*Features adult language and themes.*

Kurt Sampson, a self-help guru, is trapped in the fake life he has built for himself, no longer believing in the profitable shtick he’s peddling. Part of this is writing a monthly magazine article titled ‘How to be Happy’.

Over the New Year period five disparate (and desperate) people from the same small town are guided by their individual issues to seek out Kurt’s advice.

Charlie a young computer genius crippled by social awkwardness which has forced him into a solitary existence.

Daisy a meth addict whose only interest is chasing her next high, no matter the cost.

Simone a strong, independent, business woman. Her life revolves around her job and the comfortable lifestyle it affords her.

Evie is a frustrated artist. Since her son was born she has lost focus. She’s open to any fad or advice that promises to fix her life.

Jon, Evie’s husband, is content with life. He has a wonderful family and a menial job that pays the bills.

Everyone is trying to figure out what makes life worth living, and if happiness is really an achievable aim?

‘Jump to’ LINK INDEX


New Year’s Eve/Day – Charlie | DaisyKurt | Evie | Simone | Jon

January – How to be Happy | EvieSimone | Daisy | Charlie | Jon | Kurt

February – How to be Happy | Charlie | Daisy | Jon | Evie | Simone | Kurt

March – How to be Happy | Charlie | Daisy | Evie | Jon | Simone | Kurt

April – How to be Happy | Charlie | Daisy | Evie | Jon | Simone | Kurt

May – How to be Happy | Kurt | Charlie | Daisy | Jon | Evie | Simone


This manuscript was completed in 2011/2012 after a successful attempt at Nanowrimo. I did send it out to agents at the time garnering a few polite rejections and it has festered on my hard-drive ever since.

After discovering it yet again (when beginning a new novel project) I gave it a read and was shocked to NOT be completely mortified by it. I think my writing has moved on from this, but I also thought this effort deserved a home for anyone that might find it interesting. To that end, I’ll be going through the manuscript again and giving it another hard edit before posting a chapter a week (on Monday’s) until the whole thing lives here.

I will also (probably unwisely) be opening comments under each chapter if you’d like to post feedback.


*Features adult language and themes.*


“Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
– Abraham Lincoln


* * *


“Are you happy?.”


“To be happy you have to accept and embrace your true self.”


“You have to protect yourself from negativity.”

What does that even mean?

“Negative thoughts are roadblocks across your path to happiness”

I can’t believe how easily the words spill out of my mouth. They landed softly on the microphone to be amplified and projected at the audience.

Presumably the audience was still there. He couldn’t see anyone beyond the first three or four rows. The spotlight shone in his eyes obscuring them.

Oddly, he never got many walk-outs; he assumed plenty of people were listening. At this point, he didn’t care if the place was empty. The theatre was sold out, he’d got their money. He didn’t give a shit if they hated the show.

The rows he could see were full. Full of people hanging on his every word.

“There are many forms of negativity. You must become resistant to them. Eventually you can learn to process that negative energy and send it back to its source as positivity.”
They sucked it up so willingly. It was pathetic. Some of the crowd were perched forward on the edge of their seats, caught up in his words, so willing to learn the great secret that would make their lives better.

He decided to take a stroll across the stage. He’d been standing at the lectern all evening, it was time to wrap it up, time to give the people some sort of closure. Make them think the last two hours of their lives had been worthwhile and enriching.

In many ways he was an illusionist. Instead of trying to make them think he mutilated an attractive assistant, he used words. The people came into the theatre expecting knowledge, possibly enlightenment. They came willingly, and paid good money, to learn something that would improve their lives.

What they got was a guy on stage using a slideshow to tell them they already knew how to be rich and happy but for some reason they were stopping themselves.

He couldn’t believe he got away with it.

The power of a slideshow should never be underestimated.

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New Year’s Eve – Charlie

*Features adult language and themes.*


“A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.”
– Steve Martin


* * *


The march had taken them all night. They’d battled through the patrols; taking them unawares and making sure that they didn’t raise the alarm.

They made a strange pairing, a troll and a dark elf, but they seemed to work well together. The troll’s sheer strength combined with the elf’s speed and finesse had outwitted the enemies so far but two of their party had been lost.

They were so close to completing the mission. The fortress was in sight. They had to find a way past the gates and assassinate the fortress commander. It was a big ask for just two of them. They hoped that their compact number would be an advantage. Their weapons were stealth and surprise.

The plan was for the troll to cause a diversion while the dark elf slipped in to take the commander out. They were using the darkness as cover and it wouldn’t last much longer.

An arrow thudded into the ground next to the elf. He had no idea where it had come from. Retreating behind the troll, who could take more arrow fire, he drew his knives and prepared for an attack.

The enemy charged from behind, the arrow had been a ruse to turn them around. The troll jumped over the elf landing on the first attackers squashing them into the mud with its big stone shoes.
The elf hesitated for a moment too long, trying to decide if he should run and continue the quest alone, or to stand and fight with the troll. The decision was made for him when the fortress guards closed in. There were four of them wearing leather armour and carrying longswords. He raised his knives, swirling them around, loosening his wrists. The guard on his left feinted forward as the attacker on the right slashed towards his leg. He parried low and stabbed high, his knife sliding into the guards throat with sickening ease.

He had to swing around to block a second attack then kicked out at a third guard. Then threw one of his knives to stop the fourth guard taking his head off. The patrol was too big, they were surrounded, there was no way out. His troll companion had been felled and guards were climbing all over him hacking and slashing as he roared and struggled.

“Die, die, die… We’re dead.”

Charlie pushed his chair away from the desk in defeat. He continued to watch the slaughter on his computer screen. Light had started to leak into the room through half closed blinds. The diffused light made the mess in the room look a little sinister. The room could easily have been mistaken for an amateur bomb-maker’s workshop. Tables and shelves ran all the way around the room filled with technical books, computers and components. Dotted amongst the organised chaos were empty fast food packets, crushed cans of energy drink and a few collectable figurines. The limited wall space was filled with notice boards of post-it notes and scraps of paper covered in scribbles and notes. In between the boards, and sometimes underneath, were anime movie posters.

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New Year’s Eve – Daisy

*Features adult language and themes.*


The statue always gave her the creeps. She didn’t understand why the council thought it was a good idea to make a statue of a cartoon character. It wasn’t like it was Homer Simpson. The statue was of an old woman with round glasses wearing a big overcoat and a tea cosy hat holding an umbrella across herself defensively. Like most other old people in the town Daisy felt like it looked down on her.

She often thought of the old proverb: ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’ People thought they knew a lot about her by the way she looked. The trouble was they weren’t far from the truth. Still, it was rude to make assumptions no matter how accurate.

She sat on the plinth beneath Giles’ Grandma, knees tucked up to her chest, jittering up and down making her look cold or nervous, taking sharp pulls on a rollie.

There were plenty of people wandering around town considering it was late-afternoon on New Year’s Eve. The shops started the New Year’s sales early, usually on Boxing Day. It was strange but she guessed the shops needed all the help they could get. Anything to make people spend their money.

As if they didn’t spend enough before Christmas.

Daisy needed the money too.

She threw her dog-end on the floor, stamped on it, slung her canvas bag over her shoulder then made her way up to the market square.

Most of the market traders were beginning to pack up but it didn’t stop a few last minute shoppers looking at the wares as they were put away for the year. A lot of people were wandering through the square, most with shopping bags some with bottles and crates of booze, on their way to the night’s entertainment. Daisy wanted to make her own entertainment, but she needed the funds to make it happen.

The familiar itch had started a few hours ago. It was gnawing in her chest and tingling at her finger tips.
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New Year’s Eve – Kurt

*Features adult language and themes.*


What’s the point of having a party on a boat if it never leaves the dock? It’s like getting into a taxi and paying the driver to stay put. Sure the view was good, but the floor didn’t stop moving. Plus the sound of water lapping at the side made Kurt want to piss constantly. Though with the amount he’d already drunk no other excuses were needed.

He stood at the rail looking out over the dark water of the Thames. Soft jazz music filled the air not occupied by the slapping of water. The boat had been moored just down from the London Eye. Firework central on New Year’s Eve. He had to give it to the magazine, they really hadn’t skimped on the promotion. I’m just surprised they had this sort of money left after my advance.

Self Magazine had hired the entire boat, all three levels of it. Kurt’s wife had told him it was the place to be to bring in the New Year. If you care about that sort of thing.

Martha did. She cared about anything that her friends deemed important. The latest production, the hottest restaurant, the popular bars. Seemingly any place that was preceded by an adjective. She had been thrilled when he’d told her about the magazine column. Her yoga friends were avid subscribers. They bought into the whole holistic, touchy-feely editorial. In fact Kurt had gone up considerably in his wife’s estimation with the deal. He’d had four books published, two DVD’s, countless sold out shows and a bank balance big enough to support her lavish lifestyle, and it was a few crappy magazine articles that justified his career. It’s only because her friends approve. She gets to use me as social lubricant. She finally sees a reason to show me off.

It was such a shame her friends were a bunch of cunts.

One of the biggest revelations to Kurt upon moving to the UK was getting a good grasp on the slang and swearwords. He was quite aware of the ‘c-word’ back in America, but the Brits seemed to use it with such flair.

It was such an apt word for Martha’s friends. It had a harsh sound, especially if you put emphasis on the ‘c.’ It reminded him of the meaningless noises they made when they greeted each other; strange squealing expulsions. The end of the word was also stamped with a strong ‘t.’ The same sort of noise they made when they disapproved of something. It just fit.

Kurt was a writer, it was his job to use words to describe a plethora of things. He had an extensive vocabulary, yet in all of the hundreds of thousands of words available to him, that was the one that best described Martha’s friends.

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New Year’s Day – Evie

*Features adult language and themes.*


It just sits there waiting for me to do something. Each time I look at it, I feel it staring back at me accusing me of laziness.

Evie turned her head away trying to ignore it. It wasn’t going to win this time. She wasn’t going to give in. The trouble was she wanted nothing more than to fill the vast white blankness.

It’s only an empty bloody canvas. I’m starting to think of it as a puppy that needs walking.

Light played over the softly textured surface creating vague and shifting images of its own. It yearned to be used. It was waiting to be marked. Evie wanted to. She was full of ideas, but none of them made the journey from her mind, out of her fingers, onto the canvas.

She had a huge list of things on her mind that she needed to do. All of a sudden each one seemed more important than standing in front of her easel trying to paint.

I’ll make myself a cup of tea, that’ll make things better. Somehow.

She turned away from the table, knocking a brush to the floor. It stabbed into the carpet depositing a splash of red paint that made the floor look as though it was bleeding. Bollocks, something else to clean up.

Walking across the living room and into the kitchen she tried to ignore all of the other household chores that littered the flat. The task was more difficult in the kitchen; if she really wanted a cup of tea she’d have to do the washing up. She refused to rinse out a dirty cup and use it, she would have to do the lot. He never does the washing up. I’m sure he just leaves it because he knows it’ll drive me crazy and I’ll cave before he does.

Evie briefly contemplated drinking her tea from a gravy-boat before proceeding to wash up in a filthy mood. She washed everything vigorously, splashing water all over the work-top and the front of her cardigan. The water began to drip onto the floor, pissing her off even more.

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New Year’s Day – Simone

*Features adult language and themes.*


She woke up gently. It was a pleasant, unfamiliar feeling so she decided to savour it. Simone was completely aware, no fuzziness or lethargy but she couldn’t remember much about the night before. She kept her eyes closed, the darkness was comforting; light was doing its best to tempt her to open them, but it was a soft light, not like dawn at all. There was a gentle hum coming from somewhere but it was difficult to describe. Not like a noisy fridge or a radiator warming up; a more pervasive sound. Her leg was cold where she had stuck it out of the quilt. Somewhere in her mind she thought she could regulate her body temperature by keeping one part of it chilly. The pillow was soft against her face and the mattress firm beneath her body. Everything she felt was comforting, yet edged with a sense of strangeness.

It was strange. Her own bed was soft, she usually sunk into it. Her usual pillows were lumpy and uneven. The humming noise was definitely different.

I guess I better open my eyes and see where I am.

The hotel room was stylish and immaculate. The only things out of place were the clothes strewn across the floor. A cocktail dress, shoes, bra, bow-tie and knickers.

It was still night, the room was infused with soft light turning everything blue. The window was open slightly, a gentle breeze ruffling the open vertical blinds making them clack together. Through the window she saw the lights of the South Bank and London Eye. The hum came from the streets below with their ceaseless traffic; the noise of a city where things don’t stop just because the sun disappears.

Simone’s memory began to come back. It was early morning on New Year’s Day. The first dawn of the New Year hadn’t arrived yet and she felt a growing dread that she’d done something stupid already. The light snoring behind her confirmed it.
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New Year’s Day – Jon

*Features adult language and themes.*


The day was crisp and clean. The air felt cold in his throat as he sucked it in. The walk across town had been a bit of a challenge. Jon hated pushing the buggy. The wheels had a mind of their own, they veered off in surprising directions and found every rut and hole in the pavement.

Robbie sat in the buggy happily, he didn’t care about the ride, but he was excited about the destination. Jon had promised him a trip to feed the ducks the night before to bribe him to go to bed. He’d hoped Robbie would forget. But kids never forget. They’re like elephants, but smaller with a greater potential for destruction. Jon based this observation on their flat which was littered with Robbie’s toys and mischief.

Robbie had got the hang of taking toys out of the cupboards and boxes they were stored in, but he hadn’t twigged that they needed to be returned. Jon imagined that he was always amazed when Evie cleared them all away again. There’s nothing as painful as standing on lego bricks in bare feet. I’m surprised they don’t use it instead of water-boarding.

“Quack, quack, quack,’ said Robbie excitedly as he recognised where they were.

“Yes, Robbie. What goes quack?”


Jon wheeled the buggy through the gates into Christchurch park. He used the entrance at the bottom of an adjacent road. It wasn’t the main entrance to the park that led up to the Mansion. This was a short cut to the ponds and the ducks.

He locked the buggy’s brake into place and lifted Robbie out. “Time to use those legs of yours.” Robbie immediately tried to make a run for it, forgetting about the little harness he was wearing that Continue reading

January – How to be Happy

*Features adult language and themes.*

“Those who are not looking for happiness are the most likely to find it, because those who are searching forget that the surest way to be happy is to seek happiness for others.”
– Martin Luther King Jr.


* * *


This is the first feature in our monthly series from self-help guru Kurt Sampson.


* * *


The start of a brand new year is a wonderful opportunity for change. The year ahead is a blank slate, full of potential. A wide field of fresh untrodden snow waiting for you to make your mark upon it.

Some people find this sort of freedom frightening and shrink away from it, others see it as the beginning of a new adventure.

Which are you?

We’ve all made New Year’s resolutions that have evaporated into the ether by February. Resolutions are the butt of many jokes and a lot of people simply don’t bother with them at all. These people are missing out on a chance to make their lives better.

The new year is a time for contemplation, renewal and growth.

Today I’m going to help you find your path to happiness.

I won’t lie to you, the road is rough, especially at the start. In the beginning the path is well rutted and broken where so many people have walked it. The further along the road you go the terrain becomes easier because most people have given up and turned aside.

Currently, you may feel lost, or maybe you have an idea which direction you want your life to take. I want to give you a compass so you can find your path and prepare you for those difficult first steps.

The compass in this case is an exercise I call ‘The life Audit.’ To discover where you want to go you need to properly understand where you are.

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January – Evie

*Features adult language and themes.*

She was late.

If there was one thing she despised in others it was bad time-keeping and now she was being forced into it herself.

That bloody woman. She does it on purpose.

Evie was standing at the front window in her living room tapping her foot and taking it in turns to look at her watch and back out to the driveway.

Robbie was on the floor behind her, amused by whatever bright colours and funny noises the TV was making.

Jon had left early to go to work. They’d barely said two sentences to each another. He always made a point of waking her up to say ‘bye’ and ‘Love you.’ It had become an automatic response when they separated for the day. She appreciated the gesture, but would have chosen to be left undisturbed.

She got up soon after to sort Robbie out, get him washed, dressed and fed then usually washed again. He had a habit of not quite knowing where his mouth was, or mistaking his nose for the place the food was supposed to go in.

Evie glanced to her right, spotting her empty easel out of the corner of her eye. Her desperation to be out the door was replaced, momentarily, by a flash of anger. I should be painting. She felt like her job stole time away from her art. If I had all day to paint, would I actually do it? She left the question hanging in her mind knowing the answer but reluctant to voice it to herself.
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January – Simone

*Features adult language and themes.*

“Hello Mrs. Wilkinson. Thank you very much for waiting.” A middle aged woman walked past Simone into the office. “Did my receptionist offer you a drink?”

Mrs. Wilkinson sat down in one of the chairs. “She did, thank you. I’m not particularly thirsty.”

Simone shut the door, dulling the chatting voices and trilling of phones down to a low hum. She went around to the opposite side of the desk. Her side of the desk. When she sat down she felt comfortable; in control. The office layout had been considered carefully. Everything in it was positioned to point in her direction. Her chair was higher than any of the others in the room, elevating her. It made her look and feel superior. She never intended her office to feel comfortable for anybody else. Part of the reason for this was what she had to do next.

“First of all I’d like to offer you my condolences. I know what a terrible time this is for you and while no words can make a difference I offer them regardless.”

“Thank you Ms. Saunders. I appreciate that,” said Mrs. Wilkinson.

“Please, call me Simone.”

Mrs. Wilkinson nodded but didn’t offer her own first name as expected. She kept shuffling her bottom on the chair trying to find a comfortable position. She made no move to take off her coat and held her handbag on her lap as if for protection. It was clear to Simone that the woman was not at ease. And it’s about to get worse.

“I’ve asked you to come in for a chat, so we can go over a few issues we have with your claim.”

Mrs. Wilkinson looked confused. “Issues? I don’t understand.”
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January – Daisy

*Features adult language and themes.*

A new year but the same old routine.

Daisy stood outside the job centre sucking the life out of her last shred of tobacco. It was a wholly unsatisfactory smoke. She had spent five minutes trying to pinch the last crumbs from the bottom of the pouch. It was like trying to smoke powder. There’s no point smoking powders unless there’s a decent pay-off.

She’d been thinking hard about the rest of her day once the chore of the job centre interview was over for another fortnight. The familiar itch had been bothering her since she woke up but there was nothing she could do to cure it. No stash and no money to score. She wouldn’t get the money from signing on for a few days. She hoped something else would turn up. Two days without a hit was unthinkable. She’d managed to blag some weed from her roommate the night before, but that had hardly taken the edge off. She woke up that morning feeling shit. It had taken a super-human effort to get out of bed. Her limbs ached from lethargy. It felt like there was a rave going on inside her head; a constant pounding that wouldn’t stop.

The biggest drawback was the hunger. Meth suppressed her appetite, which was perfect. She had never enjoyed eating. When she went any length of time without a hit the hunger returned. It was excruciating. She had to choose between spending money on food or drugs. Easy decision usually. Trouble is if I’m starving in the morning I can’t take a bump if I’ve run out and the dealers aren’t about til the afternoon. They’re self-employed, they should really work unsociable hours.

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