Sharing positivity

A couple of days ago I realised that I had over 2,500 followers on Twitter and decided to do a giveaway of a copy of my forthcoming novella, In the Sweep of the Bay, due to be published on 23 November by Louise Walters Books.

I invited people to share something positive about the world – it’s so easy for us all to be grumpy these days!

So many lovely comments came in. Here are just a few of my favourites:

I read a piece of poetry yesterday. And then thought about it the rest of the day. Words still have the audacity and sheer exuberance to move us, in every time.

We can all still say ‘I love you ,’ send letters, walk on the beach, listen to music and most importantly … read a great book!

Adversity brings humour, sensitivity and creativity. The next generation are going to do wonderful things.

People also shared photos of people dear to them, of the beauty of the natural world and of animals – dogs, cats and a quokka.

It was a thread which brought me smiles, so thank you to everyone who contributed.

And the winner of the giveaway is….. Tilly – @TillyLovesBooks – who gave as her something positive:

The glorious autumn leaves – no matter what’s going on in the world, Mother Nature still manages to captivate.

If you didn’t win, you can buy an advance copy of the book from louisewaltersbooks.co.uk


Autumn leaves – photo copyright Cath Barton

Guest Post: Anna Vaught on Writing in a Different Genre

In the latest in my series of guest posts by authors of new books, Anna Vaught tells how returning to short story writing in a lull between working on novels proved to be a rejuvenation.

I believe in complicity and its special heat. See what I have. Eat.’

Where, I was asked, do short stories fit into your writing? This is how.

I had written short stories for a blog I kept, entered a couple of competitions, and had had two stories published in anthologies; I also read many short stories of varied provenance, but that was it. Now, in the early spring of 2019, I found myself feeling jaded between projects and unsure what to do, though I thought I needed to do something. My third novel Saving Lucia was placed but still a year away from publication and I was yet to work with my editor; my first two books, autobiographical fiction and novella, had lacked exposure and, partly because of this, I lacked faith in myself to make a new novel do well. I write quickly, so I had already written a follow-up novel to Saving Lucia, but understood that this would not be read for some time, and I had had a couple of meetings with agents who had asked to meet for a chat about what I was up to. One of them, incidentally, is the greatly supportive woman I now refer to as my ‘not-agent’ and the other, the goddess who was soon to sign me on the back of a short story collection I had not written – or even thought of – yet. Possibilities hung in the air, but also a lot of self-doubt. I wanted to keep busy to assuage it.

I decided I would try some short stories again. I had written a good deal about memory, trauma and testimony in fiction and creative non-fiction; I had also written food journalism, was interested in culinary history and, owing to a rather colourful past and many strange familial events in childhood and teenage years which revolved around food, its preparation, purveying and sharing (or not), an idea coalesced: how about a collection of stories involving adventures at table, feasts, consuming and being consumed; about food and trauma. Funny, peculiar, entertaining and with language you could get your teeth into; I would draw on my reading and experience and the rest would be new literary horror and weird to which I naturally incline.

Up bubbled a book, and it came out very quickly. I feel embarrassed to say this: I wrote it in two weeks, in a wonderful fury, sometimes getting up at four to make the stories on top of my other responsibilities. I do not recommend this practice, but it was what I wanted here. I wrote about being held back, being terrified (I know this is weird) by trifle, tripe, and tapas; I drew on old stories, food journals and apocrypha. I wrote on food as metaphor, but also about food as something plainly and brutally literal. I did not know I could do any of this; I only knew that once I had started I did not want to stop and particularly enjoyed the concept of an overarching theme and some overlapping details in terms of characters and psychological or erotic tryst.  I felt rejuvenated. Then, when a submissions window came up at Influx Press – exciting: I had loved Attrib. by Eley Williams and How the Light Gets In by Clare Fisher – I sent it to them (and to the second of the wonderful literary agents I had met at the same time) and, within three weeks, I had both an offer of publication and an offer of representation. I did not know I was capable of that, either.

There might be a moral here: when you feel jaded, lacking in confidence or that sense that you are drifting and want to crack on with something, then try writing in a different genre, as I did. As I said, doing so rejuvenated me. So, try something new (or newish) and you never know. If you lack confidence, do it anyway. I found, having written a collection of short stories, I could move on to another one then another novel – the one I have just finished for my agency. What is more, my follow-up to Saving Lucia has not been taken up for publication, but I am pleased to say that I was able to take a section of that and make it into a long short story about trauma, memory and recovery for an Unsung Stories anthology out next year. I felt more confident in my craft now, so this was something I could do. I also took up disappointment and, from it, I made a new thing, and that is a good thing to learn, because not everything will work and not every book ought to be published. As to where short story writing fits in going forward, I hope I will always be able to write short story collections and novels, though I know that stories are a harder sell for my agent. We shall see. It will be an adventure, won’t it?

Famished: seventeen stories to whet your appetite and ruin your dinner. I hope you like them.

I believe in complicity and its special heat. See what I have. Eat.’

Anna is a novelist, poet, essayist, short fiction writer, editor and a secondary English teacher, tutor and mentor, mental health advocate and mum of 3. 2020 sees the publication of Anna’s third novel Saving Lucia (Bluemoose) and a first short story collection, Famished (Influx). Anglo-Welsh, she splits her time between Wiltshire, Wales, and the Southern US, where her husband is from. She is currently finishing a new novel and waiting on exciting decisions. Anna is represented by Kate Johnson of Mackenzie Wolf, NYC. 

www.annavaughtwrites.com , Twitter: @BookwormVaught, Instagram: bookwormvaught6

Anna Vaught

Famished is available from all good bookshops or from Influx Press website, where you can also subscribe – a great way to support an independent press. 
https://www.influxpress.com/books
and https://www.influxpress.com/subscriptions

Update, update, update

It’s a pleasure to welcome guests onto my website, and this month I have two – look out for words from the remarkable Anna Vaught on 28th August.

It’s about time I updated my Stories page, so I’ll be getting on with that this week….

Meanwhile, here’s a picture of a rose. Happy Monday, all.

The heart of a rose

Photo copyright Cath Barton

Guest Post: Dominic Brownlow on the Potency of Location

In the latest in my series of guest posts from authors of new books, Dominc Brownlow discusses how, in his writing, he uses location as more than simply a setting.

Location, surprisingly, is often underused in writing. All books and stories possess one or more of them; characters can’t simply float through space, levitating from one scene to the next. They must be placed somewhere, like actors, in order to play out the intended narrative, but once that stage has been decided upon, the backdrop painted, the curtains raised, the role of that setting should not then be over. Location should be treated as a character and accorded the same luxuries. And, most importantly I think, used as one of the senses.

When I wrote The Naseby Horses I had a post-it-note above my desk reminding me not to ignore these essential faculties: touch, smell, colour, sound. It is still there now as I write my second novel, the ink a little faded from the sun. Isolation is a fundamental aspect of my writing – I’m only on novel two but they are both centred around this theme.

For me, it is the Fens; huge open swathes of flat agricultural land stretched beneath wide infinite skies. That, in itself, is fairly self-explanatory. It is an obvious stage for remoteness. However, it is the perceptions evoked beyond remoteness that can, if you invite them in, assist the story so. It is the way both the landscape and its inhabitants behave; the attitude of locals, the manner in which nature and wildlife react, and how this effects, or is used by, the characters in the novel.

The same method could be employed with a major city, or beach or mountain or alien spacecraft. All these locations are in possession of sound, smell, colour, touch, as, similarly, is a kitchen, bedroom, school, garden, sports field or courtroom. By introducing the sensual nuances of a location a writer is, by default, connecting the character to that place, and, in the same metaphorical vein as how pathetic fallacy works, eases these perceptions into the subconscious of the character and, hence, reader.

Show not tell” is the axiom waved about like Colours in the How To Write books, and one, as a literary waffler, I struggle with the most. However, by describing the mood and essence of a setting, wherever that may be, as long as an initial connection has been made between place and person, the writer is, in part, showing not telling. He, or she, is using location as the shadow of the character. One of my favourite lines in The Naseby Horses is ‘somewhere in the distance sunlight glares off a moving car.’ I like to think this issues a latent sense of escape from a desolate backdrop, without actually saying it.

John McGregor’s Reservoir 13 uses this brilliantly and, of course, the ultimate example of how to use location as a character is Hemingway’s The Old Man and The Sea. Ray Robinson is also a modern day master of this in The Mating Habits of Stags, and for the claustrophobic seedy panicky senses of the city Martin Amis’s London Fields excels beyond all.

Dominic Brownlow lives near Peterborough with his two children. He lived in London and worked in the music industry as a manager before setting up his own independent label. He now enjoys life in the Fens and has an office that looks out over water. The Naseby Horses is his first novel. It was long listed for the Bath Novel Award 2016. The paperback edition is published on 24 August 2020. He tweets @Dominic Brownlow.

Dominic Brownlow
The Naseby Horses is available direct from the publisher, https://www.louisewaltersbooks.co.uk/

Guest Post: Amanda Huggins on Killer Short Stories

In the latest of my six-month series of guest posts from authors of new books, Amanda Huggins gives some tips for fledging short story writers.

If you want to write killer short stories, then one of the most important things to do is to read killer short stories. Lots of them. It sounds obvious, yet I often meet blank looks when I ask writers who are new to short fiction to name their favourite short story writers. Short stories aren’t novels-in-miniature, any more than novels are extended short stories. They are two different skill sets, and the best way to get started is to read the masters.

A great short story needs to plunge straight in with no preamble. It should have conflict, a strong ending, a limited cast of characters, and every word should count. (If only I stuck to those rules myself!)

I have countless favourite short story writers and the collections on my shelves include books by William Trevor, Tessa Hadley, Helen Simpson, Helen Dunmore, A L Kennedy, Wells Tower, Stuart Evers, Miranda July, Yoko Ogawa, K J Orr, Ernest Hemingway, Taeko Kono, Haruki Murakami, Richard Ford, Alice Munro, Flannery O’Connor, Anton Chekhov, Annie Proulx, Isaac Babel, Angela Readman, and A M Homes.

A recent delight was Helen Dunmore’s posthumous collection, Girl Balancing, and I particularly loved the first section of the book, ‘The Nina Stories’. These stories are almost notes for a novel-in-waiting; a sequence of vignettes centred around a girl called Nina, set in the 60s/70s. They are painstakingly intense; attention is paid to Nina’s every moment and action, and there are some lovely period details that evoke a strong sense of place. The writing turns the mundane into something beautiful, and the final story soars. Seventeen-year-old Nina is left alone on Christmas Day in a house at the seaside. She goes roller skating along the seafront with her friend, Mal, and when the mood turns, she must outwit him. I’ll leave you to find out for yourself if she succeeds.

I’d also recommend having several pieces of work out there at any given time. If you only submit one story and then wait patiently for it to be rejected/accepted, when that rejection comes it will hit hard. If you have ten or twenty pieces out at any given time then the rejections won’t feel as bad.

Never forget that the opinions of editors and judges are subjective. So be persistent! My story ‘Red’ was a runner-up in the 2018 Costa Short Story Award, but had already been rejected by a couple of magazines and failed to reach the longlist of three smaller competitions.

Sadly, despite an encouraging rise in sales of short story collections, it’s still difficult to get work published anywhere for hard cash. That’s why prizes and awards are so important to emerging short story writers, and why I still enter most of my stories into competitions first.

Lastly, really take note of feedback. It’s all too easy to reject criticism, yet in my experience the advice of a good editor is nearly always sound.

Amanda Huggins is the author of four collections of short fiction and poetry. She was a runner-up in the Costa Short Story Award 2018, and her prize-winning story, ‘Red’, features in her latest collection, Scratched Enamel Heart. Her poetry chapbook, The Collective Nouns for Birds won the Saboteur Award for poetry in 2020. Amanda grew up on the North Yorkshire coast, moved to London in the 1990s, and now lives in West Yorkshire.

Blog: https://troutiemcfishtales.blogspot.com/

Twitter: @troutiemcfish

Amanda Huggins
Scratched Enamel Heart is available from Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Scratched-Enamel-Heart-Amanda-Huggins/dp/191606938X/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=scratched+enamel&qid=1589632869&s=books&sr=1-1


Guest Post: Ali Thurm on A Room of My Own

In the second of a six-month series of guest posts from authors of new books, Ali Thurm introduces us to her writing life:

Where I write

Six months ago I moved from a large family house where I had my own ‘writing room’ to a flat. Apart from when my daughter comes home from university, I now have a whole flat to write in. I can write wherever I want.

I need to see real people, especially working on characters, so my pc is set up in the bay window overlooking the street. I sometimes use my laptop at the back of the flat, where I can see the garden. It’s completely secluded but as I’m also passionate about gardening the temptation to go out and do something/anything in the garden can get too much. Like a restless child desperate to go out and play.

What’s on my desk

Sharp HB pencils and biros (Paper-mate Inkjoy). A visual reminder of the tools of being a writer, and a remnant from my days as a primary teacher. I love sharpening pencils – a preparing (some might say delaying) strategy – the smell takes me right back to a summer working in the Cumberland Pencil Factory in Keswick.

A Christmas cactus with Barbara Cartland shocking pink blooms once a year.

An almost spherical glass paperweight full of bubbles.

My prize possession – a Howard Hodgkin postcard Bombay Sunset with stripes of gorgeous orange, red and green signed by Julian Barnes. A reminder that all writers are human; and how good it is to connect with writers you admire and future readers who’ll enjoy your own writing.

How I write

When I’m at the first draft stage, generating new writing, I write long hand in an ordinary notebook with a biro or pencil. I write the scene I’m most interested in at the time. For me there’s something about cursive writing – the fact that letters are joined together – that makes new writing flow more easily than the staccato tap-tapping on a keyboard. This kind of writing can take place anywhere – train, café, park (pre-lockdown). At home I sit on an old 1920’s sofa with a drop-down arm so I can recline like Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Editing is all on screen – I’m on the third draft of what is actually novel number three, so at the moment I’m mostly at the pc.

When I write

A typical day starts by a walk around the garden (it’s a small London garden so that doesn’t take long!) looking at the natural world and breathing in fresh air. If I’m on a roll with my writing I might head for my desk at 8.30 but usually I work 10 – 1 then 4 – 6. The afternoon is for exercise (yoga, walking, swimming and gardening). The evening for friends/family and reading or films. But there’s also volunteering – a writing club for children and community gardening – and Twitter of course. There isn’t really a typical day!

And in this strange time

During lockdown I struggled at first to do any writing apart from a few writing exercises of 10 minutes a day and spent a lot of time out in the garden or on the phone to friends/family. For the last few weeks I’ve started editing my novel The River Brings the Sea, a dystopian story of a group of people surviving in West Cumbria after a catastrophic flood. You can see why it’s been difficult to pick up where I left off, and I’m not sure how many people will want to read it after surviving Covid 19. But it’s a hopeful narrative where kindness and community spirit win in the end.


Ali Thurm is a novelist, poet and teacher. After balancing a career in primary teaching with writing part time, she was taken on by the literary agency Emily Sweet Associates in 2016. Her debut novel, One Scheme of Happiness was published in February 2020 by Retreat West Books. You can follow Ali on Twitter @alithurm and her website is  https://alithurm.com

Ali Thurm
One Scheme of Happiness can be ordered at your local independent bookshop or from: Amazon  http://amazon.co.uk/dp/1916069320/ and 
Waterstones https://www.waterstones.com/book/one-scheme-of-happiness/ali-thurm/9781916069329

Guest Post: Laura Besley on Launching in Lockdown

Covid-19 has changed all our lives. Book launches have not been possible in the traditional way. This is the writer Laura Besley’s experience:

We thought we’d timed it to perfection; my debut flash fiction collection, The Almost Mothers, would launch on Saturday 21st March at the States of Independence festival in Leicester, conveniently one day before Mother’s Day in the UK. Best laid plans, however, were not to be. The festival was cancelled, along with all other scheduled events due to UK lockdown which was enforced from 23rd March. Now what?

When I first heard that the festival was cancelled I was disappointed, obviously, but it was overshadowed somewhat by the excitement of holding an actual copy of my book in my hands. In lots of ways, I’ve been lucky. Getting The Almost Mothers published has been quick in “book years”. About half of the pieces were written in 2018 during #FlashNaNo (write a piece of flash fiction every day for the month of November). I realised early on that the pieces were all relating to the theme of motherhood. In December I polished them and put them, along with some older pieces, into a collection, which I submitted to a competition and was overjoyed when it long listed.

In April 2019 I saw a call for submissions from Dahlia Books (run by editor/publisher Farhana Shaikh). I sent a DM and I got a full manuscript request. Over the moon, I sent it in. By July I was losing hope, so checked the website and read that Farhana doesn’t read new manuscripts over the summer, so decided to leave it another couple of months. In September she sent an email asking to meet and after chatting about it, she offered me a contract. We decided early on that we wanted to launch in March to tie in with the festival and Mother’s Day, which would be quite tight, but we both thought it was the right thing to do.

Fast forward to March 2020 and after a lot of hard work, my book was ready. I met Farhana to pick up my copies and sign the pre-ordered copies, my hand trembling a little as I triple-checked how to spell people’s names. (Aside: I had conveniently heard in the Honest Authors podcast that week not to sign books with the same signature as on your bank card. Good point.) I have to admit I was a little relieved at not having to do a public reading and answer questions on a panel. As with all silver linings, though, there was a big black cloud: how would we get my book to sell now?

I don’t think anyone knew in March just how hard lockdown would be (in fact, continues to be) and how hard book sales, especially those of independent booksellers and publishers, would be hit. Again, I feel very lucky. People have bought my books. To be honest, I sometimes wonder whether more people have bought my book because of lockdown. Generally people are reading more, but above that there seems to be a genuine shift to support small(er) businesses and therefore indie presses. Amongst authors, especially the ones I’m friends with on Twitter, there is a huge amount of support for which I’m extremely grateful. I’ve also made a lot of new connections recently and again that could be because of the current situation. It’s hard to say. What I can say is that when someone contacts you to tell you they’ve bought your book, or read it, or even loved it, that totally makes my day.

Laura Besley writes short fiction in the precious moments that her children are asleep. Her fiction has appeared online, as well as in print and in various anthologies. Her flash fiction collection, The Almost Mothers, was published in March 2020. She tweets @laurabesley

Laura Besley
Laura’s book is available from http://dahlia-books.kong365.com/en-gb/collections/our-books/products/the-almost-mothers

My photo prompt for Retreat West

I was delighted to be invited to put forward a photo prompt for the Retreat West Micro Fiction competition in April, and even more delighted that it inspired 139 people to enter, the largest number since the monthly competition has been running!

It was fascinating to read the shortlisted entries, and I loved both the winning entries, which you can read here.

I thought people might be interested to know where I took the photograph. It is at Borobudur in Central Java, Indonesia.

This famous Buddhist site is often referred to as a temple, but it’s actually a place for walking meditation on the stone friezes, which are on seven levels.

When I visited, back in 2013, we got there very early in the morning because by soon after 9am it is too hot to be up there. We were not alone – there were, as you can see in the photograph above, masses of school children too! Here’s what I wrote in my travel journal at the time:

Children kept asking if they could take my photograph and I kept saying ‘no thank you’. My friend said – ‘You should photograph the monument, this is your heritage, we are just human beings’. They didn’t get it, of course, how would they? To them, West is best. Wrongly of course.

The photograph I offered as the story prompt was taken with my back to the monument, looking out towards Mount Merapi. It looks peaceful in this scene, but is Indonesia’s most active volcano!

Java, from Borobudur
Mount Merapi, from Borobudur, Central Java, Indonesia

 

 

Guest post: Louise Tondeur with top tips and thoughts on writing in crazy times

When writer Louise Tondeur and I arranged to swap blog posts a couple of months ago we had no idea of the way the world was changing. 

Louise has added a preamble to the top tips she originally sent me and a caveat to one of her ‘don’ts’, to take account of the times in which we now find ourselves. I’m grateful to her for sharing this. 

 

How to write

You don’t need me to tell you that these are crazy times. Some people have more time to devote to writing right now, others have much less time or a much higher mental load and therefore less thinking space. My writing time has been cut in half, for instance, and I haven’t been able to think about it at all over the last week, but I’m extremely fortunate that my family are currently well and I do get some writing time as my wife and I can share the home-schooling. We’re all thinking about key workers at the moment and people are worried about loved ones, of course. So is now a good time to be writing at all? There are at least three answers to that. Firstly people need books, stories, poetry and screenplays more than ever right now. Secondly, writing can be a great way to express how you’re feeling about what’s going on. For example, by doing Julia Cameron’s morning pages. https://juliacameronlive.com/basic-tools/morning-pages/ Thirdly, if you don’t have time to write during the current crisis, be kind to yourself. You don’t need to add ‘worry about not writing’ to your metal load.

10 top tips

  1. Turn up regularly – make a commitment and schedule it. Why? Because the only real way you learn to write is by doing it. To me, ‘turning up’ includes making lists, simply noticing things, reading, morning pages, and scribbling down ideas or snatches of dialogue.
  2. Read, watch, listen – make time for it, especially in the genre you want to write in. Why? Nobody would try to design a chair without ever sitting down. It’s the same with writing. It’s possible you have more time for this at the moment, possibly not. My wife and I have been trying to watch silly funny programmes to take our mind off the crisis for half an hour or so. This is perfect for me as I would love to write for TV. I am absolutely considering this as ‘research’!
  3. Notice the world around you – use mindfulness to help you write. Why? Because that way you ‘make things new’ for your readers. I think this is one technique we can all practise while the world is going topsy-turvy. I have rediscovered Tara Brach’s meditations over the last few days, which has been incredibly helpful, but even without meditations, you could try to pause for five minutes to notice a plant outside or the things in the room around you. This is a powerful life skill anyway and when you write you can use these observations to make your work more authentic.
  4. Use all of the senses available to you – don’t always default to the visual. Why? Because you’re much more likely to go deeper – and therefore write something more touching or unusual. Again, even if you are unable to find time to write at the moment, use all of your senses when you’re observing the world around you, because that’s going to help you when you sit down to write.
  5. Get in touch with the small detail – don’t simply look at a tree, look at the veins on a leaf. Why? Because, to borrow Susan Sontag’s words, writers are ‘observers of the world’. This is probably my favourite tip of all and you don’t have to be able to go out into the world to do it.
  6. Put yourself in the way of inspiration – theatre, poetry readings, art galleries, and museums. Julia Cameron calls this technique ‘filling the well.’ You can’t do this in person at the moment of course but there are many ways to do it virtually. One good thing about this crisis is the way in which people have pooled resources so these virtual worlds are more accessible than ever. (Plus, one thing that has helped me a lot over the last few weeks is imagining the things I’ll do and the places I’ll go when the danger is over!) Why? Because there are no lightning bolts of inspiration – you’ve got to find it. Waiting around for inspiration is a big mistake.
  7. A combination of 1 – 6: be open to life. Get in the way of the universe. Say ‘yes’. Try new things. Why? See the answers to ‘why?’ under 1 – 6!
  8. Move. Dance, walk, swim, do yoga. Whatever it is, get outside your own head. Why? Because it gives the creative mind a chance to mull over whatever you’re writing and because moving gives us a new (and usually better) perspective on the world. As before, most of these things aren’t possible at the moment outside of the home but you can find dance and yoga classes (for example) on YouTube.
  9. Get to know other writers – join a writers’ group or start one, and check out your local writing centre’s website. Why? For motivation and accountability and for tacit knowledge about your local writing scene. My writing group is using Zoom to stay in touch. It’s easy to use once it’s up and running and a good way to chat to several people virtually.
  10. Try submitting something – or get hold of an opportunity from a writing magazine or online and work to the word count and deadline even if you don’t ultimately send it in. Why? Understanding the process of submission makes it a whole lot less scary and having a practice go makes it easier when you come to do it ‘for real’.

5 things NOT to do:

  1. Don’t compare yourself to other writers. We tend only to hear about successes, which warps the picture. Behind every success story you’ll find multiple ‘failures’ that were simply stepping stones.
  2. Don’t read / talk / think about writing without actually doing it. See tip number one above!
  3. Don’t give up after facing hurdles (for some people this means ‘the middle’ of whatever they are writing!). See these as opportunities to look for a solution. Believe me, this is where the fun starts.
  4. Don’t write only one draft. Real writing is redrafting – multiple times.
  5. Don’t write one thing. It’s easy to get fixated on ‘the Novel’ – I know that from experience. Have a go at writing a short story or a monologue or a poem. Give yourself a break from your main project.

I’m doing Sophie Hannah’s Dream Author coaching programme at the moment and she says that we should definitely compare ourselves to other writers – in detail not simply on social media – because then we will see how their writing lives have progressed, and understand the successes and challenges that got them to where they are. I’m adding that as a caveat to ‘don’t’ number 1, because if you do some detailed research it can be fascinating to compare yourself to other writers!

 

Louise Tondeur is a novelist and short story writer. She originally trained as a drama teacher, and currently tutors on the OU’s Creative Writing MA. She blogs at: http://www.louisetondeur.co.uk/blog and http://www.smallstepsguide.co.uk You can find her on Twitter here: @louisetondeur and on Facebook at: facebook.com/louisetondeurwriter

Author pic. Louise Tondeur
Louise Tondeur, credit Ana Bohane Photography

 

 

Dealing with uncertainty and anxiety

We all of us face this just now, writers as much as anyone else. How to deal with it? My small suggestions:

  • Bake breadSourdough. the cut and the rise
  • Walk the hillsWalking on the hills
  • Drink wineThe boys taste the local wine 2
  • And, finally, don’t give yourself any pressure to write anything. It can wait.

 

 

Coming next: Guest post with top does and don’ts for writers

Guest post: Sally Jenkins on Public Speaking for Writers

I invited author Sally Jenkins to share some of her tips on public speaking. Here’s her advice for anyone planning that nerve-wracking first author event: 

All writers, whether traditionally, self or unpublished, need to learn the skill of self-marketing. If the world doesn’t know you exist, it isn’t going to read your work. Social media is a great publicity tool but is impersonal and the posts are soon forgotten. Nothing beats getting away from the computer and talking to readers. Personal contact lives in the mind far longer than a tweet or a gif.

Author events are a great way of generating this personal contact and libraries are a good venue for authors new to addressing an audience. Most libraries are keen to increase their footfall and become community hubs rather than just book depositories, therefore they welcome author events.

Preparation is key to a successful author event and below are some points to help you in the construction of an attention-holding author talk:

  • Plan to speak for around 40 to 45 minutes, to be followed by questions from the audience. The whole event should last about an hour.
  • Divide the talk into ten minute chunks. Each chunk should focus on a different topic, such as the inspiration behind your book, the research needed along the way or your typical writing day. This regular change of subject will re-ignite the attention of the audience and give you, the speaker, a burst of energy.
  • Have a memorable opening. My current author talk is about writing a psychological thriller. I start by teaching the audience ‘how to make money out of murder’ and produce a selection of murder weapons as visual aids. Having grabbed their attention, I switch to writing-related topics.
  • Don’t read the talk from a script. Make bullet point notes and talk freely around each bullet point. This will enable you to make eye contact with the audience and build a good rapport.
  • Accept that a little bit of stage-fright is good. Adrenaline sharpens your performance. But don’t let it overwhelm you – focus on sharing your enthusiasm for books and writing with the audience.
  • Include a maximum of three readings from the book and make them short, two to three minutes is sufficient. Unless you are a trained actor, it’s difficult to hold audience attention when reading aloud. If you need glasses for small print, reproduce the extract on A4 paper in a large font. This will enable you to read without glasses and maintain better eye contact with the audience.
  • A few months before the event, join a Speakers’ or Toastmasters’ Club to practise speaking in front of an audience. Both organisations will provide constructive feedback on how you’re doing and enable you to gain experience.
  • Take some books to sell! Also useful are a cash float for giving change and some business cards in case anyone wants to book you to speak at their WI or other organisation.

Well done on holding your first author event! It’s OK to feel exhausted! Now, take some time to analyse how it went and then start planning the next one. Good luck and enjoy!

 

Sally Jenkins is an author and speaker. In 2018 she represented the Midlands in the National Speech Competition held by the Association of Speakers Clubs. Her book, Public Speaking for Absolute Beginners, is designed to hold the hand of the novice speaker. It contains information on constructing a talk, managing speaking engagements and creating speeches for special occasions.

Sally blogs about writing, reading and life at https://sally-jenkins.com/blog/

Follow her on Twitter https://twitter.com/sallyjenkinsuk and find her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/SallyJenkinsAuthor/

Public Speaking for Absolute Beginners is available from Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Public-Speaking-Absolute-Beginners-Confidence/dp/1795575182/

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Sally Jenkins

Sally Jenkins. public speaking book cover

On vanity

I’ve got a new author photograph. You can see it on my About page. I had photos taken by a professional photographer.

Is that vanity? What, indeed, is vanity? ‘Inflated or excessive pride in one’s appearance’ – or indeed qualities, abilities or achievements – is the dictionary definition.

I think that as a writer it is no bad thing to have a pride in all those things. Nay, as a human having pride in oneself is not in itself a bad thing. I don’t think we should decry it . False modesty is, to my way of thinking, a way of actually calling attention to yourself.

So the key words are ‘excessive’ and ‘inflated’. I don’t think there anything excessive about having photographs taken by a professional, for professional purposes. And, let’s face it, as part of becoming a published writer – an author – is promotion, and for all that we are promoting our words, images help hugely with that.

A professional photographer’s job in taking portraits is to bring out the best of a person. I wanted an author pic which makes me look professional, but also approachable and friendly. I’m very happy with this one. All credit to Artist Photographer Toril Brancher.

 

 

Coming next: A guest post on public speaking tips for writers

Friday Story: Competition winner no 2

Thanks to all who took part in my second little competition. I enjoyed reading all the entries – the winner, for her original take on the prompt and a well-crafted story, is Cathy Lennon.

Here’s Cathy’s winning story:

 

Morgellons

Cathy Lennon

He watched her scratching. The blood, rising like a seam on her nape. She’d had most of her hair cut off, a pixie cut that really didn’t suit her but she’d gone past caring. She just wanted the itch to stop. ‘Can you see it?’ she’d cry, thrusting a scabby forearm underneath his nose. At first he’d put on his glasses and examine the skin closely, searching for the tiny creatures, like kinetic fibres, she swore were there. All he could ever see were the weals drawn by her fingernails. He’d gone online and sent for cutting- edge, scientifically-proven new creams from transatlantic pharmacies, potions from China, even phials of supercharged water from sites of pilgrimage. Nothing worked. He’d soothed her and assured her he believed her even when the doctors had not. She’d caught the meaningful glance the consultant had shared with him at their last appointment and now she was pitiful in her desperation.

Last night, for the hundredth night in a row, she had sobbed and scratched herself to sleep beside him. In the morning, before she woke up, he went to the spare room and rummaged for an old box he’d remembered. He cut lengths of thread from the cotton reel in her long-discarded sewing basket and took tweezers from the bathroom cabinet. She looked at him bleary-eyed as he stood by the bed. He opened the lid. ‘I got some of them,’ he said. She blinked and smiled up at him. ‘Tonight, while you’re sleeping, I’ll get some more.’ She took one look at the threads and flung her scabby arms around his neck. He pressed her shaking body to him with unspeakable relief. ‘I knew you believed me,’ she said.

Cathy writes mostly flash fiction and short stories. She loves a visual prompt! Her work has regularly featured in print and online. Last year, after a three year hiatus, she began writing and submitting again and her stories were longlisted, shortlisted and/or published by Arachne Press, Bath Short Story, Flash 500, Funny Pearls, National Flash Fiction Day, Reflex Fiction, Retreat West, Show You Mine,TSS 400, Virtual Zine and Visual Verse. She’ll be the first writer up on Flashback Fiction in 2020 and will be keeping on keeping on this year.
@clenpen 

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The competiton prompt. Photo copyright Cath Barton 2020

Look out for another competition from me in April. I will also be publishing some guest posts over the next few months, so do get in touch if you’re interested, especially if you have your own website and would like to swap posts.

Story competition: 2

New year, new writing, and a new competition from me.

You are invited to write up to 300 words (not including title) inspired by the photograph below. Send your entry in the body of an e-mail (no attachments please) by midnight (UK time) next Wednesday, 15th January, to cath.barton@talktalk.net. No bios, but include your Twitter handle/link to your Facebook page. Subject line of your e-mail should be: Friday story submission + story title.

I will post the story I like best here as next week’s Friday story, with a big shout out to you and your writing.

Tip: Discard your first idea. Discard your second idea. Go with your third idea.

Please don’t send anything racist/sexist/sexually explicit/gratuitously violent.

Looking forward to reading your stories!

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Photo copyright Cath Barton @2020

Looking back at 2019

I’m not keen on counting, but it’s good to review the year and consider some very lovely times.

Month by month, here are my writing highlights and a celebratory photo for each.

 

January

Delighted to have a rare poem published in Visual Verse

Bristol Old Vic
Saw Emma Rice’s company in the brilliant ‘Wise Children’ here

 

February

Had three flashes published this month. Particularly proud of The Man I Am Not Marrying, published in Spelk

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Miri, one of the cats at Ty Mawr convent where I went on retreat

 

March

After a nail-biting time, signed a book deal with Louise Walters Books for my second novella, In the Sweep of the Bay, due to be published on 17th September 2020.

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Walking in our lovely hills on the first day of Spring

 

April

Took part in both the Abergavenny Writing Festival and the Llandeilo Litfest.

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Abergavenny welcomed friends from our twin town in France, Beaupréau, for an Easter weekend of sunshine and music

 

May  

A wonderful week at Palazzo Forani in the village of Casperia in the Sabine Hills, north of Rome, led by ace flash fiction writers Kathy Fish and Nancy Stohlman. New writing, new friends, new food!

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Learning to make pasta, Italian-style, with Gianna and Carla

 

June

Spent a day at the Flash Fiction Festival in Bristol. More great writing experiences – and lovely to meet so many writers I knew from internet connections.

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Dear Feely, enjoying a lazy June day

 

July

Spoke at another LitFest, this time in Caerleon.

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Visited a lovely garden on my birthday

 

August

Structural and line edits of In the Sweep of the Bay completed.

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In training for September’s big walk!

 

September

Copy editing time for the novella. Challenged myself to write a (long) short story  of which of which I was given paragraphs 1 and 20. Could be the bones of a new novella…

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Trekking on Hadrian’s Wall with Elizabeth, Eileen and Jane to raise money for the charity PSPA

 

October

Busy weekend at the beginning of the month: up to Leicester for the launch of this anthology one day and at the Crickhowell LitFest talking about novellas the next.

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Wonderful kippers for breakfast on a little trip to Whitby

 

November

Finally started writing the story of my Auntie Phyllis, internationally famous circus artiste!

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Having a drink at our local vineyard with OB and the Three Amigos, visiting us on their world tour

 

December

Five flashes published this month, after a lean time.

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Origami Christmas star  – and a lucky stone with a hole!

 

 

Happy Christmas

Season’s Greetings to all who read my words.

I’ll be back in a few days with a look back over my writing and photographic year.

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My picks for 2019: 4) Writing websites

There are so many writing websites out there. I’m listing three of my favourites – not just because they’ve published my work, but also because they have a lot of excellent stories by other writers too, and the people who run and edit them are responsive and generous.

In no particular order they are:

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  • Spelk, curated by Cal Marcius

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Coming soon: My photos of the year

 

My picks for 2019: 3) Books

The Lonely Crowd invited me to contribute to their Books of the Year feature. Here’s what I wrote:

I’ve very much enjoyed some of this year’s Big books: Lucy Ellmann’s Ducks, Newburyport demonstrates how the full stop might actually be getting in the way of the energy of many a story, Ali Smith’s Spring examines frankly the awfulness of our times and conjures heart-rending tenderness in spite of it, while Bernardine Evaristo’s Girl, Woman, Other celebrates Black British women with a vitality and rhythm that is all her own.

But the book which stands out for me in what I’ve read in 2019, over and above these giants of the literary world, is Adèle by the French-Moroccan author Leïla Slimani, the 2019 English translation of her first novel, originally published in French in 2014 as Dans le jardin de l’ogre. I devoured this one afternoon back in March and it locked onto something in me. As an exploration of a woman’s search for meaning in her life this is – in my opinion – peerless. If once or twice Sam Taylor’s translation juddered, for the most part it was crystalline. Do not think this novel is about a sex addiction; it is about a quest for authentic feeling. Adèle is a 21st century Emma Bovary, and Leïla Slimani’s book deserves to be read as widely and remembered as long as Gustave Flaubert’s.

 

Coming next: My top writing websites of the year

 

My picks for 2019: 2) Musical performance

My top musical performances in 2019 (with links to my reviews of them in Wales Arts Review) were:

Capture

Shaping the Invisible, I Fagiolini

 

Coming next: My top books of the year

My picks for 2019: 1) TV

My top TV in 2019 (bear in mind there was lots and lots I didn’t see!) is:

  • Fleabag, Season 2  – Phobe Waller-Bridge is unique, Andrew Scott was wonderful as the priest, and everyone else was fab. Great story, even better acting. I loved it.
  • Years and Years – pitch-perfect writing about the (very) near future by Russell T Davies. Very bleak. very important.
  • Seven Worlds, One Planet – extraordinary filming. By turns poignant, awe-inspiring and heart-rending. And with a wonderfully humorous look at the grave-robbing hamsters of Vienna. And the one and only David Attenborough.

 

Grave-robbing hamsters

The grave-robbing, candlewax snaffling hamsters of Vienna

 

 

Coming next: My top musical performances of the year

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday story: 9) Underneath the Stars

This is a little story which I started in Italy in May, in the wonderful flash fiction course with Kathy Fish, Nancy Stohlman and a bunch of other talented writers. Here’s the beautiful soundtrack which inspired it and from which it takes its title:

Underneath the Stars

Cath Barton

He still looks for her at the tail end of the day, our old grey cat, Merlin. Sitting at the top of the steps, outside our front door. Watching the bend in the road. Watching and waiting for her battered old Ford Fiesta to appear round the bend, her tooting and waving to tell us she’s home and calling out to me to put the kettle on because:

‘I’m dying for a cup of tea!’

That was Marie-Louise. She was greedy for life.

She brought cakes, always a little sweet something. But now the days of our feasting are done and it’s quiet day and night in Silverdale, in the quicksilver light of the moon and the rarely-now-golden light of the sun.

For they closed the road off.

Marie-Louise would not have wanted that, would have insisted that the va-et-vient should continue. For she loved the rush and fall of things.

Merlin’s still sitting looking, still hopeful, as the silvery sheen of his coat merges into the dusk. I call him and we go together into the back garden. We sit by side, noses twitching to catch the sinuous waft of night scents as, above us, the map of the heavens unrolls. There’s the whoosh of a train down in the cutting but Merlin doesn’t stir.

I point. ‘She’s up there,’ I whisper in his ear.

It’s a blind hope. I can’t read the night sky any more than I could read her mind or understand her crazy impulses.

Merlin’s ears prick now and he darts after some little creature invisible to me in the fading light. Something snuffles near the railway tracks. A fox maybe, or a badger. I call Merlin back from danger. He comes and he sits, quietly, close by me. And I nuzzle his soft back.

 

NEWS!  I’m going to include this story in a collection of short fiction and photographs which I’m putting together with my husband and fellow writer, Oliver Barton. It’s called Candyfloss III. Yes, it’s the third in a series, though there’s been a bit of a gap since the last one. You can still buy Candyfloss II here.

We hope to have Candyfloss III out in January. All profits will go to local charities where we live in Abergavenny. And it will be available to buy directly from us. You’ll hear about it here first.

 

 

Guest post: Lindsay Bamfield on Australian Literature

This year there was a book by a Tasmanian author on the Not the Booker Prize shortlist. I thought it was about time I found out a bit more about Australian fiction writing, and invited the author Lindsay Bamfield to write a guest post for me.

Lindsay relocated from London to Melbourne six months ago. She writes short stories and flash fiction and has two stalled novels needing attention.

Here are Lindsay’s recommendations. Do add your own in comments.

Mining for Australian Literature

Lindsay Bamfield

Moving in to my new home in Australia, I set up a couple of Australian literature shelves in my bookcases. To accompany my battered copy of A Gold Digger’s Diaries by Ned Peters (my great-great-great-great-uncle!) were novels by writers I’ve read before, including Tim Winton, Jane Harper and Kate Grenville. Following Ned’s example of gold mining I mined for new literature. I browsed bookshops and, most importantly, joined my local library and found books encompassing Australia’s many cultures from a number of Australian authors writing a huge variety of characters and settings in an equally wide range of literary styles and genre.

I’ve read hard-hitting short stories by Tony Birch (Common People and The Promise), found the fictionalized story of Louisa Collins, The Killing of Louisa by Janet Lee fascinating and, to be honest, read several others that I didn’t rate very highly. The following, all from writers I hadn’t come across before, stood out for me as good reads.

Peter Polites’ The Pillars is a contemporary urban story of a gay man of Greek heritage. Vibrant, urgent and often dark, it is a story of the outsider. Covering racism, homophobia, greed and the ever-changing face of cities, it focuses on fitting in as the pillars of society crumble for new ones to emerge.

In contrast, Milk Fever by Lisa Reece-Lane is set in a small country town named Lovely. For newcomer Julia it’s anything but lovely. Overshadowed by her controlling husband she is drawn to Tom, a young farmer who experiences life and the surrounding countryside through nature’s colours and vibrations. I loved this gentle story of people at odds with their family members but ultimately at one with their environment.

Kate Richard’s Fusion is set in the remote wilderness where conjoined twins Sea and Serene live in self-imposed seclusion with their cousin, Wren. Self-educated, their life is richer than their circumstances might suggest. When Wren finds an injured woman on a lonely road, he brings her home to tend to her injuries and all three find their relationships are tested. An unusual and lyrical read.

Shepherd by Catherine Jinks, perhaps better known for her children’s and middle-grade literature, is the story of a young convict transported to Australia for poaching. Working as a shepherd for a settler he becomes the target for another convict, a vicious murderer. Can he outwit his pursuer? I found this fast-paced story fascinating.

Extinctions by Josephine Wilson tells of widowed Frederick Lothian, a retired engineer coming to terms with his future in the detention centre for the elderly as he calls his retirement village in Western Australia. Touching on the big issues of identity and the Stolen Generation, Fred meets Jan a fellow member of the retirement village whose blunt approach makes him confront his mistakes from the past and how they have affected his son and adopted daughter. Often witty and sometimes light it is also a serious thought-provoking read that I was sorry to have to return to the library.

Lindsay Bamfield
Photo copyright Lindsay Bamfield

Coming next: Friday story and preview of Candyfloss III

Flash thoughts

I’ve been pondering on flash fiction. This month I’m writing some every day. Here are a few thoughts about the process:

– It’s a useful exercise to use a prompt just to get the creative brain firing. Simply setting words down.

– A strict word limit can produce unexpected juxapositions. As in this micro I wrote this morning using Meg Sefton‘s prompt crisp for 50 word fiction:

First frost and the white ground is calling to me to imprint it. I run alongside tracks of mice and vole, earlier risers. Breath of dogs fogs the air, the shouts of their people boom and retreat. The colours of this time of day are muted, waiting for sun stroking.

I don’t think I would have come up with ‘sun stroking’ if it hadn’t been for the constraint of the work limit.

– Collaging the fragments which float out from my brain in response to different prompts may show up connections.

-At this stage this is all raw material, which I will return to later, to cut, shape and stitch into finished stories.

 

And here’s a picture, which could also be a writing prompt…..

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Cat on the cover of a writing book

 

 

Coming next: Guest post

What are you writing this November?

Last year I took part in NaNoWriMo. That was fun and gave me lots of material to work on.

This year I’m back to FlashNano. Nancy Stohlman gives great prompts every day during November. You can use these as you like – for me they are so useful to get my writing brain going, and the little stories I start here may bear fruit later – who knows?!

I’m also using prompts from Meg Sefton to write a 50-word micro each day in November, posted on Twitter with the hashtoag #50FlashNov19. Another little brain workout.

Here are a couple of the micros I’ve written so far:

Day 1 – prompt #ripe

I scan the room. Grey suits, haggard faces, the smell of age. I should never have trusted the photograph. The line is so fine between fullness and the slide into the decay. There, he’s waving. I recognise the eyes. But the flesh is weak. Mine that is. I turn away.

Day 5 – prompt #cat

They said they had to keep us in for three weeks. My sister and I had no say in the matter. They said we were feral. I have no idea what that means in human, but when they finally let us out we climbed over the house. To show them.

Huge thanks to Nancy and Meg for sharing the prompts.

Who’s joining the party?

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Crazy cat Doodle – photo copyright Cath Barton

 

Coming next: More about flash fiction

Friday story: Competition winner

Thanks to all who entered my story competition. The entries were anonymised before I judged them, so knowing me did not benefit or disbenefit anyone!

I enjoyed all the different ways you used the prompt. On another day, with a different judge, any of you might have won.

I chose Samuel Dodson’s story as the winner because of the way it goes beyond individuals. And it has a thought-provoking ending. Congratulations to Sam! Check him out on twitter at @instantidealism and find out what else he’s up to in the writing world.

I’ll run another competition before Christmas, so look out for that.

Here is the winning story:

The Gap

Samuel Dodson 

There is a gap that runs through the town. A bisecting line that divides the residents. It is small – smaller than you’d think; and almost un-noticeable. Yet it is impossible to cross.

The two tribes on either side inhabit separate worlds, though they all pretend not to. It only really becomes apparent when people from each side start to approach it. You can watch them – go on. See how they pause, look around; turn away. To cross the gap would be to acknowledge it.

There are, however, cracks. They spread out on either side. They started to appear not too long ago, when the mayor of the town forgot such a gap existed, and tried to ask the town-folk what he thought was a simple question:

“Are you content with where you are?”

The mayor thought the answer to this question was obvious. After all, he himself was exceedingly content. He lived in a big house in one half of town. He had a big garden with a stylish wooden hut where he could sit and write ideas he had. His wife wore expensive dresses and he never needed to worry. People even brought things to his house! There were fancy dinner parties. He never even needed to go into town – so forgot all about the gap that neither he nor anybody he knew would cross.

He couldn’t figure out what to do when the people in the town said they were not content. He hid in his little hut and didn’t come out.

The cracks in the streets are widening the gap.

Soon, the people will have to notice.

Some already have.

Every town has a gap like this.

 

Author pic. Sam Dodson
Author photo copyright Samuel Dodson

 

 

Coming next: FlashNano!

 

 

My writing week

Here’s my writing plan for the week:

Monday: Draft my ‘homework’ for Writing Group tomorrow. Prompt is ‘intolerable’ or ‘workload’ or both! It’ll be a flash fiction, though there’s always the possibility it could be the start of something longer. I’ll gather a couple of random words to help me on the way.

Finish a first read of the Flash Fiction Festival anthology which I’m due to review for Sabotage Reviews. 

Scribble first thoughts for a novelette for Lucent Dreaming contest.

Tuesday: Read through/revise my homework. Writing Group.

Wednesday: Go for a hill walk – great for clearing the head as well as essential exercise.

Thursday: Coffee with a friend – lots of chat about books.

Concert in Cardiff: pianist Llyr Williams  

Friday: Read submissions to my story competition, select a winner and publish!

Write review of Llyr Williams’ concert for Wales Arts Review

Saturday: Writing group in Pontypool.

Write review of Flash Fiction Festival anthology.

Sunday: Get going on the novelette!

What I’m reading this week: The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing

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Photo copyright Cath Barton

 

 

 

Story competition – 1

This is the first in a occasional new series. You are invited to write up to 300 words (not including title) inspired by the photograph below. Send your entry in the body of an e-mail (no attachments please) by midnight (UK time) next Thursday, 31st October, to cath.barton@talktalk.net. No bios, but include your Twitter handle/link to your Facebook page. Subject line of your e-mail should be: Friday story submission + story title.

I will post the story I like best here as next week’s Friday story, with a big shout out to you and your writing.

Tip: Discard your first idea. Discard your second idea. Go with your third idea.

Please don’t send anything racist/sexist/sexually explicit/gratuitously violent.

Looking forward to reading your stories!

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Photo copyright Cath Barton

 

Sunday sentences

We live in ‘interesting’ times. There are lots of things to cause us anxiety and fear. I find the very best thing to do when I feel anxious or afraid is to get out into the countryside and walk. Trees in particular are very calming. Did you know that they have a communication system between one another too?

If you’re writing this week, make sure you take breaks and get out.

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Photograph copyright Cath Barton

 

 

Friday story: 8) In a Barren World

Last year I was publishing one of my stories here every other Friday. Then other things took over. But now the Friday story is back! Here’s one that took second place in the Zeroflash competition in March 2016.

In a Barren World

After the woman had gone to prepare for the journey I sat alone in the old chapel, watching the fire flickering. Watching as the heat retreated and the coals glowed, red pinpoints in the enveloping darkness. Watching as they faded. Watching until all colour was extinguished from them and the cold and the dark were the victors once more.

I walked to the western wall and held my ear to the granite. It seemed to hold the crackle of a half-remembered song from the time before. I closed my eyes and remembered laughter and wine, glasses raised to firelight and hope dancing in our hearts. If I had held a glass in my hand now I would have smashed it to the ground. But our drinking days were over, things were already broken and all any of us could do was seek shelter from the storm of the barren world.

The woman and I had thrown our lot in with one another after our dear ones had been taken. Some said by wolves though I thought that fanciful, even in the strangeness of these times. And there was no evidence that wolves had survived. Yet the seas had advanced as had been foretold, there was no denying that.

The chapel stood on a headland, too high for the seas to sweep it away. We had found it, she and I. It was ours alone and each day we tumbled down the grassy cliffs and swam in a blue bay with dolphins, while all we needed was provided for us. Miraculous, yes, but in these times there is but a short space between apocalypse and miracle.

When the dolphins left we knew our idyll to be over. Tonight we will draw warmth from one another. Tomorrow we face the cold again.

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Photograph copyright Cath Barton

 

Coming next: Sunday sentences…

 

 

 

More thoughts about literary prizes: The Booker

So, this was a surprise – joint winners of The Booker Prizer 2019. The organisers might have been shocked, but I think a lot of people have welcomed the decision of the judges to flout the rules and award the prize jointly to Margaret Atwood for The Testaments and Bernadine Evaristo for Girl, Woman, Other. Seeing the way the two authors have responded to the decision is no less than inspiring: visibly supporting one another, plus Margaret Atwood is gifting her share of the prize money (£25,000) to the Canadian Indigenous charity, Indspire, which invests in the education of Indigenous people. 

I’m rather shocked that the Booker organisers are apparently so angry about the judges’ decision that they are threatening to withhold their fees. That seems very small-minded.

Who could not be pleased to see the warmth between Atwood and Evaristo? I’m looking forward to reading both their books.

Booker prize winners 2019

 

 

 

Coming soon: The return of the Friday story

 

 

 

Some thoughts about literary prizes/ The Not the Booker Prize

Not the Booker shortlist 2019
The Not the Booker shortlist 2019

 

For the past two years I’ve taken a close interest in The Guardian’s Not the Booker Prize. In 2018 I decided to read all six books on the shortlist and was invited to be a member of the judging panel. There are five votes that decide the winner: two go to the book which wins the public vote and the three members of the judging panel have one each. So if just one member of the judging panel goes with the public’s choice, that book is the winner. (You can read more about the longlisting and shortlisting processes and the full rules on the link.)

Both last year and again this year (with a different judging panel) the prize has gone to a book which was not only not the public’s favourite but actually received few votes in that process. Both times that has provoked some people to cry ‘Foul!’ and curses upon the heads of the judges, who have been called an elite (and worse things which get deleted from The Guardian’s website).

I know from my personal experience that last year the final voting process was fair. There was no discussion between the judges prior to the judging meeting. I have no reason to think things were different this year.

Whether or not there are lobbies for particular books that influence the public voting, one thing is for sure: no-one taking part in the public vote has to have read any book on the shortlist other than the one they are voting for, or give more than a few lines of review about their chosen book. To be on the panel you must have read at least three of the six and commented on them in some detail during the weeks leading up to the vote. In practice panel members will have read most if not all of the six.

The debate has little to do with the value of the prize (a Guardian mug – though of course it is something for the winning writer’s CV). It is more about how people see their opinions being regarded or disregarded, and about how some will hold to the belief so brilliantly delineated in Orwell’s Animal Farm that ‘all animals are equal but some are more equal than others’, whether or not it is really so.

 

The 2019 Not the Booker prize was won by Lara Williams for her debut novel Supper Club.

 

Coming soon: Thoughts about The Booker Prize – and the return of the Friday story…

Editing

As I said in my last post, I’ve been working on edits of my second novella, In the Sweep of the Bay, which will be published by Louise Walters Books in September 2020. You can read an extract of it here.

The editing process has been a very positive and fruitful one. It’s been great to work with an editor who is thoughtful and thorough, and Louise and I have sent edits back and forth several times to get to the point where we’re both happy to send the book off for copy editing. Louise has challenged me on sections where I’ve been a bit too much in love with my own writing and I’ve had to murder a few of my darlings. I’ve also had to work to make some parts clearer – a writer may see something in her/his own mind, but we have to make sure we’ve conveyed it to the reader. But on the other hand Louise has also been sympathetic to my wish to retain certain things, so long as I’ve been able to justify their inclusion. All in all, I’m sure the process has made the book a better one, and for that I’m very grateful.

And, excitingly, we’ve secured the rights to include the lyrics of a song which is very pertinent to the story.

There’s a way to go, but we’re well on the road to publication.

 

Selfie in the garden room

Here’s a selfie of me in my garden room, a haven for writing.

 

Coming soon: My thoughts about the shortlist for The Guardian’s Not the Booker prize.

The Many Facets of the Writing Life

Where did the last three months go?

May was mainly about Italy and flash fiction, retreating in the idyllic (but rather cold and wet!) setting of Casperia in the Sabine Hills north of Rome, in the company of ace tutors Kathy Fish and Nancy Stohlman and an inspiring group of fellow writers. Lots started there that will surely bear fruit in the future. And at the end of the week we got to read our work in a bookshop in Rome!Reading in RomeReading in the Otherwise Bookshop, photo courtesy of Jayne Martin

June went by in a flurry of visits to Hay to hear writers many and various speaking, London – where I met up with my publisher number 2 Louise Walters and her team at a book launch for Laura’s Laakso‘s Fallible Justice, and Bristol for more flash fiction and meet-ups with writing friends at the 2019 Flash Fiction Festival.

July has been about edits for novella number 2 and reading, lots of reading. As one of the team of judges for the Not the Booker prize last year, I get to help select one of the shortlist for this year’s prize. Our choice will be revealed very soon!

Now to get on with some new writing…

 

May Days

I love the spring, with its fresh greens, and bluebells and the may (hawthorn) trees coming into flower. I’m getting out into the hills as often as possible now, training for a sponsored trek on Hadrian’s Wall! And walking is always a great way to refresh the brain and inspire writing.

I’ve had lots of writerly good fortune these past few weeks, with both my second novella AND my collection of short stories signed. So, all being well, I will achieve my ambition to have three books published by the time I’m 70! And The Plankton Collector got a special mention in the Saboteur Awards Novella category this year.

I’m so delighted that Retreat West Books are going to be publishing The Garden of Earthly Delights, my short story collection inspired by the paintings and drawing of Hieronymus Bosch. They’re a publisher with a great environmental ethic. And on the shortlist for the Saboteur Awards in the Most Innovative Publisher category. Voting is open until 12th May.

I’m also very excited to be going to Italy next week, to write flash fiction in a group being led by Kathy Fish and Nancy Stohlman. Hoping for wine and sunshine too!! Report at the end of the month!

Bluebells at Coed-y-Bynedd
Bluebells at Coed-y-Bwnydd hill fort, Monmouthshire

Here comes Novella number 2!

It’s been an exciting week. Last Tuesday the news went public that I have signed a contract with Louise Walters Books for my second novella. It is as yet untitled, but is written and I’m looking forward to working with Louise on the editing process. Publication is scheduled for September 2020.

Here’s what Louise said about the story in her press release, which was picked up by both Bookbrunch and The Bookseller:

The lyrical, warm-hearted tale explores marriage, love, and longing, set against the unexpectedly majestic backdrop of Morecambe Bay, the faded glamour of the Midland Hotel, and the dance halls of Blackpool.

Cath sent me this short, bitter-sweet novel and I was captivated from the opening pages. Ted and Rene, the long-married couple at the centre of the story, tug at the heart strings in a quite extraordinary way. I can’t wait to start working with Cath.

The news provoked a bit of a twitter-storm and it was lovely to get so much support from fellow writers.

Onwards!

 

Morecambe Bay

Morecambe Bay (photo by CB)

 

 

 

 

 

Festival time

Festival time is a-coming. Not for me – at least not yet! – the heady heights of Hay, but I will be speaking at two writing festivals in April.

 

Abergavenny Writing Festival, Thursday, April 11th, 2.30pm

Do we all have a novel in us?

I’ll be on a panel with fellow authors Jack Strange, CG Menon and Penny Ellis. We’ll be in discussion with Abergavenny Focus Magazine editor Hannah Hill.

Aber Writing Fest

You can buy tickets here

 

Llandeilo Lit Fest, Saturday, April 27th, 2.15pm

Writing Novellas and Short Fiction

I’m excited to have my very own event at Llandeilo, where I’ll be in conversation with fellow writer Jane Fraser, whose debut collection of short stories, The South Westerlies, will be published by Salt in June.

Llandeilo Litfest

Buy tickets for that event here

 

And if you come to either, do be sure to come and say hello!

 

 

Guest Post: Sal Page on her writing journey

It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest on the site. Today I welcome Sal Page, with her thoughts on writing.

Writing and Me

Ah writing! This is something I do. I’ve tried to stop. Several times. I once wrote nothing but work stuff for four years. That horrible job. But it’s not a nice way to live. I missed it. I like having a story on the go, or two or three. Or the occasional poem or even a play. A novel, or two or three, that may never see the light of day but boy, did I enjoy writing them. And, yeah maybe writing helps keeps you sane.

Not that I call myself a writer. I’m just someone who writes.

I don’t believe, as many seem to, that when writing you have to suffer. I know it’s tough writing a novel synopsis but, if you’re talking blood, sweat and tears, I could tell you about all those from working in kitchens for thirty-plus years.

Neither do I think there’s ever going to be any money in it for me, although obviously on the odd occasion we mention writing to those that don’t, we’re suddenly going to be ‘the next JK Rowling’ so there might be some cash involved there.

The truth is I’ve made just over £700 from writing … since 1986. Yes, I’ve been writing for some time. I make close to that per month now, as a part time cook. So, I’m a cook and someone who writes.

Recently, I’ve been leaving flash, stories and novels behind, in favour of memoir and non-fiction. I’ve started writing my weight loss memoir/self-help book, The Impossible Thing. (#TheImpossibleThing, my own hashtag!) In the past three years, four months I’ve lost 101 pounds (7 stone 3). I’m aiming to lose 130 pounds and to keep it off. Then I’ll be qualified to finish this book and maybe it will, somehow, reach a few readers. Sal Page solves the obesity crisis single-handedly.

The next chapter I plan to write is a memoir one about being at school. In the spring of 2017, I wrote a blogpost that listed the names I got called at school. This was quite a moment. I could never have dreamt I’d go from being deeply ashamed and embarrassed and not telling a soul to telling, effectively, the world.

I love everything about writing. Having ideas, thinking about them, writing notes, getting stuck into a first draft, letting things lie, talking about writing on Twitter, reading other people’s work and putting my spoke in, redrafting, editing, tinkering, perfecting, submitting, having things accepted or rejected, getting listed, placed, winning, reading in open mics or being invited to read ‘cos I’m placed or the winner. I love the little shelf of anthologies with my stories in, my Amazon page and rereading things I wrote years ago and still love ‘cos they’re mine.

Why do you write?’ is a question often asked on Twitter. My answers are always ‘It can stop me thinking about food’, ‘I can create a world and control everything in it’ and ‘It’s FUN.’

Yeah. Writing. What’s not to like?

Thanks to Cath for inviting me to write this piece for her website.

Sal Page

Sal Page

Belated New Year Greetings

 


Happy New Year! And we’re nearly three weeks in already.

I’ve been doing final edits on my collection of short stories, The Garden of Earthly Delights. These stories are inspired by the extraordinary paintings and drawings of the Flemish artist Hieronymus Bosch. They will be winging their way in search of a publisher now.

And I’ll be getting on to other writing projects – developing a second novella, then pulling out the beginnings of a novel that I birthed doing NaNoWriMo, to see if that is going anywhere.

Meanwhile I’ll write flash pieces as and when.

Good luck with all your writing. What we call the ‘real’ world seems to be going crazy – I believe that writing and reading is part of our salvation.

 

the garden of earthly delights. detail

The Garden of Earthly Delights (detail), Hieronymus Bosch (1450-1516)

NaNoWriMo

Alongside thousands of other people round the world, I’ve signed up to write a novel in a month during November. The aim is 50,000 words and on day 18 I’m at 28,103, so I’m confident I can reach the target by the 30th.

This is not a competition, except insofar as any of us are competing with ourselves. I’m doing it because it’s a great kick up the backside to do something I’ve always said to date I’d never do!!!

So, here’s what I can tell you about my novel. The title is There is a Shape to Everything. Here’s what I wrote as a synopsis when I started:

Mother Miriam and daughter Sylvana travel to Kathmandu to celebrate their 50th and 21st birthdays respectively by taking a trek in the Himalayas together. 

Before they set off on the trek there is an earthquake and mother disappears. Sylvana pairs up with Vic, a Nepali maker of thangkas (Tibetan Buddhist paintings) whose son Prem has also disappeared. Together they travel in search of Miriam and Prem.

Back home in Wales, Tritta, a friend of Sylvana’s, receives messages from both her and Miriam which set her off on a journey of her own.

Tritta has not put in much of an appearance, but various other characters have, including a man with a scar in the shape of a snake on his forehead. He’s obviously a baddie…

And the imagery in the Buddhist paintings is pretty important, that’s for sure.

IMG_7538.JPG

Buddhist painting, Khachoe Ghakyil Ling Nunnery, Kathmandu.

Photo: Cath Barton

 

 

 

 

Publication day!

My novella, The Plankton Collector, is out in the world. Flying free, as of today.

I”m very proud of this wee book.

Read about it here

Order your copy here

Post your rating and review here

Thank you!!

Plankton_covers_Final_web

Friday Story: 7) Clown

Here’s a little story that I wrote a couple of years back for Zeroflash.

Clown

He appears in front of me, between two blinks of an eye. I see his feet first. Clown’s feet in big shoes. They flap as he walks towards me. His white mouth stretches into a grimace and he holds out a hand. He’s shaking and I feel his fear. I take his hand and it’s stone cold. I want to say how cold it is and that I can give him gloves, but he shakes his head and glitter falls from his curly hair, falls onto his feet and onto my feet. And then we’re running together, hand in hand, his shoes slapping on the ground, and we dodge the people who turn and stare and – I’m glad about this – his hand is warming up.

We’ve run into the castle grounds and I know where he’ll be safe. I lead him there, my sad clown. I’m thinking about how I’ll cover him with dry leaves while I go and fetch a blanket. But he’s shaking his head again, he’s reading my thoughts and he waggles a finger back and forth. I want to say he needs a blanket, but he snuggles into the leaves and I can see that he doesn’t. I try to pull the gate closed but it’s so old and rusted it won’t budge. It’s getting dark now and I tell him I have to go home.

People are shouting in the streets but I ignore them. I go to bed but I can’t sleep. I’m thinking about my clown and about how cold his hand had been.

In the morning I go back. There are sticks, broken sticks thrown over the leaves. They look like broken bones. I blink and he’s standing there, just for a moment. Glitter lands on my shoes. I blink. He’s gone.

Glitter

Guest post: Interview with author Mike Scott Thomson

It’s good to hear different voices on the site. Here’s what English author Mike Scott Thomson has to say about his writing:

CB: I’ve read and enjoyed your stories in Visual Verse – you obviously like responding to pictures and do so imaginatively and in vivid prose. Have you used picture prompts much for other stories you’ve written?

MST: Thank you for your kind words, Cath. For me, picture prompts have provided a useful exercise in letting those creative energies flow: to build a brand new story, which I might not have thought to write otherwise. They can also provide fresh ideas, boost confidence, and are a brilliant method to get that keyboard tapping. I should use them more often.

What other kinds of stimuli do you use for your writing?

My fictions tend to arise from all sorts of different sources: perhaps a blurry, re-imagined glimpse from hazy memories; perhaps an overheard snatch of conversation, or an intriguing bon mot, stripped of its original context; however, instead it often comes from a slab of bureaucratic lunacy to which I cannot help but administer a good old British lampooning. For example, my story which won the inaugural ‘To Hull and Back’ humorous short story competition stemmed from an occasion at work where we were made to express our activities as a fraction of an integer onto a timesheet coded with 14 different colours, then upload them to a shared disc drive defined by a dollar sign, a wiggly squiggle and a pair of square brackets. Figuring out what that meant proved fruitless for the purpose it was intended, but I did get a good comic story out of it.

Of the books you’ve read this year, which one would you most recommend and why?

Jasper Fforde’s ‘The Eyre Affair’, and also its first three sequels. They’re full of literary references, are extremely funny, and Fforde himself is a superb plotsmith. Prior to reading them, I ploughed through Charlotte Bronte’s ‘Jane Eyre’, under the impression some background knowledge would be helpful. As it turned out, that wasn’t entirely necessary; his books are a good way to glean a broad understanding of the classics without having to embark on marathon reading sessions. (That said, I did like Jane Eyre too.)

If you could have three wishes granted for your writing, what would they be?

Well, I’m still haunted by the events of W.W. Jacob’s ‘The Monkey’s Paw’, having first read it decades ago. If I did indeed wish for flawless first drafts, a lucrative lifetime publishing deal, and hundreds of millions of impatient and adoring readers, then what macabre consequences would accompany such desires? (Besides, it’d be cheating.) Instead, I’d wish to become more of a morning person (so I can fit in writing shifts before starting the commute), an approximate 10% increase in self-confidence in my writing ability (too much would be damaging, I feel), and a fervent desire that nobody in the world – ever, ever again, ever – misspells my surname with a ‘p’.

Mike Scott Thomson.PNG

Bio: Mike Scott Thomson’s short stories have been published by journals and anthologies, and have won or placed in a few competitions, including ‘To Hull and Back’, InkTears, and Writers’ Village. Based in south London, he works in broadcasting. You can find him online at http://www.mikescottthomson.com and on Twitter at @michaelsthomson.

Friday Story: 6) I Want to Go to Russia

This is a little story of mine which was originally published in Vine Leaves Literary Journal Issue #01, January 2012  It’s difficult to imagine winter, cold or snow in the UK just now, but perhaps this will help to cool us down!

I Want to Go to Russia

It’s winter now. The man on the radio said so. It’s because of the clocks going back, he said. I don’t know about that. I’m warm, under my duvet. I wiggle my shoulders and push down in the bed.

Then I think for a bit, and what I think is that it would be nice to be in Russia. The man on the radio said that the clocks hadn’t changed there. The president, not Putin, the other one, said they were going to be on summertime all the year round there. I’d like that. I reckon it must be really quiet in Russia, ‘cos there’s miles and miles of nothing there. I’ve looked at it in the atlas. Hardly anything there, just a big shape. Not loads of names, like there are in England. I hate England.

I’ve turned the radio off, ‘cos the news came on and it’s all about bad things and I don’t want to hear about bad things. You can scare yourself thinking about stuff like that.

Talking of which it’s Halloween tomorrow. That don’t scare me though, not At All, but I know it scares them old biddies down the end of our road. They got net curtains in their windows, like they was posh or something, and they’ve put out little cards that say “NO TREATS OR TRICKS”. The writing’s all shaky. Shirl just sent me a text about it. Hang on a minute, she’s up early! Don’t she realise the clocks have changed, silly moo?

Any road, those old ladies – Mum says I has to call them ladies, as if – don’t know nothing, ‘cos it ain’t Treats or Tricks, it’s Trick or Treat. Course, they never did it when they were young did they? They did something called bobbing for apples, according to Mum. I mean, bloody hell, sticking your head in a bucket of water to get your teeth round an apple. P –lease. It’s gross.

Now Mum’s yelling at me to get up. I bet it’s not like this in Russia. Mind you, it must be weird at Halloween. It’s so cold people can’t go out, I reckon, even if their president tells them it’s summertime all the year round.

I get up and turn on the TV. Daytime TV’s rubbish but you never know. There’s kids jumping and screaming and running round with pretend witches’ hats on, so I flip around the channels and that’s when I find it, this programme about Russia. Only it’s not about presidents or armies or any of that stuff. It’s about nothing much happening. Just pictures of woods, and snow in them. And there’s kind of the sound of people breathing. I like that. I like it a lot. I’ve texted Shirl to tell her, but all I get back from her is WOT U ON??????????????

Then something does happen. These really, really old people, all muffled up in zillions of clothes, they walk down this track through the snowy woods to their bread shop. And when they get there they have to stand and wait and wait ‘cos there ain’t no bread. Some shop person comes out and yells at them and they just keep on standing there. And eventually the bread comes out and they get it and they slam money down on the counter and they trek back home. And I’m sitting there watching and watching ‘cos it’s foreign and I like foreign.

If I was a witch I’d get on my broomstick and go to Russia and wait in a bread shop. That would be a cool thing to do at Halloween.

 

 

Friday Story: 5) This is a safe attachment, trust me

This a story for anyone who has ever had computer problems, so that’s all of us. My computer went pop earlier this week and had to go to the computer hospital. It is now back, restored to health. What a relief.

Feely (pictured on the chair at which I sit to use my computer) is a male cat, so obviously not the one in the story!

DSC09109

This a safe attachment, trust me

I clicked on the attachment to the e-mail. Next thing there were multiple windows opening and reopening again as fast as I closed them. The screen was pulsating with the speed of it but I didn’t panic, just turned the computer off and went to make myself a cup of coffee. It was a shame that the cat got under my feet and hot coffee spilt on her, but I still didn’t panic.

Rebooted, the computer seemed fine. But as I started typing a document a little dog strayed onto the screen.

“Woof,” it went.

“Woof to you,” I said, “go away.”

“Won’t,” it said. I turned off the sound. I was not going to be dictated to by an animation.

“Be careful,” said the cat, from her seat behind me.

I whirled round. The cat was curled up like a cinnamon whirl, apparently dead to the world. I turned back to the computer. The dog on the screen had started eating my text and spewing it out of its backside in a mangled heap of letters.

This was too much. I started banging the desk, remembering too late what this would do to my collarbone.

“Ow!” I yelled, as pain shot up my arm.

“You should be more careful,” mewed the cat gleefully.

I’m thinking of selling the computer. Pen and paper have a safe track record, and no attachments with hidden secrets to trip you up. Perhaps I’d better ask the cat. She’s offering opinions on everything now.

Shortlisted in Helen Yendall’s blog about writing comp April 2013

Published on PostcardShorts (www.postcardshorts.com) on 26.05.13

 

Friday Story: 4) The curious incident of the pig in the café

It’s National Flash Fiction Day in the UK tomorrow, 16th June. Every year there’s a Flash Flood of stories. My story The curious incident of the pig in the café was included in the Flash Flood a couple of years back.

This year I have a micro story included. It’s called Lonely Hearts and it’ll be published here at about 1.50pm (BST) on 16th June.

Smile for the birdie

The curious incident of the pig in the café

It was that elusive thing, the first day of summer. The day when you fling off your cardies and your winter boundaries. So it was that at 12 noon sharp Charmaine and Sophie could be seen emerging from the dingy office where they worked, heading for Porky’s Pizzeria, just up the street. The local dosser, Ed the Rags, was sitting in a doorway crying out for the price of a cup of tea as usual.

There was a queue at Porky’s. As usual. The girls were happy to wait in the sunshine for their “You must be smoking!” specials with smoked cheese, bacon, pepperoni and smoked sausage. As they had their faces raised to the sun neither of them noticed Ed the Rags approaching. Someone must have slipped him a fiver. He pushed to the top of the queue and no-one tried to stop him, be it out of guilt or revulsion, because he ponged something terrible.

Ed got his pizza and emerged from the café dripping cheese and tomato onto the street and himself as he shoved the hot pizza into his mouth. A shout went up from inside. Had Ed run away without paying? It didn’t look like it, the way he was ambling with a beatific smile on his face. But following him and sniffing at his shoes, was a pig. A genuine porker!

Charmaine jumped back and Sophie squealed as her friend’s stiletto nearly pierced her foot. Other people were spilling out of the doorway holding their noses. A pungent odour swirled in the air, and it was not the sweet smell of baking dough mingling with cooked meats, but something altogether more earthy.

Francesco, chef-patron of Porky’s, emerged in a cloud of Italian expletives, waving a tea-towel at the retreating backs of Ed and the porker.

Finito!” he cried. “Ze lunch is finito. Zat pig has made escremento in my café. Eet is a dirty dog.”

People watched as Ed the Rags and the pig processed down the street. Ed seemed to remain blissfully unaware of his follower, engrossed as he was in the rich flavours of his pizza. Then the pig must have pulled at his coat, because he turned and saw it. What he did next was either poignant or gross, depending on your point of view. He bent down and offered the beast his last piece of pizza. The pig swallowed it whole and ran off down the street.

It turned out that the pig had escaped from a lorry that was taking it to market and run in the open back door of Porky’s. It’s now gone to live the rest of its days in a community farm, where it may not get pizza but children feed it other titbits daily. Ed the Rags got his his toothless grin in the local paper and some kindly old soul has paid for him to have pizza every week from Francesco.

As for Porky’s, it’s thriving more than ever, it’s name finally justified!

First published in National Flash Fiction Day Flash Flood, June 2016

Guest post: by author Nadya A.R.

In the first of a series of occasional guest posts, I welcome author Nadya A.R., to tell us about her novel Invisible Ties, and in particular why labels fail to do justice to the complex reality of women in the sub-continent.

WHY I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH LABELS!!!

Nadya A.R.

I am a writer, psychotherapist and motivational speaker. My latest novel, Invisible Ties, has been published by Rupa publications in August 2017. In Invisible Ties my protagonist, a well-educated woman in her early twenties, Noor Kamal, faces the overbearing pressure of marriage and succumbs to an arranged proposal, engineered by her shrewd, worldly wise Aunty Lily, who lives in Malaysia. An eligible, Pakistani banker, Meekaal Kalim, living in Singapore views her picture in her Aunt’s plush home in Kuala Lumpur and expresses his interest in marrying her. Noor’s intelligent father scoffs at this seemingly bizarre proposal, while her materialistic and socially competitive mother feels as if she has won a huge lottery.

Noor is definitely not the stereotypical, oppressed Eastern woman. Neither can she be described as a kickass nor as a badass heroine- terms which are now the flavour of today. Her reality is complex and evolving, very similar to what is happening in South Asia and to women in our modern world. Noor’s circumstances of agreeing to this marriage are unique and drastic, and though she perceives herself as ‘different’, she finds herself cast in the same mould as many women around her.

While grappling with the disturbing fact that her husband is a cold stranger in a foreign land, Noor is well-aware that she was given a one-way ticket by her parents. She is expected to make her marriage work regardless of the circumstances, which is the message that many parents give to their daughters, even in this day and age. However, there is that spark in Noor, regardless of the stifling pressures of an out-dated society, which lies dormant within her. Enjoying the new sights and ways of Singapore, and by opening herself to the narratives of others around her, Noor starts questioning and then challenging the norms which undermine her individuality and most important, her happiness.

Like many South Asian women living in the West, and those surviving and strong in their native, nurturing environment, Noor learns how to balance and juggle the traditions and values, which are perhaps more than a part of her and define her sense of self. Though she holds them and the wishes of her parents in high regard, her identity is no longer determined by the significant others and people around her.

The most important aspect of her journey is how she ventures out of her comfort zone, in her case the close and compact, South Asian community, and seeks out people who don’t identify with her philosophy on love and life. In the process, she is overwhelmed and utterly confused between the right and wrong, which again is dispersed in shades of grey around her. Until, she learns to live with the discomfort and those emotional ties, which now have a different meaning in her life. Her evolution reflects the change that we experience to become stronger, and as we stumble, fall and then rise as women to take charge of our lives.

UK readers can buy Nadya’s novel Invisible Ties here.

Nadya A R

Author Nadya A.R.

Friday Story: 3) Orange juice

Orange juice

Illustration for Inktrap Magazine by Sue Gent

 

Looking back, I can see how it started. Two ten-year-old boys, bored in the too-long summer holidays, complaining to our mothers that we’d nothing to do.

Our mothers, exasperated, overworked with the constant round of cooking, cleaning, washing from which they could see no means of escape, willingly gave us ours. Packed us off with egg sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper, an apple each and bottles of orange juice. Yes, glass bottles. That’s what we used then.

We headed off into the promise of the July day, kicking at stones on the road, not caring a fig that we scuffed our shoes, not caring that our mothers would care and would ask us if we thought money grew on trees. It might as well have done, for all we thought about it.

Cynan dropped his bottle before we even reached the river, the orange liquid spurting across the tarmac path like the blood of some rare primate. We kicked the sharp shards of the broken bottle into the grass, not caring that some tender-bodied creature might crawl over them and be cut, even mortally wounded. We didn’t think. We didn’t think about anything that day. Didn’t plan anything. Didn’t mean any of what happened. Going down to the river was just something to do, a way of passing another long boring day.

We found sticks in the long grass and threw them into the river, seeing which of us could get his the furthest, but we got bored. Cynan said we should build a dam. It was something to do, but it was difficult. Others boys had dads who helped them with things like that. At least we thought they did, and that made us both sad, though we never actually said so to one another. We didn’t have dads. If anyone had asked us we’d both have said we didn’t care, though of course we did.

We walked on down the river, picking our way through brambles and nettles, getting stung and hurt but not saying. Then Cynan saw the dead cat. It was lying half under some twigs, as if someone had tried to hide it, but couldn’t be bothered to do it properly.

“Or maybe,” I said, “it wasn’t completely dead and it wriggled a bit.”

It wouldn’t have been able to move much. Its back legs were at funny angles and its head looked as if it had been screwed right round. Cynan poked it with a stick.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“It’s dead,” he said. “It doesn’t matter to it now.”

I don’t know why we didn’t just leave it there, or bury it, like other kids would have done, but we were bored. Dissecting it was something to do.

I had a penknife. It was a bit blunt, but I managed to saw through the cat’s sternum and pull out its heart. It was the same colour as the orange juice. I turned it over in my hands and we both gawped at it. I remember Cynan saying,

“We’ve got hearts like that.”

And me saying, “We haven’t, we’ve got red hearts.”

What happened next should obviously never have happened. But I was ten years old, it was a summer’s day, the sun was getting hot even though it was still morning and after days and weeks of boredom I was suddenly excited.

I lunged at Cynan and stabbed him with my penknife, hard, straight into his sternum. He screamed and twisted away. I shouted but he was gone, thumping through the undergrowth like the wounded creature he was. I didn’t follow him. I don’t know why I didn’t. I suppose I thought he would come back. I carried on dissecting the cat. It was something to do.

When I’d finished I washed my hands in the river. I remember the blood. The red and the orange and the dark blood, mingling with the water, turning it brown. And then it ran clear again and I got out the sandwiches and ate them all. And both apples. And drank the remaining bottle of orange juice.

Then I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up it was shady in the wood and I was cold, in spite of the heat of the day.

Then I looked for Cynan. I found him quite quickly, and I covered him with sticks, the way someone had half-covered the cat, but better, because I knew he wasn’t going to move. His face was red and big and it scared me. There was something coming out of his mouth. Something orange and sticky, like the juice and the cat’s heart.

Then I walked till I couldn’t see him any more and I lay down and covered myself with sticks and leaves, because it was going to get really cold and I didn’t know how long it would be before they found me.

 

First published by Inktrap Magazine on-line, July 2015

Republished by Idler.ie, March 2016

NEWS, NEWS, NEWS

I am just back from a few days of rest and inspiration in Paris. Here’s a pic:

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Friday Story no 3 is coming later this week, so do come back and read that.

Meanwhile, I have a new flash in the latest issue of Moonchild Magazine. Go take a read of all the splendid work in there. The link to my piece is on my Stories page.

 

Friday Story: 2) Marching

Oh goodness, I said I was going to post a story every 2 weeks and somehow 3 have slipped by. Here is a story first published in The Pygmy Giant where it got an honourable mention in a competition in 2011.

Happy Friday everyone.

Marching

When Tommy was five years old he watched through a little gap in the fence as the Sunday parade passed his garden. He could hear when it was coming by the low thump of the big bass drum and the tooting of the wind instruments behind it. At school they had a music class in the hall once a week and there were things to play like recorders and triangles and, if you were really lucky though Tommy never was, tambourines which you could bang and shake. But there was nothing as big and shiny as the instruments in the band. There was one that curled all the way round the man who played it, like a snake. Tommy thought it must be squeezing the breath out of the man because his cheeks were puffed out and red. The men all wore peaked caps and they moved as if their legs were all joined together, like a centipede. His Mum said it was called marching. One day some funny ladies called Aunties with powder on their faces that looked and smelled like sherbet came to visit his Mum and asked Tommy what he wanted to do when he was a big boy. He said he wanted to be part of the man-animal with lots of legs that did marching. His Mum laughed and told the Aunties that he wanted to be in the town band, and this made Tommy cross because it wasn’t what he meant. But he couldn’t explain what he did mean, not even to himself.

When Tommy was eleven he went to a different school where they played in teams, though they didn’t move their legs in the same way. No ever asked Tommy to be in their team and that upset him but he didn’t show it. Instead he played games by himself on the computer and never went into the garden and though the Sunday parade still passed by he neither heard nor thought about it.

When Tommy was seventeen he left school and stayed at home, still playing computer games. One day his Mum lost her temper and told him to get out of the house and find something useful to do. He wandered the streets and fell in with two lads who offered him a drink. It passed the time but they weren’t a team. One day, in a blur of alcohol, Tommy told the lads the story of the marching band. They said he should join the army, that he’d get marching there right enough.

Tommy signed up. He got put in a team, he got the peaked cap and he even got a bugle to play. On parade the sergeant major yelled at him and he felt more alone than ever.

When Tommy would have been nineteen his Mum stood with her sisters, all pale-faced now, in the main street of the town and watched the parade of soldiers back from Afghanistan, their legs moving as one beneath the black-draped coffin.

New genre, new anthology

Cli-fi anthology blog tour

Climate change is a huge challenge for our world. It has inspired a new genre of fiction – cli-fi.

This is launch week for the new climate fiction anthology published by Retreat West Books, Nothing Is As It Was.

I’m proud to have a story in this anthology, all profits from which will be given to the climate change charity Earth Day Network.

I also wrote a piece about the inspiration for my story for the blog tour for the launch, which you can read here. Why not follow the whole blog tour and, even better, buy the book!