pet and the street that you grew up on.

Rocky was the most docile bishon frise you could ever meet, he was a ball of fluff that thought he was cat, looked like a sheep and was (towards the end) as blind as a bat.  A first true love, if you will, was that dog, I keep a picture of him on my bookshelf.

Norton, as in Norton Crescent, was where I spent about 16 years of my life.  It holds many memories, both good and bad, and is more a place that made me into the person I am today more than any other place I can think of.

My creative name could have been quite literally anything, but thanks to some crappy internet trend, I was able to encapsulate the perfect name that represents my heart and who I am.

This is who Rocky Norton is.
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Concept Art


Otherwise known as proof as to why I will not be the one to illustrate my story.

Flames of white whipped the fire into a frenzy, the flames rose so hush as to scorch the eaves of the ceiling, an overwhelming scent of sulfur, of rotten eggs, caused each member to the assembled to reel away from the hearth.
Using her disguised form to her advantage, she flew around her to create an enchanted circle to contain the magic, then landed on the finger that had been extended towards her, as the queen had noticed the beautiful dragonfly encircling her.

From then moment the stone had come into contact with that woman, the black crow stirred.  Through every movement it had stayed in place, stuck fast to the young seer’s shoulder.
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