A philosophers murder mystery

The downfall of an American Youth.

Its about a sociopath kid who gets wrapped up with the mob, falls in love, then after a series of unfortunate events he shots himself.

A highlight is a nun shitting on an alter, slipping on her feces and accidentally burning the church down.

I have often thought of writing a book entitled "Suwannee Spirits" about the culture of that area of north Florida in which I grew up, and describing he unique individuals who populated that poor, rural, somewhat wild area. If I ever get around to completing it, it will be somewhat in the mode of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings., I wrote a lot professionally, but not in other genre.

They say "write what you know". I only know me, lol. So I guess a biography, Titled "You're not gonna make me cry" (Maybe I'll explain the title somewhere down the line).

If I was a writer, I would love to write a murder mystery.

I have a few ideas for fiction, and I'm reserving any details here because I intend to write them. I'm unsure whether I can make them full novels or just novellas. One, if I can take the core idea and remove the focus from my main character might lend itself to a series. The idea needs a lot of work. And another would be diary entries from a young woman, but I don't know that one's got enough substance to really flesh out a compelling story. None of these three ideas is similar to anything else I've read or seen, so I'm hoping they're truly unique.

The title, “148 is My Favorite Color” a book referencing my synesthesia.

Magic Realism. Hurt humans hurting humans (and others). No religion but lots of mythology and symbolism.
The title would be the last thing I'd write, I think.

My book name title: It's going to be alright.

Topic: How to survive a divorce.

Its all about my experiences and failures and making my expectations.

Something sci-fi. Probably in outer space.

I'd like to read some of yours if you don't mind.

About the trials and tribulations of working 28 years in a New York State Office of mental health Detention facility for the criminally insane . the title would be . My life in the crazy house

I think I would make it about the week I spent in Oklahoma one night....

Actually, I have thought about writing a children's book...

a writer somewhere said... "write about what you know". I have experiences and adventures to fill out a library. I will write about what I know... my experiences in this life. A title about my adventures? In Crete... "the adventures of Nighthawk and Creeper"... My teenage years... "The Prince of Santurce"... My current situation "What you do once you crossed the finish line and notice your heart was never broken". A whole compendium of my Bio... "True Believer of the Farse". Write What You Know.

The PASSION of the JEWS.

Lol. The Zionist who own everything would not allow me to publish it.

No, not a writer, my dream is to make documented movies.
How the brain connects to the backbone

@silvereyes - Having already written several, do I have to write another one? Speechin' o' which, my latest and soon to be published is titled HEAVEN HELP US. It's about a bungee jumper who attempts a record jump from the highest bridge in the world and winds up in heaven, whereupon he is promptly arrested by St. Peter as an illegal alien. The story goes from there. It was originally set up as a round robin, but the other authors got too carried away so we're going to give them credit/royalties, but the thing has been so heavily edited and rewritten that the individual voices have gotten lost in the mix.

I'm currently writing a short story about someone trying to save the world and their slow decline into villainy. If (and when) I write a book I'm thinking something in a fantasy setting (cause I love magic) and it would probably be something equally depressing... I just like writing tragedy I guess.

it would be the memoirs of the man with 2 skulls about things that I've been through good and bad.

My fantasy of living a self sufficient life with a like minded partner and the details of each days small but meaningful adventures End challenged... probably a very small reading audience but fun to write lol

The chronicles of a Southern Belle.

I have written a book - about dragons and humans and war between them.

I am currently writing a second book - about a race of subterainian elves.

The Great American Novel .... though Philip Roth already beat me to it.

Chapter one.
Griselda first caught my eye when I was searching for a replacement puffer fish in Liverpool. She had one in stock which had been imported from Ohio so, obviously, would be very alert.
Since she was, clearly, a fine figure of a woman I decided to stay and chat for a while. Grisela looked somewhat unhappy and I wondered why. She told me that her solicitor was having difficulty locating the legislation she needed to attract more customers. I replied that at least this wasn't Milan and she almost smiled. Almost. Because on her latest fish-finding trip to the US she had left her false teeth somewhere in Vermont. We warmed to each other and, since trade was slow, decided to head for Starbucks for a coffee. Griselda, now wearing a bra, thought it disingenuous of Starbucks to deny withholding anything from HMRC which they didn't want them to know when they could simply not have minded what HMRC didn't know and with-holded that. I had to agree. Over coffee I tactfully broached the subject of her mislaid teeth.
Griselda told me that her estranged husband, Ludwig, was originally from Vermont where they had married, and, given that he was a lawyer, the matter became obvious.
Sipping her coffee she looked vaguely but carefully in the direction of a young Muslim couple animatedly sticking a stamp on an envelope. She breathed a sigh of relief when they did it correctly and told me a little about herself.
When they first met Ludwig had been defending an African-American man in Alabama. The man had been assaulted by Ku Klux Klan members, blindfolded and strapped into a car with defective brakes which they pushed down a steep incline. Somehow he had managed to steer the car down the track and onto the road below where it came to a stop. A police car happened to be passing and, obviously, he had been arrested. Griselda had been impressed with the ease with which Ludwig got the 'defective brakes' charge overthrown, proven that the man hadn't stolen the car as he was driving it with the owner's permission and carried insurance and his client had only received a fine on the other charge.
After a whirlwind romance Ludwig and Griselda married and spent their honeymoon in Bahrain where her teeth didn't matter. Not wanting a family immediately Griselda had booked an appointment with a gynecologist where she obtained contraceptives but was unable to have a checkup as there was no mirror available. I thought she meant that gynaecology was considered a DIY topic in Bahrain until she explained that the doctor was male.
I told her about my miserable solo trip to Indonesia where my harmless hobby could have led to losing my head - literally. The return flight to Geneva had been a long one and soon after landing I needed a pee. All the cubicles in the loo were occupied and there were only vacant urinals so I had to wait as it was a quarter past ten at night.
On the way back to collect my puffer fish we discovered that we would both be in Edinburgh the next week and decided to meet up.
Little did I know that Ludwig would be there too ...
Chapter two.
It was only when I saw the small offshore islands slip behind me to starboard and the long bridge lay ahead that I began to relax after passing through the land of xenophobic savages whose men went almost naked in the bitterest weather and whose women roamed in predatory gangs, scantily clad, under the influence of 'nookibroon' and chanting in an incomprehensible language. A whale had beached itself (hunhanfa seekoull - they called it) days before and, after they had cut off its tail in the name of their queen they seemed to be in a quandry regarding how to keep its head until the next king could claim it.
The east coast train pulled into Waverley station and, it being a nice day for so late in the year, I walked to the Novotel in the Grassmarket where I was staying.
After checking in and unpacking I phoned Griselda and we agreed to meet in the lobby. When I got to the lobby I found Griselda comforting an elderly frenchman who, she later told me, had come to Scotland seeking sanctuary in a country where he would not be regarded as an undesirable alien jobseeker. With his head in his hands he kept repeating:
"J'ai tout perdu! Et tout cela parce que j'ai appelé mon cochon «Napoléon»."
Griselda and I kissed on both cheeks, she in French and me in Spanish, when suddenly she stared past my shoulder.
"What is it, 'Pezaderita' (chew on that one, Google)?" I asked.
Stepping away with a brief glance to me and a level stare for the man behind me she said in a matter-of-fact voice:
"Nice surprise to see you, Ludwig".
He was a small man, meticulously dressed and with an almost apologetic manner. He smiled; perfectly composed.
"Yes, my dear. How are you? How pleasant to see you here."
"I'm well - and wearing my new teeth regardless because we are in Scotland" she replied.
"Oh, my dear" said Ludwig, "you must forgive me. I'll write you a note immediately. I have been a little preoccupied. Two things: My sister, you only met once at the wedding, the one who lives in Florida..."
"Yes?"
"Her fiance is a sky-diver; he wants to take her sky-diving tomorrow and they are not married yet."
"Ludwig, I don't see the problem."
"Griselda, tomorrow is Sunday!"
A smile crossed Griselda's lips. "Good thing you're a lawyer then. The is Loco. He's a tropical fish fancier", we shook hands, " So what is the other thing?
Ludwig, never having been to Liverpool, remained serious as he said: " I have a client, a Scotsman. A member of an archery club, who is planning a trip to York".
Chapter three.
At dinner that night in the hotel restaurant Griselda introduced me to clients of hers. Obviouly wealthy, they were a Japanese couple although the girl looked to be about fourteen and the man in his eighties. I did wonder what their exact relationship might be as they were behaving in a somewhat intimate manner until Griselda leaned close and, soto voce, said:
"Japanese, Loco!"
Then, to the Japanese man she said:
"I assume. Mr Gosaimass, that you have the services of an itamae suitably familiar with fugu?"
"Wakita under Jiro Ono himself!" replied the elderly man with simultaneous pride and a hint of having taken offence.
"And someone with appropriate expertise in rotifer production?"
"Student of Fukusho and Hirayama back in the nineties."
"But not", and here Griselda smiled slightly, "anyone experienced in designer marine fish breeding."
"We have the best Koi breeders in Japan..."
At this I let out a small chuckle and at Gosaimass' cold stare replied: "Freshwater fish Mr Gosaimas!". Then it dawned on me:
"Griselda, surely you don't intend... I thought you were... What about the ethics?"
"Oh, Loco" she smiled "You're such a big softy."
"Softy? Eh? No! It's fraud! What is the legal position on selling gluten-free bread and not telling the customer it doesn't contain gluten; sugar-free drinks and not saying they're sugar free; lactose-free milk and not saying it doesn't contain lactose?"
"But properly prepared fugu doesn't contain tetrodotoxin."
"Those prepared to pay a small fortune to eat it prefer that it does - in tiny amounts. Anyway, it's banned in the EU."
"But not in the US and Britain is leaving the EU."
It was then that I noticed Ludwig standing behind us with his Scotsman client. He must have been listening for a while.
"Oh, erm, Mr Gosaimas, Mrs Gosainas, Griselda and, erm, Loco. If you would be so kind as to assist my Scottish friend with his endevour I might be able to help ensure that a tiny piece of EU law is not needlessly retained after, erm, Brexit. I have a friend in the House of Lords."
Chapter four.
Monday the eighteenth of December was another pleasant day.
Ludwig, Griselda, Charles - Ludwig´s Scottish friend (also of the legal profession) - and the Gosaisases met in the hotel lobby and decided to walk to the station. I joined them after a brief chat with a fellow delegate of the previous days Brachionus conference. I thought it strange that an itamae should attend such a conference and even stranger that, despite being Japanese, he did not want to meet the Gosaimases.
Griselda was in a playful mood and, everytime we passed a policeman, dared Ludwig and Charles to knock on a random door and demand to use the toilet.
"Chapter and verse, either of you", she said.
I raised an eyebrow at this and Ludwig sighed.
"You are fortunate Mr Loco, if you don´t mind me saying, that my estranged wife is not pregnant. The policemen doubly so."
The train journey to York was uneventful and we, again, decided to walk the short distance to Mickegate bar. Just before the bar we sat on the steps of Lifeline and Charles unpacked what I had taken to be a set of golf clubs. He removed two bows and two quivers of arrows. This caught the attention of two people on the other side of the glass doors but one returned to her copy of Suicide Weekly and the other, a tall, pleasant-seeming man wearing a Panama hat, merely smiled knowingly and shook his head in a "seen-it-all-before" sort of way.
Charles gave one bow and quiver to Grisela and she headed toward the entrance to the bar (I mean here Micklegate bar, not the bar next door to Lifeline - ironically not frequented by Lifeline clients).
"Charles", began Ludwig, " you will please follow me to the car park. Griselda knows where to shoot from but we will not overtest her aim by making it a long shot. Mr and Mrs Gosaimas - you will please stand, one of you, at the top of Nunnery Lane and the other further down to ensure that no members of the public wander, if I may so put it, into shot. You will clearly be outside of the walls and Griselda will clearly be on the walls. Mr Loco, please take this camera and stand where you will be able to make a video with both of them visible. Charles, you have your bow and arrows and today is not Sunday".
"Where will you stand?", I asked.
"My estranged wife and I have always remained on the most amicable of terms, Mr Loco. But it would be foolhardy to present her with unneccessary temptation. I will stand directly behind the toilet".
And so Griselda shot Charles at almost point blank range although, it turned out, the bow she weilded could not have fired an arrow much further.
"Charles", Ludwig called as the arrow bounced off and stuck in the grass, "you´ll need to remove the body protection; It might be regarded as a suit of armour and we would never be allowed in".
Now all we had to do was wait for the police.
Chapter five.
Luckily a journalist from the York Press had got wind of the matter and, desperate for content, followed us to the police station in the hope of a few pictures and, perhaps, an interview.
Unluckily the arresting sergeant was Welsh.
"We´ve not decided which of you is guilty of an offence but the young lady certainly is and the police take a very dim view of this sort of prank", he said. "Being from Llandudno, I have been the target, metaphysically if not physically, of this sort of lampoonacy on a visit to Chester".
"Sergeant", began Ludwig, "If you will forgive me, this is not Chester, no-one was using a crossbow and Monday is not market day in York".
"We´ll have to check those details Mr Ludwig", was the reply.
"Sergeant, may we exclude from wrongdoing Mr Loco, as there is no offence of making a video recording in a public place, the Gosaimasses, who are merely acquaitances of ours, Mr Charles, who can hardly be considered guilty of trying to get himself shot and myself, as I was hiding behind the toilet".
"No sir", replied the police sergeant, "we cannot. There is the offence of carrying an offensive weapon in public".
"But, officer, if you don´t mind my saying, under Section 139 of the Criminal Justice Act 1988, Neither a bow, nor its arrows are offensive weapons under law unless an individual adapted them or intended to use them for the specific purpose of to causing harm to other persons,"
"But anything ´pointed´ may be regarded as an offensive weapon".
"Charles did not even unpack his bow and Griselda´s arrows, even though her bow had no power to do any damage with them, were blunted too."
It was then that constable Waikita entered and walked up to the exasperated Welshman.
"Sarge, these´s something you might like to ask the young lady - how long has she spent practising with her bow and arrow in the last twenty four hours".
Damn!

I have written one book, titled; Self vs Ego It was a self help book, good idea but not well written. I have started two others. An auto-biography; God's Favorite Atheist and one titled; Bible Stories. It's a collection of short stories spun off of bible stories, for example; Ole Snake and The Sharecroppers The share croppers are Adam and Eve, Ole Snake is the serpent and God is the Land Lord. It has some fun with the story of Adam and Eve and the Apple to make a philosophical point.

I think the topic would revolve around the stupid things I did before Iphones could chronicle my life, and maybe a good title for me would be " How did I survive a 60s childhood "

I've already written one novel and am now writing a sci-fi series. The first was about friends who cross into a fantasy realm while camping together. The new series is about the sociopolitical consequences of some humans evolving into a new species.