Fire, pulp and fridges

Meeting of 3 November. Sixteen attended, with apologies from Heinke, Maureen, Ann, Chris and Glyn.

We got off to a good start with Rob reading chapter 2 of his ‘autobiographical’ book. It was all about leaving school and finding work and nostalgically reminded many of us of British Telecom’s Buzby, careers fairs and strange hair styles.

Alan read a poem about Halloween, hoodwinking the hoodies trick-or-treating.

Brenda gave us another chapter in Belle’s fraught life, throwing over Richard and starting up with Matthew.

Jane’s piece was an amusing item about a couple who bought her house but kept pestering her about the most basic of things, such as how to get the fridge to work… Er, plug it in?

Mary K’s poem was about the fatal attraction of a man she was warned against, the gainsayers hinting that she was playing with fire. She’d rather get burnt than bored, it seems.

John McG read out another piece for his OU writing course, about the wife of an habitual jailbird and how she coped. He stepped into her shoes with ease. Particularly liked the description ‘her bruised battered heart lurched.’

Heather read out a letter from her Mum to her Dad, when they were engaged. It was in February 1942 and he was in Egypt. We can see where Heather gets her writing style from; this was an interesting epistle, evoking the privations and the feelings of that time. If the rest of the found letters are of this caliber, they deserve to be in a book, accompanied by photos from her father.

Gerry tackled the theme, playing with fire, relating a rugby player’s attempt at getting into the first team in the pursuit of a neat ending that played with words.

Cynthia was reluctant to read out her poem about ‘playing with fire’, but in fact it got a lot of laughs.

John M read out a piece about Joe, the novice writer of the TWC – see below.

Finally, Nik read out his story ‘Spend it Now, Pay Later’ from the recently published paperback anthology, Beat to a Pulp (see cover). In the foreword, prolific and admired author Bill Crider remarked that this story was ‘a chilling near-future tale that makes the “arm and a leg” interest rate all too real.’ The book contains 27 short stories – crime, horror, sci-fi, romance, western – they’re all in 380pp. ISBN 9780615388243. Available from Amazon.com at $15.95.

About Joe, by John…
To writers groups everywhere:

Joe woke up and thought, hey it’s Wednesday. No, stroke that out, you were told last week you can’t start like that.

The weary, bleary, bloodshot eyes, that stared back at him in the bathroom mirror, told of another gin sodden evening with him falling asleep on the couch again, snoring and dribbling, while his wife Susan crept off to her lonely bed!

And there lay the problem.

Joe was part of The Torrevieja Writers’ Circle that meets every Wednesday morning in the Olympic Restaurant, Mil Palmeras, just South of Torrevieja in Spain, see Blog. That sentence is there in case an editor somewhere sees this, spots the raw talent, and wishes to commission a full length feature film or, better still, send money.

Members are encouraged to read out pieces they have written and are rewarded by the critical acclaim and constructive criticism of their colleagues, or sometimes not.

He’d been reading out a series of short stories and he’d noticed some members of the group were looking at him in a slightly odd way. How much was story and how much was him? He was sure that’s what they were asking. Fact and fiction were becoming blurred.

At the coffee break they’d say things like, “Excuse me, I’ve just remembered I have to go to the toilet urgently,” and disappear or, “Excuse me, I see Nik is free and I’ve something really important I must ask him,” and then they wouldn’t go near him, just go and fetch their drink.

He longed to get a chance to set the story straight.

He’d never ever punched his boss on the nose.

He’d never been up for drunk driving or lost his licence or been fired.

He’d never closed Dublin Airport because of a bomb scare, and he’d never been strip searched. Though the image of that tall Garda officer, with the blond hair, blue eyes and that green latex rubber glove came to his mind more regularly than he would have liked.

And he’d never made Susan stand on that roundabout. Open brackets – delete for international e-mails – confusing – they wouldn’t understand the link between ladies of the night and roundabouts – close brackets.

So this week he had decided he would definitely not read out the pedophile story.

No. This week he was going to keep his mouth shut.

He wasn’t going to give them a chance to batter him with his inconsistent points of view, his willy nilly use of tenses, his factual impossibilities or his incorrect use of the comma. They could stick their comma.

Next week he’d tell ’em but this week, no. Mum’s the word, no cliché intended.

He’d keep quiet and, come the coffee break, he’d just have his drink and keep his head down, and they could all go to hell. They wouldn’t get him this week.

*
That's all for this week, then.
Nik

More Success on 'Beat to a Pulp' for Nik Morton

This short story 'HBT' is published online for a week.

It's the third of mine they've used and the first ('Spend it now, Pay Later') will appear in their print anthology later this year.

http://www.beattoapulp.com/pulp.htm

thereafter, it will be in the archive 'forever'...

Best wishes,
Nik

(Posted by Rob)

DOOM AND GLOOM!

Nik informed writing circlers about various story competitions. He and Rob have approached the Coastrider about sending in stories and poems, but still wait to see if they're willing to pay any money for work that people have worked hard on. In the latest September edition of The New Coastal Press there are 3 articles by TWC’ers, Nourish a blind life by Nik, The Parting by Ian (I didn’t see the end coming) and an obituary by Nik about pianist Larissa Yvonne Snarli who had died in August.

I read out a poem which had to be written on a post card, the sum total of such postcards being displayed at the opening of THE QUAD, a new Arts Centre built in Derby. It had to be only 50 words long and about a tradition, urban myth or rumour concerning Derby. I chose to write about the Derby Ram.

The Derby Ram was an awesome sight, wandering the streets at night
Seeking willing ewes to mount, to ensure his progeny beyond a doubt

Its ghostly presence is still around, where the youth of Derby can be found
Behind THE QUAD at the break of dawn, unwittingly creating the yet unborn

Jane’s story was on one of the suggested themes, “As I sat waiting for a return phone call, I reflected on ...” Jane reflected on a holiday in Cyprus which had been a disaster in the hotel Paradiso, a bit of a misnomer. On the morning of 22 December her husband, Archie, was feeling very tired, she called the doctor who immediately sent him to hospital. They hadn’t been able to purchase travel insurance so there was a worry about the cost of it all. On 20 Jan he was discharged and they flew back home. On 10 June he dropped dead in the kitchen. It was very well written, despite the sadness of the story, and particularly apposite was Jane’s thoughts that while waiting to see Archie in hospital she sat doing her cross stitching like a woman in a previous age would have done the same while waiting for her husband away fighting in a war, but in her case her husband was fighting for his life.

Douglas read out the start of a story on the theme of Neighbours, and he didn’t know where it would lead. It began, “Oh Stan this is what I have always wanted.” A newly married couple had bought their first house and were struggling to pay for everything they wanted. The wife, Val, was never satisfied and wanted new furniture, a new TV but didn’t want to work to help pay for it. Stan would try to be firm with her but she would sulk. The next door neighbour, Ursula, said to Stan “Tell Val well done.” When he asked Val about this, it turned out she was pregnant, more money worries anticipated. The next day Stan met Ursula and walked with her to the station. She linked her arm into his ..... TWC’ers thought the story could go several ways, the most original being that Ursula and Val would end up together with the baby, another that Stan was going to kill Val and run off with Ursula. Nik thought Douglas should focus on the characters and edit out all clichés.

Maureen’s story was also on the theme “As I sat waiting for a return phone call, I reflected on ...”
Maureen reflected on a time 50 years previously at a dance in a tin hut for members of the air force. Glen Miller was on the record player and the young man said “Are you dancing?” the young lady replying “Are you asking?” (That brought back memories!) Six weeks later they were married and she prayed that her husband would be spared and come back to her after the war. He did come back and they were so grateful that God had treated them so well. They only had one boy and he told them he was being ordained as a priest. She gave up her only son to the church and would have no grandchildren but was happy to do so as she felt she had to pay God back for saving her husband.

Nik read out his heart-warming story which had been published on the beattoapulp website. He said that the editor had personally rung him up to make suggestions, which had been very helpful. It was called “I celebrate myself” and concerned a female NY cop searching a trash compactor because one of the operators, Travis, had thought he could hear a baby cry. She had to search through the stench, trying to steer clear of discarded needles, cockroaches etc. She found a doll’s leg and gave a sigh of relief, but then her torch alighted on two legs which turned out to belong to a baby born about two hours previously. She wondered whether to let the baby die, as being born in such circumstances in a NY ghetto was unlikely to lead to a good life, but the desire to save lives kicked in and she gave mouth to mouth, the baby coughed and she said “Thank God he had a chance.” Travis had been right and little Travis, as the baby was to be known, lived to fight another day. When I read the story on the http://www.beattoapulp.com/stor/2009 site, I couldn’t wait to find out whether the baby lived; I so much wanted him to. There was much tension and imagery in the story. Another story by NIK on the same site is “Spend now pay later” about selling your limbs.

Glyn wrote from the perspective of a woman so it was written by Glynis Dale. I couldn’t help picturing Glyn in full makeup and stockings, but quickly banished the thought. It was Eileen’s 18th birthday and on the radio was the song that went “In the morning mist two lovers kissed...” Her boyfriend, Roy, proposed to her and as her parents were away they quickly consummated the relationship. They kissed goodbye at the station as Roy had to return to his army unit. Later she found out she was pregnant but then received a letter saying that Roy had died in an accident with a troop carrier. The baby, Roy junior, was born but cruelly snatched away from her and given for adoption to a GP and his wife. Eileen pushed an empty pram about in order to sneak glances of her carrot headed baby. Johnny, as the GP called his adopted son, grew to be a teenager, got married and had a son himself, also a carrot top. Eileen underwent chemo and the doctor told her she was now in remission. She rushed to the cafeteria and celebrated with her new love, a cup of tea. There was much discussion about the ending which TWC’ers thought he should change but which Glyn adamantly stuck with.

Ian read out a poem on the theme of “Reflection.” It was about a soldier in Helmand province. The soldier reflected “I will never be lost without trace” because of his loved ones at home. By this time everyone was in tears!

Joy also had a sad poem about an abused wife with an alcoholic husband. “He doesn’t love me, I am to blame, I must keep quiet and hide my shame.” The last line was “Perhaps I will give him one last chance.” The poem reflected the way that abused wives take the blame for their abuse themselves. Nik thought the last two poems should be sent off to a magazine.

Brenda had a poem called “Why?” It asked why life is not what it should be and ended with the stark reality that “We don’t know why.”

Next week TWC’ers can write a book review of 250 words or a poem or story on the theme The Library Book. Let’s hope there is a bit more lightheartedness next week, but just in case there isn’t bring a spare hanky or a box of tissues. Please don’t write a review of the book "The Titanic” or we will all be feeling suicidal!

Cynthia

Beat to a Pulp - I Celebrate Myself

The title is from a Walt Whitman poem. This is a short story accepted for and published in the webzine Beat to a Pulp, which features a new tale every week. There's a lot of imaginative writing there - you can access all earlier stories on the blog page too.

Anyway, if you can spare five minutes, why not have a look at

http://www.beattoapulp.com/stor/2009/0809_nm_ICelebrateMyself.cfm

and perhaps even leave a comment?

Nik