November 2012 Issue 143
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“No,” said Guy, “but I am a little afraid of needles.”
Once again Robert roared with laughter, as he often did.
“Well, you’ll have to close your eyes and think of England… think of the Green Flame, and how it’s going to come back to this country in place of the Orange one.” He stopped, thinking of something suddenly. “That reminds me about my brother Andrew, who is a Green Priest… or at least he used to be. His Green Church has just been closed - the royal soldiers came and made him convert it into an Orange Church. They made him replace the Green Flame by an Orange Flame and made him put on Orange robes. Poor Andrew… he was very upset as you can imagine, Guy. So now Andrew has to follow his Green Flame somewhere in secret.”
Guy shook his head sadly.
“That’s terrible… the Orange Flame is becoming even more powerful all over the country.”
It was warm inside the stable, the horses breathing and moving gently from side to side as they waited patiently for their next meal of carrots to arrive. Robert stroked the nose of the nearest horse and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the green flame tattoo.
“What do you think, Andrew? It’s great, isn’t it?”
The Orange Priest stared silently at the tattoo, frowning. Although Andrew Catesby resembled his brother in many ways – like him, he was also very tall, but he was thin with small spectacles that magnified his tiny, black eyes. He turned away, returning to his task of getting the horses’ food thankfully.
“I don’t know, Robert… it’s a bit too blatant for my liking. You’re playing with fire, I think. Mind you, you have always been a bit… unsubtle, shall we say.”
Robert gave a tut of impatience and covered up his tattoo.
“I should have known I’d get such a negative reaction from you… it’s those orange robes that are beginning to affect you. Can’t you get back on green territory?” Without further ado Andrew began to remove his orange robes and replace them with green ones. He dropped the orange ones to the floor and Robert lifted them in disgust, using the toe of his boot.
“Yuck… horrible things, these… I hate having to wear them every day at the Orange Church.” He removed his spectacles and began to clean them, sighing as he did so. “The whole thing is such a charade… it’s all a game I’m playing. I just hope the royal soldiers don’t realise that the orange flame we’re burning isn’t real, just a fake.” Robert rubbed the arm of his brother’s green robe reassuringly. He picked up the green lantern and lit the green flame which burst instantly to life, filling the entire stables with a sense of safety and strength. Even the horses seemed to quieten and become calm, even though they were getting hungry by now. Robert placed the lantern on a shelf beside the harnesses, which hung on the wall. The two things seemed to go together perfectly without any trouble.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Andrew… you’ve got no reason to concern yourself as long as you keep playing the game.” He began to help Andrew feed the horses. “Just keep on dressing as an orange priest for a while… it doesn’t have to mean anything at all to you, you’ll always be a green priest underneath. Like these horses… they’ll always remain green horses.”
More of Nicola's stories in April
Welcome to Andy’s bit…
Last month it was The Haiku Challenge that was taking all my free time, we had to write twenty nine Haiku in twenty nine days. At the moment I’m busy writing and experimenting with a new form (to me) The Quatern. The rules are quite simple, there’s just four verses of four lines each, and each line has to have a syllable count of eight. The first line of the poem is repeated as the second line of the second verse, then as the third line of the third verse, and finally as the fourth line of the fourth verse. There are no other restrictions that I know of. If you want to have a look at my attempt you can check it here.
As part of my Quatern writing I have been butchering Nursery Rhymes, I have done twenty so far, they are all old favourites, which I have re-read, re-researched and re-written in the Quatern style. See-saw Margery Daw, Ring a ring a rosies, Cock a doodle do, Ba ba black sheep, Jack and Jill, Mary Mary quite contrary, etc. and many many more. Have a look and see what you think, and feel free to leave a nasty comment.More from U S Andy in April.
SEEING THE LIGHT
I was really glad to see the back of January, which brought absolutely nothing but stress and illness… generally best left completely alone. But having said that February seems to be so far only slightly better… still I suppose the main thing is you can now see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not actually catch it. Talking of which I’ve just decided that Catching The Light is going to be the next book to serialise on my Weblog… following straight on from The Reluctant Vampire and it’s new alternative ending. By the way I’d welcome any comments anyone of my readers could make on this, as you must realise by now how essential it is to me to receive some sort of feedback from my readers following whatever I’ve been serialising on my Weblog. There’s a space at the end of each post where you can leave comments… so please do, I’d really appreciate anything you’d say.
DEATH OF THE VAMPIRE
I was delighted by the impact that The Reluctant Vampire made… it was so exciting to me to realise it was being read avidly by enthusiastic readers from such places as Russia, Australia and even good old Manchester. And the really nice thing was that as soon as I put a new chapter Online people began reading at once… it was almost as if they’d been waiting with enthusiasm. So such a response has spurred me on to follow the vampire with my little fairytale Catching the Light… and then to follow it with the more ambitious novel Killing Time. I’ll say more about this later on in Raw Meat… now, back to my stressful January.
This precious liquid turned out to lie at the heart a lot of my problems… as I said, January was extremely stressful in one way or another, best forgotten in fact. Having said that I’m going to tell you this incredible story about how I cleared up many of the problems I was having with sleeplessness and leg spasms by simply drinking water. A friend actually suggested to me that I had a water infection which was causing the dreadful spasms and many sleepless nights which were rapidly beginning to get to both me and Andy. Ever since I began drinking water all the time I began to sleep much better, and the spasms became controlled as they usually are.
It’s that extreme cold which is beginning to get to me now that February is here and although there’s a glimmer of light on the horizon, it’s still so dark. It’s that horrible feeling that you just can’t face going out at all that’s beginning to piss me off by now. I can’t see any way around the black - especially as there’s no way of escaping abroad in the foreseeable future for me… I just don’t know what to do. I’m trying my best to wait for spring, but it just seems so remote at the moment. I hoped that the end of January would mean a slight raise in temperature… but no such luck. I suppose this cold is nothing compared with the Antarctic, but that’s absolutely no comfort any more. You’d think that this weather would make it easier for me to remember and write Raw Meat, but I’m afraid I’d forgotten all about it because… I suppose I could blame my problems with sleeping, and the confusion which has remained long after the water infection has been cleared up. I’m not quite sure where the source of this confusion lies… sometimes I’m beginning to doubt my own sanity though not sure why. Let me elaborate…
That very special state of sanctuary which eluded me totally for so long during the last month, has at last come back to me. now it’s returned, it brings its own problems… at least as far as coming back to reality goes. Although I’ve always cherished my ability to lose myself in dreams, I now find it’s a struggle to disentangle them from reality so that I’m constantly in a state of confusion… did something really happen, or have I just dreamt it?? dreaming so vividly that it’s quite frightening sometimes when I wake up in the night, and Andy can’t understand what I’m trying to say, I’m quite incoherent… even on occasion in tears! I want to put this ability to dream so vividly to some constructive use by keeping a dream diary, which should make for some interesting reading, I hope.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAN
One of the most positive things that happened in January was my sister Jan’s 50th birthday… so I’m going to dedicate this issue to her, though I suppose it’s a bit late now. Her friend Jim is taking her to Sri Lanka next month, to see a cricket match, though I’m sure they’ll see a bit more of the country than the cricket field. It should be a damn sight warmer than here… which I’m extremely envious about.
THE ALICE EXHIBITION
Although I first heard about the exhibition in Liverpool of paintings related to Lewis Carroll’s best loved story right at the start of January, for reasons I’ve already explained, it was during the last few days of the month that we actually managed to make the train journey, still battling against the extreme cold. Although I was hoping that the exhibition would include paintings directly related to the Alice books, I was actually disappointed to find that they weren’t generally, most of them seemed to have nothing to do with the Alice books at all but were merely painted by vague friends of Carroll. I fount the most memorable pictures there were by Tenniel himself from both Alice books. While I remember vividly in great detail, as I myself copied this illustration from Through the Looking Glass some 20 years ago – The White Knight, which shows Alice walking alongside the white knight on his horse, which is hung with crazy objects, such as turnips, a telescope and a pair of bellows. I still have my copy of the illustration down stairs, and still remember every detail… I loved Tennille’s style, with its simple black ink lines, which seemed to capture that Victorian feel perfectly, I just hope I’ve done Mr Tennille’s illustration justice.
I found this piece quite exciting to write for two reasons – not only did it deal with first my old favourite Scott talking about his forthcoming trip to the Antarctic, but also because we finally meet with the real meaty heart of the novel, the Wilde short story The Portrait of Mr. W H. This was the first time for ages that the story itself was met head on… so to have the beautiful volume designed by Ricketts and Shannon actually in Kathleen’s hands filled me with the same sense of tingling excitement that I remember so vividly when I very first discovered by chance that Kathleen Bruce later became none other than Scott’s wife. This incredible coincidence suddenly had to be picked up on, as I’ve always wanted to set the final part of the trilogy in the Antarctic, though before I had no reason for doing so. So, all that needed to be done by me was to embroider upon the relationship between her and Shannon as there was only a good friendship between them… but whose to say exactly how far their involvement went? as passions always come and go so fleetingly. As a historical fact all that is known about Kathleen Bruce is that she first met Scott in a London hotel and that they were fairly passionately in love initially there could be no doubt. The South Pole expedition came after such a relatively short time and I was seized by such a bizarre conscience that I felt I had to put right then, even though I had and still have very little idea about the final part of the trilogy… I just hope it’s going to come as soon as I begin to write it. This is the most magical thing about writing it just means that you’ve got to act blindly and take a plunge into god knows what… which is really pretty hairy as you will be able to imagine. I’m relying on my imagination to a large degree because I don’t actually know so much about either of them, factually, but it seems obvious that they were drawn together pretty instantly by agreeing to get married the following year… so I’m assuming that they were both besotted with each other… or at least Scott was with Kathleen, judging by the amount of letters he sent her from the Antarctic. I still haven’t yet read Blake’s biography and I still remain undecided whether to do so, or to simply write in my novel trusting only on my imagination it was not so easy for me to see why Kathleen was so taken with the captain as a scientist – they don’t apparently seem to have anything in common… unless I could work on Scott’s obvious obsession with the Antarctic – I could use this single minded obsession as a resource the initial attraction between them. So I’ve used that in this piece, then there was the difficulty of making Scott interesting immediately in Wilde so that I could bring the book into the conversation without sounding too contrived, it had to sound quite natural. As I presumed Scott was obviously a man of some intelligence despite being a scientist!! I still have every intention of going down to Cambridge with my twin sister to visit the Scott museum.
The Space Between
Copyright Nicola Batty © 2012
There are just two copies of Wilde’s short story… one of these has been taken overseas to America by Georges, while the other has been made into a book by Ricketts and Shannon. A few years ago Shannon gave this volume to Kathleen as a seal of their commitment to each other – but since then the passion between them has cooled and Kathleen, keeps forgetting to return the book although he keeps asking. Finally she has found it and laid it aside to remember the next day… But then she receives an unexpected visitor… Now read on:
Chapter Seven 1907 cont.
That evening Kathleen was startled when she heard somebody knocking at the door and wondered if it could be Sarah, having forgotten her key once again. Putting down her cup of coffee, she went to open the door and opened it, allowing the frosty night air to intrude. She stood staring stupidly for some moments, without seeming to recognise the Captain, with his familiar Navy jacket and cap, which he lifted ceremoniously in greeting… but his smile was so very wide that Kathleen was filled instantly with delight at his obvious spontaneity.
“And may I say good evening to you, Miss Bruce? I do hope I’m calling at a convenient time.”
Her laughter bubbled to the surface and overflowed; she shook her head, stepping back and ushering him inside.
“Not at all, Robert – I’m really glad to see you… any time at all would be convenient for me. Do come in – you’ll have to excuse the mess of the place, I’m afraid, as I wasn’t expecting any callers and you can imagine how we artists live.”
Robert Scott followed her into the drawing room but didn’t take the seat, she offered.
“No, that’s alright, I’m afraid I can’t stay too long. I just called round as I’ll be in London for the next few days… I’m giving a series of lectures a the Geological Society, about our forthcoming trip to the Antarctic, which seems more definite now. I just want to publicise the event as much as I can, to try to raise both interest and finance. The trip is set for 1910.”
As he looked at her, his eyes were filled with excitement. She was infected by such great enthusiasm, how could she possibly not be?
“Don’t worry, it’s just lovely to see you again, Captain Scott. May I perhaps come to one of your talks? I’d very much like to.”
“Well, of course… but I thought you might prefer to go to the theatre, as I believe there’s a comedy on which you might find amusing and perhaps slightly more entertaining than one of my lectures.”
“Well, can’t we do both? I like the sound of the comedy… do you know anything more about it?” she asked, touching his hand lightly. “You should stop being so formal with me, please drop the Miss Bruce right away.”
He nodded enthusiastically, his smile returning with equal vigour.
“Of course, if you agree in return always to call me Con, as all my friends do. I’d like to take you to see The Importance of Being Ernest, by Oscar Wilde. I’m a great enthusiast of his.”
“Oh, I’d love to see anything by Wilde.” She stopped suddenly, remembering the book she had just laid so carefully down upon the bookshelf upstairs. “By a strange coincidence, I’m just reading a book of his, The Portrait of Mr WH, which you might be interested in if you’re a Wilde enthusiast. The friend that lent it to me used to know him personally and the story hasn’t been widely published. Would you like to see it?”
Scott’s face lit up.
“I’d be very grateful.”
Without further ado, Kathleen turned and ran out of the room and up the stairs. When she returned with the small red volume, she crossed the room and pressed it into his hand… she was almost overcome with relief at losing such a burden as it had become. She turned away, afraid that Scott might realise what a precious an rare book he held in his hands. She didn’t want him to know – she wanted him simply to take the story. Scott carefully examined the little book, turning each beautiful page with reverence. When he raised his eyes back to Kathleen, they were filled with confusion.
“Kathleen, it’s a beautiful book – you should take great care of it. though I’ll admit I’d love to read the story myself, I’ve read everything else by Wilde I should think. Such a work of art, I’m quite sure you don’t want to lend it to me.”
Kathleen nodded in determination.
“No, that’s quite alright… you should take it. Please, take your time.”
She reached out and took both of Scott’s hands, urging him to close the book – she didn’t want anything more to do with it. Scott closed the book reluctantly, but still seemed slightly hesitant as he placed it carefully inside his jacket.
“Well, if you’re absolutely certain. I’ll return it as soon as I can. Thank you.”
More from Nicola’s work in progress trilogy in March.
Welcome to Andy’s bit…
FEBRUARY HAIKU CHALLENGE
Twenty nine Haiku in twenty nine days is the target for the first of this years Online poetry challenges. I’ve been writing one each day and reading and commenting on the other contributors work as it comes in. When I say Haiku, they are not brilliant, they are more Haiku style, if the truth were told. But as ever, the whole idea of the project is to get people writing and communicating, and to that end it works. I of course have come up with some weird stuff and you can read them all here if you so desire on my SweetTalkingGuy bloggage.
More from Urban Scrawl Andy in March.
Many thanks for reading Raw Meat!!!
Fourteenth fantastic year!!!
GREETINGS FROM BEYOND
Twenty-twelve began with me in a very confused state of mind, which has become quite the usual thing for me lately. I’ve been having great trouble sleeping of late, and so have been swinging dramatically in mood according to whether I’ve spent the entire night awake trying desperately to get to sleep, or whether I’ve had a really good night absolutely sound asleep, simply because I’ve been so exhausted! After sleeping so deeply, I find it really difficult to return properly into reality, and tend to get really confused about what’s real and what’s not! The state of becoming totally wrapped up in my own dreams fills me with panic… I’m scared of not being able to control my dreams and allowing myself to slip into the realms of total insanity! Having Andy as my constant helper doesn’t help at all, he sees this state of disconnection from reality as a perfectly natural one to encourage, and so I shouldn’t make any effort to control it. Well, perhaps he’s right… insanity is not such a bad state to be in, is it??
Andy’s idea of this ideal state of mind being somewhere hovering between waking and sleeping, reminds me very much of Keats, the wonderful romantic poet. I always adored Keats when we studied him twenty odd years ago at Polytechnic on my humanities course. I still remember his lovely ramblings about negative capability, which is much the same idea as Andy is talking about. Keats also used to go on about the tiptoe effect, which was actually that moment in between sleeping and waking, which Keats adored as the most exciting state of mind to be in, where your mind was open completely to inspiration and creativity. I think I’m right in saying his beautiful Ode to a Nightingale is on this subject, but do feel free to correct me if you’re an English teacher. Keats still is definitely my favourite poet, a true Romantic genius. I defy anyone to call me pretentious! But enough of these philosophical ramblings – let’s get back to reality.
I spent a really memorable few days over Christmas at my parent’s house, complete with Andy and even – this is absolutely incredible – our son, Jack!!! I only very rarely see Jack in passing these days, as he’s so often out with friends – so it was really special to be able to spend time with him and everyone else on Christmas Day. Boxing Day was even better as my sisters Jan and Suzanne arrived and my brother Steve turned up later, so that pretty much the entire Batty clan were there. It was lovely to be with all the family once again after all these years – I never thought it would be possible to go back to old times so successfully. It was quite sad to say goodbye to everyone at the end, and to return to Manchester and relative solitude…
YOU’VE GOT A POINT THERE!
On Boxing Day, I awoke following a really bad night and my Mum asked me if I’d like to get up. I just said, “There’s no point in doing anything.” She simply laughed and said, “You sound just like the Pointed Man…” Of course, I had to laugh as well… I don’t know how familiar Nilsson’s record The Point is to you, as it’s pretty old (about 1971, I believe) but I remember it very well and it’s associated with my childhood so closely that the two have knitted together so as to become inseparable. The Pointed Man was covered completely in loads of points, I was trying to remember some more details from the book of the story which came with the record. My Mum said “I think we’ve still got the record upstairs… let me have a look…” and she returned with the record and the book. It was amazing to be able to sort of see all of those old pictures from long ago. Even though I couldn’t actually physically see them, they were still there in my head, all I needed was to have my memory jogged on the names etc. Oblio was born without a point, although everybody else in the land of Points had one on the top of their head… Oblio was banished to the Pointless Forest, with his dog Arrow, where he met such memorable characters as The Pointless Man.
THE LITTLE PRINCE
You might remember me talking about this book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery in the last issue… well, my Mum gave me a copy of the book for Christmas, one of those very special presents which bring back such memories of childhood. In fact I rather think this book has become quite a significant one for people of my generation… a friend was telling me the other day about both her mother and step-father being given the book for Christmas… yet another amazing coincidence!! I still have vivid memories of the prince standing alone on his tiny planet, which he eventually had to leave for some reason I can’t remember. I’ll have to re-read the book as soon as possible to find out the details.
THE VAMPIRE CONTINUES…
My Reluctant one is still being serialised on my Weblog if anyone would like to have a look for themselves. It’s been creating quite a stir, I believe… particularly well received in Germany, Russia, and America. I’ve been really surprised by such an enthusiastic reception particularly because it’s one of my very earliest works, even written before Dry Rot and totally different from the stuff I’m writing nowadays… which makes me wonder if maybe there isn’t something to be said for that extremely light-hearted, direct freshness. I’m wondering about following The Reluctant Vampire with Dry Rot in the same format, chapter by chapter. I’d also like to put up my fairy tale Catching The Light… and also Fireworks which isn’t yet finished. These are ideas… I would appreciate any comments you could make about this. It’s the direct communication that keeps my imagination alive. Particularly exciting is the fact that many people have been looking right back to early chapters… so please remember that it’s not too late to catch up on anything you missed – and then read on as far as you like!
Although nothing much actually seems to happen in this piece, I particularly wanted to include it in RAW MEAT to get some feedback on it because I’m not at all satisfied with it as it stands. I’ve written several more pieces since this about Kathleen and wanted to spend some time leading up to the introduction of Scott into the story and making him aware of Shannon’s existence. I wanted to use the idea of Shannon taking photographs for the portrait he’s going to paint of Kathleen, but was also quite nervous about it. I have memories of photographs being taken in the film of The Railway Children but as that came out forty odd years ago I’m not sure I can trust my memories, and as I don’t know exactly when it’s meant to be set, I don’t know if photography equipment would be the same in 1907, the time I’m writing about in The Space Between. Would Shannon take the picture by holding up a flash light and putting a cloth over his head, as I remember in the film? I’d welcome any comments from readers of this issue on any of the technical details in the extract in order to help me feel happier with it. I’d greatly appreciate any help you can give me, as I feel quite literally in the dark about this one. Many thanks.
But all that aside, I’m really happy with the way the novel is going at the moment. It’s really nice being able to spend time with Kathleen as a character. I will remember how totally amazed I was to discover that she later married Captain Scott of the Antarctic, as I’d become interested in her initially in relation to Shannon, and therefore always knew her as Kathleen Bruce. I decided then and there to incorporate her in to the story as a means of introducing Scott and developing naturally into my version of setting the last part of The Space Between in the Antarctic… the whole thing seems so completely spontaneous and natural, I felt I must pick up on such a coincidence and use it as the final setting to The Space Between.
I haven’t yet read Kathleen’s biography properly and I’m still undecided whether to do so, for it seems clear already that the contrast between her and Scott’s Navy background and Kathleen’s artistic, fascinates me – but they must have shared something for they are obviously pretty passionately in love. She travelled with him to New Zealand when they set off to the Antarctic for his final expedition. And even though it was only four years since their wedding there was obviously some intimacy between them. It’s easy to imagine that the Scott family were quite shocked by the idea that their son wanted to marry such a character as Kathleen Bruce – the story about her brother who was a vicar who rode around London on a motorbike with a walrus in his sidecar in an effort to raise money for his church must have been known to them. But none the less, it’s this contrast between Robert Falcon and Kathleen that fascinates me.
THE SPACE BETWEEN
Copyright Nicola Batty © 2012
The story so far…
By 1907, there are only two copies of Wilde’s original manuscript remaining. T he original one has been taken by Georges over to America; the other copy has been made into a book by Ricketts, his partner Shannon has given it to Kathleen Bruce with whom he had a close relationship. Shannon has been asking Kathleen to return the book to him for sometime, but she keeps forgetting. The following scene takes place in Kathleen’s studio in Chelsea in the spring of 1907. Now read on…
CHAPTER 7 - 1907
“Please continue with what you’re doing, Kathleen, I’d hate to disturb you,”
Shannon said as he snapped another leg of his camera tripod into place. And patiently carrying his huge, cumbersome camera over to it. He gave Kathleen a brief, encouraging smile, although his air remained strictly professional and detached, this was all part of a job he was doing, he had to remember. “This shouldn’t take long. I’m sorry, I know how artists hate being disturbed.”
“That’s alright, please don’t worry about it.”
Kathleen turned back to her work but could only hold the tiny clay figure she was making uselessly while her thoughts remained far away from here and now…. in fact they were back at that time in Shannon’s studio all those years ago, the passion still intense between them. She watched Shannon from the corner of her eye, aware of every movement he made to capture this present moment and fix it within the camera. It seemed to Kathleen a pointless task, though at the same time she knew it was essential for the background for them to move against. “So anyway, Charles, when would you like me to come and sit for you? Would next month be any good? I’ve not got too much planned then, I should be able to come over.”
“Just a minute.”
Shannon held up the flashlight above his head and the bulb exploded in his hand, much brighter than the intermittent sunshine that poured in from time to time through the tall windows. Shannon reappeared from beneath the dark cloth at the back of the camera, blinking as he came back into reality. “I think that one should be fine. I’ll check my diary and send you a date if that’s all right. I want to get the background painted first… something for you to move against, that’s the way I like to work.”
Kathleen said nothing, but she felt her smile was slightly sad. It seemed so useless now, so empty, now that all their promises had come to nothing, shrivelled up pieces of paper, decomposing dreams. No matter how many times that flash light exploded, the time had already slipped away and could never be resurrected. Still silence fell between them as Shannon continued to take as many photographs as he could, allowing himself plenty of room in case his pictures failed.
“I’ve just remembered someone I have to see in Chelsea while I’m here.” Shannon raised up his finger as he emerged once again from beneath the dark cloth, frowning slightly as a thought struck him. “Would you mind if I left my camera here for a few days? Will it be safe?”
“Yes, please don’t worry… it’ll be quite safe here.” She smiled brightly, quite relieved that she could repay Charles, if only in a small way, for everything lost between them. With great care and deliberation Shannon replaced the canvas cover around his camera and carried it to a table at the back of the studio.
“I’ll leave it here, out the way, then. I’ll come and collect it as soon as I can, it may be a couple of weeks.” Turning back towards Kathleen, Shannon put his bowler hat on and glanced out of the long windows to make sure that it had stopped raining. Looking back at Kathleen suddenly, he added, “Actually, I’ve just remembered something… could you give me Oscar’s story then? When I see you? That should keep Rick quiet… he keeps on and on about it.” Kathleen nodded mutely and watched his movements as he turned to go, and in that moment she felt a crumbling sense of realisation about the space that had arisen between the two of them – yet she felt quite removed from the realisation, as if it had all passed by long ago and she was simply regretting the decay of their love. She even managed to smile at him as he stepped out of the studio, watching silently… there was nothing more either of them could say now to each other. She heard the studio door bang finally, and picked up the model she was working on at once.
More from Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy in February.
Welcome to Andy’s bit…
HAPPY NEW YEAR
Happy New Year to all of Nicola’s readers!!! This is the fourteenth year that we’ve been producing Raw Meat, first as a single sheet of paper in 1999, which we mailed to people for the price of a postage stamp. Then as the content grew we started to print it up on an A3 printer in three colours and sometimes on different coloured paper. We had readers in Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, France, Germany, Poland, Canada, and South Korea. As well as many people in England, and a few in Wales and Scotland. In September 2006 we put RM#72 Online, it was a bit disjointed and ended up as two separate posts, we kept the paper copy for subscribers for a further three months and in January 2007 Raw Meat became an Online only publication. Which means we’ve just completed five years full time Online too!
WHAT WE SAID IN RM#76
Back to the business of Raw Meat, as you know by now, we published the final paper version of Nicola's Newsletter in December and this issue RM#76 IS THE VERY FIRST Online only Raw Meat. So, if (and you are) you're reading these words please can you do one little thing for me? SUBSCRIBE to the mailing list! Please! Why? I hear you scream! Because, if you join our mailing list we can inform you when Raw Meat comes Online! Thank you.
Some people have told me that they tried to sign up for the Online Raw Meat but failed. If you're one of these people, please try again. You simply have to insert your name and your e-mail address then press GO! A computer generated e-mail will be sent to you from Properjoes@aol.com and you then need to click the confirmation button and BINGO! You're subscribed for FREE. To avoid the newsletter being interpreted by your server as junk mail I advise you to add the properjoes address to your contact list.
Here’s the link to my corny comedy script.
And the link to my corny poem, Batman and Alice…
More from Urban Scrawl Andy in February.Thanks for reading Raw Meat!!!!!