Magic Does Not Exist, Magic Is Real

Magic Does Not Exist, Magic Is Real is a novel which I wrote some time ago. It is a short novel about a youth receiving training as a user of magic. I put off reading Harry Potter for years, until I finished writing this book, as I did not want to be in any way influenced by the Harry Potter books. As it was I needn’t have worried, as my novel is nothing like the J K Rowling novels.

The title of the book refers to the dichotomy of magic, in that if you start thinking about how magic works, it stops working. Only if you can suspend your disbelief, and stop questioning it, can you possibly work it.

In this novel a youth, whose parents are dead, is taught magic by a tramp. The novel is set entirely in Britain, and is rather dark in mood. With some of the dark themes it is probably not that suitable for young children – Harry Potter it is not.

The novel is quite short, and is some 52,000 words. But I don’t like books which are overly long, and have material which I feel have been stuffed in there just to increase the page count. I would rather read stories which have been pared down to the bone.

Extract from Magic Does Not Exist, Magic Is Real

Later that night, beneath a railway arch in the Sussex countryside, Melmoth and Tony feasted on the remnants of the roast chicken. Melmoth, as usual, was doing most of the talking.

“…it stands for T.E. Stockwell and Cohen.”

Tony belched, and said “I never knew that.”

“See, you learn something new every day.” said Melmoth. “Good chicken, isn’t it.”

“Well, yes.” said Tony. “But did we really have to steal it? Wasn’t there another way?”

“What?” said Melmoth. “Do you object to the fact that it was acquired by means other than the standard forms of trading and monetary remuneration that people ply in their supermarkets?”

“Not in quite as many words, but yes.” said Tony. “And, another thing, you’ve done that poor woman out of her dinner. What has she got out of it?”

“That poor woman,” said Melmoth, “as you describe her, is not going to starve. There was plenty of food in her house. And she and her husband could probably do with losing a little weight, anyway. Western people eat far more than they need to. As for what she got out of it; why, a tale of mystery and strangeness to tell her children and grandchildren. About the non-existent visitors from the Ministry who spirited away a chicken and left only an old piece of chip paper by way of receipt. That should keep her going for some time, if anybody will believe it.”

“Yes, but…” said Tony.

“But, but, but.” said Melmoth, exasperatedly. “What, you’d have preferred that we would have actually paid for the chicken?”

“Well, yes.” said Tony.

“As you wish.” said Melmoth. “If you check your top right hand pocket, you will discover that the money that you had in there is gone. It is now in the farmer’s wife’s kitchen drawer, replacing the receipt that I had given her. I hope that you are happy.”

Tony checked his pocket. All that there was in there was an old, folded chip paper.

“Hey, there was fifty quid there!” said Tony, very annoyed. That had been his savings (at least he sill had his credit card in his inside pocket). “What gives you the right…”

“Next time,” said Melmoth “don’t complain about where the food comes from.”

Melmoth turned over on to his side and went to sleep, leaving Tony to set up his tent and ponder on the strange new life that he had embarked upon. He was still annoyed about his fifty quid. He wondered if Melmoth had known what he was going to say about stealing the chicken. Tony, too, eventually got to sleep.

The next time that Melmoth ‘acquired’ any food, Tony did not complain. He ate it.

Magic Does Not Exist, Magic Is Real is available as an e-book on the Amazon Kindle store.

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