I didn't win.
I was shortlisted for a story competition. Here’s my story on their web site.
Life Update
It feels like it has been a while since I posted anything. Even longer since I did a personal blog post. What happened to me doing a daily life blog? That lasted long. Oh well, moving on.
So the last news I imparted before my absence was that I had been shortlisted for a writing competition. Aaaaand….. I didn’t win. Not a huge shock but the £100 worth of book vouchers would have been nice
As to what I’ve actually been up to and what has kept me away from you, my faithful Tumblr followers, I just spent a week away volunteering at a holiday camp for disadvantaged kids.
The whole experience was at times daunting, amazing, frustrating and the whole week was amazingly tiring. I did have a fantastic time though.
I was there Monday - Friday, waaaay down in Cornwall. We arrived Monday and met the kids and played games and what not with them for the rest of the day. Then Tuesday there was a lot of fun with face paint before a day out at Creely Adventure Park. I learnt a valuable lesson this day: do not remove terrible face paint that one child has given you as it will just encourage another to do an even worse job on you.
Creely was pretty cool, got to run around and play on massive slides with the kids. Went on the log flumes and ate ice cream. An all around good time. Even if I did look like a demented clown the entire day.
Wednesday was the beach followed by rock climbing then Thursday was horse riding followed by swimming and then a karaoke party. Friday we all went home.
Thursday was pretty awesome, I bonded with a great horse called Lizzy who seemed a little too fond of rubbing her head on my crotch area. And the kareaoke party was cool too, though I may have gotten in trouble for cursing when singing a song… Not that I would ever actually do that in front of kids. Noooooo.
Like I said the whole week was pretty great. Some of the kids were frustrating little shits a lot of the time but by the end of the week, when you see how much they appreciated their time at the camp, it truly makes it feel worthwhile. A lot of the kids lives away from camp is so shitty it just can be tough to remember that when the kid is cursing in your face.
Anyway that’s how I spent my last week, after I got back from camp I moved home from uni. Now tomorrow I’ve got to head to the US Embassy for my Visa interview to go back to Walden this summer. Like 3 weeks til I go. Can’t wait.
So I got an interesting e-mail today. It seems a story I entered in Flash Fiction competition has been shortlisted. This means my story, along with nine others, has beaten out over a hundred other entries and has at least a 1 in 10 shot at winning the whole thing.
The prize is £100 in bookshop vouchers and you get to go to an award dinner and what not. Also the winner and four runners up get their stories published in a local newspaper. Not too shabby.
The story I submitted is one I’ve already posted on the blog many moons ago under the title ‘The Train’, but I sent it into the competition under a different title. It is pasted below for those wish to read it.
People In Passing
Fields turn to towns which become hills and then villages as scenery blurs past the window. A pale sun sets in the distance, painting the carriage in the orange and reds of summer dusk.
The hum of the train rises and falls over a low murmur of talk. A man in a suit sits at a table alone, slowly drumming his fingers in a repetitive tune. Across the aisle from him a woman, too young for the lines around her eyes, watches his fingers as they rise and fall on the table.
At the other end of the carriage a mother sits with a toddler snoring in her lap. Behind her a man with a mess of brown hair sits with his head against the window, eyes intent on the fluid landscape.
The train begins to slow as the fields flow into a city once again. The mother wakes her toddler and they stand as the train pulls into a station. They leave the carriage as the man with his head on the glass continues to gaze out of it. The view is now taken up by a train pulling into the station from the opposite direction.
He stares into the other train. Opposite he can see a girl with her head on the glass looking back at him. She has long black hair and bright green eyes. Her mouth is turned downward, she looks weary.
They stare at each other as their carriages empty and fill, eyes locked as if having a silent conversation. A tear forms in the eye of the girl and begins to roll down her cheek. She raises a hand to wipe it away.
The man’s train begins to pull away. He raises a hand and places it on the glass, turning his head to keep looking at the girl. Her eyes follow his until he can no longer see them.
His hand drops to his side as he lets out a breath he had been holding. He turns away from the outside as the scenery once again begins to flow. At the far end of the carriage the man in the suit continues to drum his repetitive tune.
Why I Write
I write because I love stories. I write because I find more meaning in a word written then a word spoken. I write to understand myself. I write because it is the only thing I’m good at. I write so that I can one day move people in the way that the written word has moved me; to tears, to laughter, to a smile. I write because I don’t know how to stop.
I have recently become a connoisseur of kisses. It is an enthusiasm that has come to me somewhat later then most but it is one I am eager to pursue further. I am learning that no two kisses are the same, as are no two kissers. In my limited experience I have found that all have subtle yet remarkable differences. One girl I have had the pleasure of kissing likes to dart her tongue in for a quick caress, teasing my tongue with a promise of what may be to come. Another girl likes to suck on the lip and, when feeling particularly amorous, the tongue. Yet another prefers to leave the tongue out of the business completely. Just some of many different techniques I have taken great pleasure in learning all about.
While I am eager to pursue this further it is not so much the act of kissing that I am most interested in. In fact it would be more accurate to say I am interested in that moment just before a kiss. Those feelings that take over a person once they decide to take a chance and lean in for a moment of potential fulfilment. This is a stirring I have not felt within myself ever before. It is a flood of excitement through the veins, heightened by a molten drip of nerves that you may be rejected. It coarses round the insides in those few moments before the lips touch and more primal instincts take over. It is a feeling I cannot get enough of. It might seem strange that someone be more interested in that feeling then what comes later, but it is that feeling that keeps me awake nights, thinking of all those kisses I’ve had and all those kisses yet to come.
The Menzingers full set from their show at the Knitting Factory last night. Pretty epic. I’m seeing them in two weeks!
[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
Here’s a promo for episode 3.17, Basic Lupine Urology. Airing this Thursday.
(via communitythings)
Birthday Boy
4th Draft (Updated 25/04/2012)
He looked through the glass case at all the different choices; vanilla, chocolate, carrot, Victoria sponge. They looked delicious, but he already knew what he was going to order. Chocolate cake with strawberry icing, his son’s favourite.
The lady behind the counter asked what he wanted and he placed his order.
“And it should say Happy Birthday Stevie in big blue letters. Can you do that?”
“No problem. We can take care of that right now if you don’t mind waiting?”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”
She took his son’s cake out of the display case and went to the back of the bakery. He stayed admiring all the other treats on display.
She came back with the cake in a pink box; she opened it up to show him the work. The blue lettering was thick and cursive against the pink icing.
“That’s great. Thank you, how much do I owe you?”
“That’ll be fifteen even.”
He took out his wallet and paused to look at the picture of his son smiling at him. He handed her his credit card. She ran it through the machine.
“So when’s the big day?”
“Today. He’s eight. Do you want to see a picture?”
“Sure.”
The man’s face split into a large smile. He opened his wallet and held it open over the counter.
“Oh my, he’s adorable. He must make you so happy.”
The man paused, looking at the picture himself. “You have no idea.”
The lady looked back at the credit card machine. “I’m sorry; the machine is rejecting your card. Would you like me to run it again?”
“No, that’s ok. I’ll just pay cash.”
The woman handed him back his card and he passed over the notes. She put the cake in a bag and handed it to him.
“I hope you and your son have a great day.”
“Thank you.” He said and hurried out of the store.
He drove home slowly, the cake resting in the passenger seat. It wasn’t a long journey and he was soon pulling into the driveway.
He got out of the car and picked up the cake, making sure to secure the bottom. He climbed the porch steps and paused to look at the boxes piled by the door. There were three of them piled in a pyramid. The top one was open and the furry arm of a stuffed bear flopped lazily over the side. He pushed the arm back into the box before entering the house.
He walked into the living room and placed the cake down on the table. His wife entered from the kitchen.
“You’re back, is that the cake?”
“Yeah, it’s just what he wanted.”
She nodded. “That’s good. Did you take those boxes to Goodwill?”
He looked away from her. “Not yet. I will.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
“Mike.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Please, I can’t have that stuff here anymore.”
“I know. I’ll do it, but not today, okay? After.”
“Okay.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “Do you want something to eat? Mary brought over another lasagne.”
“Okay.”
“Bring the cake into the kitchen.”
He followed her into the kitchen and put the cake on the counter, opening it up to look at it again. His wife took a glass dish from the refrigerator and placed it on top of the oven before joining him.
He placed his arm around her and they held each other as they looked at the cake.
The Whale
3rd Draft (Updated 17/04/2012)
The waves lap lazily against the shore, rising up over my feet as I walk along. I exult in squishing the wet sand between my toes. The day is overcast and still. I take a deep breath, enjoying the salt air. Further on, the smell becomes tainted, pungent and bitter. As I continue walking the taint becomes stronger, overpowering. I breathe through my mouth to avoid it.
I look around but can see nothing that can explain the smell. In the distance something is revealed, a blurred form, large and still in the surf. The blur takes on more detail as I get closer, soft edges gaining definition. It’s a massive dark shape, round and long. The smell continues to get stronger. As I get within a hundred yards I see a fin protruding, it hangs limp and motionless like a flag on a windless day.
It is a whale. I run towards it, in disbelief at what I’m seeing. When I arrive at the whale’s side the smell is overwhelming, even breathing through my mouth I can taste it. I gag and dry heave by the whale’s side.
Once my stomach settles I study the beast. From a distance I could tell it was massive but that word doesn’t do it justice close up. It’s fifty feet long and lying limply on its side I am dwarfed by it. It is the colour of graphite. I approach it slowly and place a hand on its side. It feels moist and smooth.
I circle it, running my hand along the sleek surface. Large areas of skin are dry and rough, by that and the smell I guess it has been here some time. I walk around its tail, and back up the other side. The colour is lighter on the stomach. I approach the head and see its mouth is hanging open, the tongue is huge and lays lazily to one side. I look up from the mouth and see an eye; it is black ice, still, dead and bottomless.
I get lost in the eye, as if I’m tumbling head over heel, drowning in its depths. I cannot look away as images appear unbidden in my mind. I see the whale’s life in reverse. It starts in this moment with me standing beside it, but in the image I am looking down on myself from above. It rewinds and I see myself circle back around the whale, walking backwards and then running backwards away from it. I am soon out of the picture as the image stays with the whale. Time is passing; I see it become dark and then light again as the tide begins to rise. The whale’s bulk moves on the tide and it soon reaches the ocean. I follow, hovering above as the whale returns to the waves, floating until far out into the water where it begins to slowly submerge.
I dive with it. I am aware I’m standing on a beach yet I can feel the caress of the water against my entire body. I follow the whale as it drifts under the sea. Days and nights pass as the whale stays limp, moving with the tides.
The movement is sudden, a jerk of the tail fin. The rest of the whale begins to move and there is a great sucking in from the blow hole. The fins begin to make deliberate movements and the whale moves under its own power. It swims backwards and I’m confused until I remember I am moving with it backwards through time.
I follow the whale throughout its life. Fifty years of living flash through my brain. I see it swimming past shoals and reefs. As it does it opens its mouth and spews forth schools of live fish that swim backwards and disappear into the reef.
The whale lazily coasts the oceans. It occasionally rises to the surface and I see water rise up from the sea, rain like droplets arc up and then down into the whale’s blow hole.
I see it’s young return to it, be cared for as they grow younger. I am struck by memories of my own childhood and how similar it is to what I’m seeing. The young whale’s dance around, playing, fighting, vying for the parent’s attention.
An image from my own childhood of my brother and I wrestling in the living room comes to mind. Our mother was distracted and we were acting out in an attempt to be noticed. The scenes are eerily similar. It is only as I contemplate this that I realise I am following a female whale.
I watch as her young grow younger still. They finish spewing fish back out into the ocean and begin to blow milk back into their mother. They grow smaller and smaller and then swim back inside her.
I see her mate, feed and grow younger. I see the oceans as no other person ever has. She grows younger still. I follow her until she returns to her own mother.
I watch as she is born in reverse, then I blink and I am gone. The feeling of water surrounding me disappears. I am back on the beach, staring into the deep blackness of her dead eye.
I look around and see time has passed; the tide is coming in and is up to my knees. I consider that I should get off the beach but I know I’m not going anywhere. I walk closer to the whale and sit beside her. This whale whose life I have seen as if I lived it myself. Who gave me the gift of seeing sights no other person has ever seen. I sit and wait for the tide to rise and the ocean to reclaim her.
