Raw Meat .. Nicola Batty's Newsletter.

January 2012 Issue 136

2012-01-06T23:38:00.007Z

Fourteenth fantastic year!!!

Nicola’s Editorial

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??

TIPTOE EFFECT

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.

FAMILY CHRISTMAS

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!

RAW MATERIALS

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

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.

URBAN

SCRAWL

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

BUSINESS
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.
FAILED
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.

FINALLY

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!!!!!

December 2011 Issue 135

2011-12-08T14:06:00.006Z

Nicola's Editorial

STRAIGHT FROM THE NORTH POLE

I can’t believe this weather - even if it is winter, its such extreme temperature has obviously blown straight down from the pole. It’s made me additionally reluctant to go out and face the cold… I’m sure it’s not usually like this even if it is December. So it’s absolutely no hardship to stay inside by the computer and write Raw Meat… even though it is a little late - sorry about that. I’ve absolutely no decent excuses to make for my tardiness to produce this issue, merely bad organisation of time but I’m sure you’ll forgive me won’t you?

TITUS OATES’ FINAL GOODBYE

Actually, talking of the North Pole makes me think about something my Mum recently told me concerning the South Pole, Scott’s expedition there to be exact. Apparently Titus Oates’ final letter has just been discovered - if you remember, Titus Oates was one of Scott’s team who actually reached the South Pole with him, and then made his infamous exit from the tent on the return journey with these final words “I’m just going outside - I may be some time.” He actually walked out of the tent without his boots, having got frostbite in both his feet which he felt was holding the return members back. It’s particularly ironic that the remaining three chaps starved to death only a few days after - though of course Oates didn’t know this at the time, presumably he thought that they would get back easily without him. I’m intrigued to read the letter and find out who it’s to - if Oates was aware at all of his coming suicide, or whether it was just an impulsive decision… however, I seem to remember having read somewhere about Scott actually talking about how much easier the death of one of their other members of the team had made it for the ones left there to return back to safety. Maybe this story was in The Birthday Boys, which I recently read and would highly recommend as it’s a quite wonderful tale… having read The Birthday Boys recently I was particularly impressed by the final chapter, narrated by the fictional version of Titus Oates, who actually gave the book it’s name because he made his infamous final exit from the tent on his birthday I believe.

STILL DREAMING…

I’m continuing to work on a theory about close connections between sanity and dreaming, which was given additional substance yesterday by yet another one of my own infamous sleepless nights. I was woken up, if you can even call it that, shall we rather say disturbed? I felt terrible and couldn’t face getting up to face the world, so finally slipped into the realms of true sleep complete with a very vivid dream which managed to combine within it the knowledge that I was keeping Brigitte waiting… very clever that, how you manage to entangle the two states within each other completely, rather like I do in my fiction where they complement each other perfectly. Indeed, this theory may equally be true of the close connection between sanity and fiction writing, or even creation… which perhaps goes without saying as it’s already an obviously undeniable truth. Back to my own dream – waking up feeling completely refreshed and full of energy, even though I’d only been asleep for a couple of hours, the difference was remarkable. Surely it’s essential to dream, even if you don’t remember in detail the dream itself it must trigger something to release stress and tension and make you feel so much better. The actual length of time you sleep seems quite irrelevant – it’s just that release button that needs to be reached by deep sleep. I remember when I studied psychology A level we were taught that it was essential to reach that point of deep sleep which needed to be achieved by taking at least 3 hours… my experience seems to blow that theory completely, and the annoying thing was that we were taught it to be an undeniable truth of scientific fact. Need I add that I gave up my psychological studies pretty soon afterwards, simply because I was fed up of all the scientific tedium involved.

THE LITTLE PRINCE

Recently I was talking to my Mum about a childhood story I still remember, The Little Prince – I even remember the name of the French author, Antoine de Saint-Exupery… which is quite impressive after all these years, don’t you think? I don’t know if anyone else out there remembers the tale, but it concerned a man crashing his aeroplane into somewhere remote in the desert. He was approached by a little boy who claimed to be the ruler of a small planet… I’m afraid my memory fails me at the crucial time. There must have been some reason for him to come to earth – has any of Raw Meat’s readers read this? Please don’t just tell me to read the summary on the internet as I did that the other day but I still instantly forgot it! Somebody somewhere must be familiar with this story themselves…

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

Just to remind you that I'm continuing to serialise The Reluctant Vampire which is one of my earliest novels on my weblog every week. We're currantly up to Chapter Six which should appear on Saturday. So far I've been pleasantly surprised by the amazing response we've had... I suspect the novel has become something of a cult all over the world! My Vampire, Thomas has moved his coffin into a friends shed in Timperley and tells the friend how tired he is of living as one of the Undead... Tune in to my Weblog if you want to read further.

SEASONS GREETINGS

As Christmas becomes more and more of a reality, I suppose I should face the grim truth of it and wish you all a very merry Christmas! See you in Twenty Twelve… That New Year has a wonderful ring to it, don’t you think??

RAW MATERIALS

I dithered a bit about whether to print this piece from the beginning and leave out the real meat of the matter, or if that would be too annoying, to start the extract half way through the original piece. I’ve plumped for the latter because I don’t want to annoy my readers! So, you’ll have to use your imagination a bit… this piece is set in Harriet’s kitchen in Angel Ally, when Harriet receives a surprising visitor, Robbie Ross. I thought it was high time to actually write a piece where Ross and Harriet actually confront each other about the manuscript… it was unbelievable to me to discover that I hadn’t done this yet, there is no actual confrontation between the two characters. This seemed absolutely incredible to me - I got Ruth to go all the way back, examining each and every chapter so far, searching for any mention of the manuscript between Ross and Harriet, but there was none, so I went ahead and put that right.

Though it was not without its difficulties, making Ross come to Whitechapel of his own accord – such a thing would have been difficult to imagine of someone from such a cultural background as Ross. So I solved that dilemma by harking back to Killing Time, where the young Ross met Harriet whilst walking the streets of the East End with Oscar Wilde. Such a bizarre occurrence was quite naturally accepted in Killing Time… I don’t know why, I just wasn’t bothered so much about reality in those early days. I wrote Killing Time nearly 20 years ago, I think. Ross actually mentions this early meeting with Harriet once again here and I wanted to make them both remember this actual meeting only vaguely, almost as though it had happened in a dream or as though they were outside the memory, just watching. I wanted this feeling of them sharing such a space in time to be resurrected as something that may actually have occurred… but it could have equally been dreamt or even a story told by someone else. I hope that this makes some sort of sense, though I rather suspect I’m talking to myself, a habit I’ve picked up from living with Andy. Writing this piece was exciting for me because it made me think more clearly about the next book, which still doesn’t have a title, I’m afraid, though I can see one strand of the story will be set in New Orleans, probably at the house shared by Georges with his wife and daughter. As yet this wife and daughter are nameless blanks. They need to be filled out, given some substance and character. I’ve already made some reference to Georges’s wife being quite a hard-headed business woman… though I’m not at all sure about this, maybe I just imagined this! So maybe I’ll just ignore this and start from scratch. I was also slightly uncomfortable about sending Ross over to America, as I’m sure that’s what he would have done, gone on the trail of the missing manuscript if he was so bothered about it, so the reason for my discomfort was because I would have been ignoring history as so much is unknown about Ross’s actual movements. It suddenly struck me, why not use Freddie, sort of working for Ross? The thing is, nothing’s really known about him after he and Ross separated in 1911, which means I could easily embroider a fictional life after Ross. It also fitted in well with Freddie’s acting aspirations that he’d go to America in search of fame and fortune. It’s also exciting to create a more substantial character as I’ve not spent much time on Freddie so far. I’ve always been a bit intrigued by him, precisely because not much has been written about him… even in Ross’s biography, he’s not really presented as a real, substantial person, I think with a name like Freddie Smith he deserves a real character made out of him.

I haven’t yet written the next section so before I do, I wondered if my readers could help with a little historical research? I’m thinking of setting this next piece in Kathleen’s studio in Chelsea, with Shannon taking some photos of the studio to use for his portrait of her. The only reference I have for photography around this time, is in the railway children where the photographer pulls a cloth over his head for taking the picture using a dirty big tripod and flash light. Can anyone tell me if this would still be true in 1907? Thanks a lot for your assistance with such tedious research… I appreciate it.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

By 1907, though Wilde has been dead for some time, his close friend Robbie Ross has been working hard to publish all his work. So he’s excited to discover about the manuscript, which Jack has just told him about and given him Harriet’s address in Angel Ally. Ross has gone there to ask Harriet more about the manuscript, because he knows that Ricketts’ copy has gone missing. Its actually in the hands of Kathleen Bruce who keep s promising to return it. her relationship with Ricketts’ partner Shannon seems to be crumbling fast – she’s just met and become fascinated by Robert Falcon Scott. Now read on…

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

“So tell me, how I can be of service to you now, Mr Ross?”

“Ahhh… it’s something I’m looking for, a manuscript of one of Oscar’s stories, which I’m very keen to find and publish as soon as possible. Before Oscar died I promised I’d publish all his work… this is the last story and I haven’t been able to find it. But now…” he broke off and simply stared at Harriet, turning his hat round and round in his lap with absent fingers. “Do you remember the manuscript inside the box that you took away?”

Dropping her eyes quickly, Harriet felt herself blush crimson. It was several moments before she managed to find her voice, which came out as a strangled whisper, crushed flat by shame.

“Yes, of course I remember, but I’m so sorry about it now. It didn’t work out the way I’d hoped anyway.” She drew in her breath sharply, shaking her head back and forth. “Jack didn’t even want the box after all, he told me he’d thrown it in the river. I didn’t know there was anything inside it – I just took the box because I thought Jack should have it, not Freddie. I’m sorry about the story, or whatever it was… I had no idea. I don’t know anything about it I’m afraid.”

“Well, Jack told me he’d taken the manuscript out of the box and given it to a sailor. Do you know anything about him, Harriet?”

She paused, feeling Ross’s eyes boring into her expectantly. Eventually she spoke in a voice that came out only grudgingly.

“Then he must be talking about Georges. He used to be a friend but he’s gone back… gone away to where he came from.” Still, Ross’s eyes penetrated right the way through her.

“And where is that, Harriet? A different country?” he asked gently.

She raised her eyes to his with great effort, trying her best to hold her gaze steady.

“It’s America… that’s all I can tell you. I don’t know anything else, I’m afraid.

“All right, America, but do you remember the name of the port?”

She shook her head quickly, she didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of Georges’s betrayal. “I don’t remember, I’m sorry. Except…” She glanced up at Ross, feeling that she owed him something, if she couldn’t give him the box itself then she would try to help him. “I think it began with ‘New’… ‘New’ something.”

“Ah…” Ross sat back in his chair, smiling. “Do you think it was New York, Harriet? Does that sound at all familiar to you?”

“No, not New York.” She frowned, looking intently at the darning in her lap. “I can’t remember any more about it. But no, wait… Jack said it was a hot place.”

Ross tapped his teeth thoughtfully.

“Well, you know… Georges sounds to me quite a French name, so… do you think it might be New Orleans he’s from?”

Once again Harriet shook her head, almost on the verge of tears.

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know all these places… I’ve no idea. I’ve never been to any of them, I’ve never been out of London. They’re not real places to me.

“That’s alright, Harriet. Thank you very much for the information you’ve given me,” said Ross, still smiling gently. “You’ve been very helpful… I’m sure Mr Wilde would have been very pleased with you. Is there anything else you can tell me about this Georges chap, before I leave? I’d like to speak to him myself.”

More from The Space Between in January.
URBAN
SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit...
NaNoWriMo 2011
So, what happened? I hear you ask! Well, I got off to a good start, but after a few days and nights, I started to fall behind on the word count, and after twelve days I had only amassed 12,000 words and I needed to have been doing !,667 per day to fulfill the task. So, one third of the way through the project, I was already 8,000 words behind, and even worse than that, when I reread the first few chapters, I could tell the whole thing was turning into one big rant! So, the conclusion is, yes I failed! For this I apologise to my readers.
THE UPSIDE
On the upside, however, I discovered that writing a novel is a wonderful experience and that it is still something I want to do. Also, I've got a good format for this particular novel and a good set of characters that need developing. But, me being me, I have started two new projects, one is writing a comedy script, with a view to performing it at a local pub, and the other is ghostwriting the memoirs of a celebrity hairdresser, more about that next time.
THIRTY SEVEN VERSIONS
I don't remember if I told you about my poem (s). Anyway, I recently wrote an acrostic poem to the word Constantinople and then I re-wrote it as an acrostic anagram of Constantinople and then again and again and again as an acrostic anagram of Constantinople. Until I ended up with thirty seven different versions of the same fourteen line poem.
MY POEM (s)
My Acrostic poem with 36 different anagrams of the acrostic word. The Acrostic word was Constantinople, I then shuffled up the letters and made anagrams like: Platonic Sonnet and Non Poetic Slant. You can read the complete 37 versions of this poem HERE
More from USAndy in January.
Finally, Happy Christmas to all our readers from Nic, Andy, and Jack!
Many many thanks for reading Raw Meat!

November 2011 Issue 134

2011-11-06T23:29:00.004Z

Nicola's Editorial

DARK WINTER

I’ll start this Raw Meat off with a good old moan about this time of year, which I’ve always hated. It seems completely illogical to me to put the clocks back so that the days become even shorter than they are already - indeed, almost completely enveloped by darkness. This absence of light fills me with panic… without light, there’s nothing, nothing at all. Whoever thought up this insane idea in the first place - of putting the clocks back to start with? My Mum told me that it’s something to do with the war… but I always thought it was for the farmers, to make it lighter in the mornings. It’s a stupid idea anyway - one of the worst things about Britain.

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

But enough of this anyway - on to more interesting matters… such as Vampires, my Reluctant one that is. For those of you who haven’t already visited my webblog, you should do so at your next opportunity… for there you’ll find the first chapter of my early novel, The Reluctant Vampire. If you missed the introduction, that is also there… so just scroll back a bit. Although I don’t think this novel is one of my best, it certainly has it’s moments along with several rather wonderful, colourful characters. Please do leave your comments as I crave feedback, as you know. And also I’m still wondering whether this is the right way to present a novel, that is chapter by chapter… or if you find breaking, constantly infuriating and would like to read more at one go. Do leave your comments and be quite honest as I could put more chapters on each post. By the way, I had to rewrite page two from memory… which was actually not difficult at all, because I’ve got a pretty good memory thankfully!!

VAMPIRE COUNTRY

I’ve chosen to set the novel in the very un-gothic realms of Timperley - which has now become know to me as Vampire country. The house I’m using as Alison’s’ in the story actually belonged to my friend Sally’s Mum - that is, (in the story) she is looking after it since her grandfather died. I’ve even used the pub around the corner, though the name has changed along with it being converted from a catholic church. Alison’s college nearby is the sort of college where I myself spent some time studying - all the settings for the story remain extremely vivid to me even now, twenty odd years on. I don’t think Alison’s friends Cassandra and Joseph are based on anyone specifically, as indeed Alison herself isn’t really me - in fact she resembles most closely the heroine of Dry Rot, Francis. Here it’s pretty easy for me to date the writing of the novel as it was obviously influenced so much by Dry Rot, which I had only just written in the early eighties. Against this background of Timperley, I hoped to make the character of my Vampire, Thomas, stand out sharply - and also to tinge the entire novel with a humours edge, making it totally surreal. I wonder how far I have succeeded in doing this? I’m eagerly awaiting your comments.

REUNION

If you remember, I mentioned earlier this year that I’d made contact with a very old friend from thirty years ago, Bill Mason. Bill told me about a reunion concert his band were doing in Wythenshawe - The Bill Mason Band used to be a sort of punk Christian band who were extremely popular amongst young Christians like myself, as I was in those days. Anyway, it was lovely to see my old friend Bill and the guitarist, Simon… the concert was actually for a charity, a section of which Simon is involved with, Life Association. There were two other bands playing at the gig - but the BMB were the best of course!! The most amazing part was meeting all my old friends afterwards - that’s one of the main advantages of loosing my sight I suppose - people never age, they will always remain as I last saw them in their thirties.

DISTRACTED

I’m still waiting expectantly for Andy’s promised chapter of the Raw Meat Novel, The light Fantastic… but I suspect he’s got distracted as usual, this time by a slightly more creative venture of his own. I believe Andy’s trying his hand at novel writing - I don’t know much about the substance, but apparently it features his old favourite character Doktir Nairobi. I’ll leave Andy to tell you more about this novel in his column, suffice to say it seems to be totally obsessing him… you see, I’m not the only one around here with obsessions.

INKSPELL

I’ve just started reading the next part of the Inkheart Trilogy, which seems so far to pick up straight from where Inkheart left off - that is, with the old characters Dustfinger and Farid. There’s a new character though… the wonderfully named Orpheus, who also has the gift of silvertongue. The gift of silvertongue allows the person to bring the characters to life from any novel they choose to read aloud. Farid stepped out of Aladdin while Dustfinger came from the Inkheart book - though he obviously didn’t go back into it or else he wouldn’t be in this novel! I believe the Inkheart Trilogy has been made into a film, which I wish I’d seen… perhaps, like many wonderful novel ideas it works best on paper.

HOMEOPATHY

I have finally decided to take the plunge and go and see a homeopath. As you will probably know by now, I’m a great believer in natural medicine as opposed to talking conventional drugs which often have side effects. It’s particularly important to me as a method of dealing with symptoms for Ataxia. I really don’t want to have to start taking any medication which you can get addicted to so easily. Homeopathy has always seemed a more effective way to combat physical problems. The physical side is only half of any problem, there is the mental state and the attitude towards such problems. A friend once said to me when I told him what a doctor had said to me about homeopathy - “Homeopathy doesn’t make any physical change, it just makes you feel better”… “So what’s the difference” More and more people are coming to see his point of view, myself included.

RAW MATERIALS

I had slight feelings of discomfort as I wrote this piece as I found it difficult to imagine Jack choosing to go back to Ross’s house. In reality I don’t think he’d have wanted to have anything to do with either Robbie or Freddie, but I kept reminding myself that this is fiction… much more fun than reality because it allows such dramatic situations to occur. So then, it led on rather nicely to future meetings involving Charles and Jack , and also maybe Ross and Harriet. Then it came upon me suddenly, in a flash of light, that Shannon could also get involved in the drama, along with Kathleen. I got very excited and ideas kept popping into my head. The novel all seems to be coming together, approaching the end, which I’ve never been able to see clearly before.

I have to leave a little bit out of this piece, which I’ll just fill you in on. Ruth gently reminded me about the missing manuscript that Ross would be bound to ask Jack about… I’d forgotten all about it, so I had to add it in later, such is work in progress. Jack simply tells Ross all he knows, that it’s been taken to America by a sailor. He gives Ross his address so that Ross can ask Harriet himself. More potential dramatic scenes in the pipeline there, though I think that Harriet would certainly not want to meet Ross again, so I wouldn’t like to force the bounds of credibility too much.

All this should lead on quite naturally to the next book, which I’m now getting a more real idea of, though it still doesn’t have a title – ah well, that comes last, as Andy always tells me. but I’m quite sure it’s going to be more fragmented than The Space Between, being set partly in America, partly in the Antarctic and partly in London, with perhaps Harriet or Jack or Ricketts, perhaps not.

I’m still wondering what to do with Harriet now that she’s been saved from certain death, how can I possibly follow that? I was thinking of making her disappear back into Killing Time and Gustave to go back into The Turn of the Century Party… but I don’t know about that, as it would mean separating them forever, which would be really horrible, much worse than killing them off, which is an alternative, I suppose. Anyway, that was the whole point in introducing myself as a character in the book, so that my other fiction would be around, if in Manchester, not London. I’ve also made myself say that I’ve been inspired to write something, which is obviously The Space Between, so if Harriet and Gustave chose to they could disappear into that work together, even if they do have to travel up to Manchester to do so! I feel uncomfortable about using this idea, which has already been used before by Cornelia Funke in The Inkheart Trilogy, so I’m reluctant to rip off someone else’s idea so blatantly. So I’m still left with Harriet… what do I do with her? Any suggestions?

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

As 1907 begins, Wilde’s original manuscript of The Portrait of Mr WH has been taken overseas to America by Georges, and given to his wife in New Orleans. Another copy of the story remains in England, the book made by Charles Ricketts which his Partner, Shannon, has given as a gift to Kathleen Bruce. She’s promised to return it but has failed to do so as yet. Jack has decided to pay an unexpected call on an old acquaintance.

NOW READ ON:

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

The miserable cold rain continued to fall from a dismal grey sky as Jack hunched his shoulders and sighed inside his sailors jacket as he hurried along the street, glancing at the address to make sure he was going in the right direction. He felt uncomfortable amidst these tall stately homes – he didn’t belong in Kensington. Pausing outside the house to which he had been directed, he stared blankly at the tall windows and ornate porch for some moments before approaching the door and knocking. He scratched his nose nervously as he waited and shifted from one docker’s boot to the other. He tried to remember the last time he had been to Kensington. He felt like an intruder, he had no place in these parts.

The door was opened suddenly by a vaguely familiar figure who stood there blinking at Jack but saying nothing. Finally the man cleared his throat.

“Jack?” It was definitely a question, even though he must surely have some memory, perhaps Mr Ross simply wanted confirmation that his eyes weren’t deceiving him. “Surely not… after all these years. I can’t believe it. How did you find us?”

Jack gave a little shrug, still unable to forget the hostility there had once been between them.

“Cook gave me your address,” he said shortly, without any wish to prolong this conversation. “So I came right over. I wanted to see you.”

“Well, alright.” Ross took a step back, gesturing Jack to come in to the hall. “I think Freddie’s upstairs… I’ll tell him, just a minute.”

“No… don’t.” Jack stepped into the hall, glad to have shelter from the rain. The boy glanced nervously towards the white staircase, shaking his head quickly to stop Ross in his tracks. “I didn’t come to see Freddie, it’s you I want to speak to. I just wanted an address, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Ross’s frown deepened as he stared at the boy, or rather young man as he was now, and Ross wondered what exactly had happened to cause him to change so much. “I’m sure Freddie would be only too glad to see you Jack, especially after you’ve come all this way.

“No.” Jack shook his head firmly. “I just want the address of a friend of yours… Mr Charles Ricketts.”

A sudden hush enveloped the two characters, that set them apart from the audience, standing static on the stage of life. “But why? Why should I give you the address of someone you don’t even know? Give me one good reason why I should do that?”

Jack looked away quickly, feeling himself reddening, he felt as though Ross had struck him physically and he wasn’t sure how to handle such a blow, trying to control himself.

“I do have some connection with Mr Ricketts… I suppose you could say we were old friend. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Ross shook his head suspiciously.

“Well, no it isn’t to be quite honest, I don’t trust you, Jack. I hardly know you after all.”

Jack thought quickly.

“Look, I’ll tell you what, can you ask Mr Ricketts next time you see him, if he’d like to see me? I’ll come back in a few weeks and if he would like to, you can give me his address. Could you do that?” he gave Ross a small smile, hoping it was as charming as people led him to believe. “Do you think you’ll see him in that time?”

Ross nodded, wondering where Jack could possibly know Charles from. It was intriguing, he would have to ask Charles.

October 2011 Issue 133

2011-10-09T16:21:00.003+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

WELSH ANIMALS

To start off this issue here are some photos of some of the animals from my short break in Wales I was telling you about in the last issue. The first one shows the water dragon – Tom, I think he was called. The second is a corn snake and the third shows a collie puppy on the farm at Porthmadog that we visited on another day. I hope you still remember my time in Wales from last month, and are not too confused as these photos are a bit late. (sorry folks I can't make the photo's stay still, call back later and I'll have another go. Andy)

ACROSS THE IRISH SEA

A couple of weeks after my Welsh holiday I took the ferry over to Dublin with both Brigitte and Andy. According to Andy, there was a hurricane nearby, well anyway it was pretty windy even before we’d actually got on the boat at Anglesey. I had been quite excited about the ferry ride but was actually quite disappointed that I wasn’t able to venture out onto the deck because of the wind and rain… and so the entire ferry trip was spent inside, it wasn’t much fun really. The only thing I was definitely aware of was the motion of the boat on the water as it was pretty choppy of course… in fact I believe that Brigitte was a little seasick. When we arrived in Dublin it was still pretty windy and rainy… not a very promising start to a holiday! So we drove straight to the farm on which we were staying just outside Britta’s Bay, which was apparently in either the hills or mountains, I never actually decided which! Andy described them as mountains because of the valleys… though Brigitte described them at another time as like the Pennines or Scottish highlands. I think that we might have some photos which Andy will send with this Raw Meat hopefully, so you can make up your mind yourselves! Well whatever they were the farm was at the base and we drove over them to reach it. We had a little adventure on the way to the farm when we got stuck in a pothole… Brigitte had to phone the farm to come and rescue us!! I think that sort of thing must happen pretty frequently, because they weren’t surprised – they just towed the van out of the mud, once we were back on solid ground it was ok.

WILDE WIND

Next day it continued to be really windy and a little bit rainy, so that there wasn’t that much we could really do. It was particularly difficult for me to imagine the exact nature of our surroundings, as I remember visiting Ireland before… yet Brigitte described them in comparison to places that I knew from England. I was more enthusiastic when we travelled back to Dublin the day after, as I remembered visiting Dublin a few years ago with Andy. It was also as I remembered it being last time… that is, excessively noisy. I don’t know why but the traffic seems especially loud over there. Although, Oscar’s memorial gardens was as peaceful as I remember it being - Brigitte described them almost like a little park, with his beautiful statue in the middle. I stretched right up and just managed to grab a bit of his foot… he’s lying on his back propping himself up on his elbows… Brigitte described his expression as smug which I could easily imagine! We also went to the house where he was born, which has a glass roof on the back joining it to a building in Trinity college who own the place.

JAMES JOYCE

In a street off O’Connell Street in the centre of Dublin, there was a statue of James Joyce looking very cool with his eyes on the sky and a walking cane in his hand. I thought about going to the James Joyce museum nearby which is in a tower, but it was shut… and anyway it didn’t sound very Ziggy friendly. Once again we visited the Writer’s Museum - though I hadn’t remembered it being so difficult to get into, as we had to go up quite a few stairs as there was no lift. I’m amazed that such a thing should be so nowadays, in a public place such as this… Dublin in general seems to be quite Ziggy unfriendly - a bit like Paris in fact.

BRITTA’S BAY

The final day we spent in Ireland was actually my favourite one, mainly because the excessive winds finally dropped completely and the sun came out making it really warm and very still. This time we stopped on the mountains or hills high up and got out, as I really wanted to experience the feeling of height. We walked along by a river… it was lovely and quiet and peaceful, with hardly anyone about. I thought that I’d have to tell my dad about this place, because he really wants to go to the mountains in Switzerland but he’s not aloud to fly… so this would be a good compromise! Back to Britta’s Bay, which we drove down to from the hills… we finally found a place to stop and get out where we could walk along right by the sea. It was difficult to believe we were right next to the sea, because it was so incredibly still there were no waves, and a complete absence of sound which was quite unearthly. This silence seemed to cover everything so that there was nothing alive… no birds, sea or otherwise. Although I wanted to go closer to the sea it was impossible as it was also Ziggy unfriendly. I had to imagine the sea completely because I had nothing to go on, no sound or feeling. Andy said the water was just rippling calmly - the stillness of this day seemed even more remarkable seeing as it had been so windy a couple of days before.

FROM DUBLIN

When we got the ferry home this time it was actually a bit more sunny - we even managed to get out on the deck this time which was great. Although the sea was much calmer this time I was still aware of it by the smell of the salt and just by the sense of it. I prefer travelling this way rather than flying, because you’re just stuck in a plane and have no sense of travelling, actually moving through the countryside or the sea. I really wish that I could sail across the ocean to the pacific or even the south seas, so that I could be totally aware of the change in climate as the boat moved. I’d love to go back to Ireland in the summer, when it’s warm enough to spent more time outside, just in the gardens or farm. I regretted not spending more time outside on the farm itself, as I got absolutely no idea of it being a farm at all… in fact I don’t know if they had any animals at all!

WHEELIE WOBBLY WALK

Not long after we arrived back from Ireland, we went down to Dunham Massey, commonly known to us as “The Deer Park” for this event, held by the Manchester Ataxia Branch for Ataxia Awareness Day. To make a nice change, the weather was beautiful, both warm and sunny, so that it was a real pleasure to be outside in such beautiful surroundings. I was really looking forward to getting a good long walk, but was dismayed to hear Andy say it was time to get back in the van after only a very brief walk. Apparently we’d had to give up when the going got just too rough for many of the members of the group. I’d forgotten how completely tiring straight forward walking could be for anyone with Ataxia. Most of the members have CA which is similar to FA but usually attacks one later in life, so they’re not in Ziggy but still have difficulty walking. It’s easier to get around in Ziggy in a way – providing you have a willing pair of hands to push, that is! On such a beautiful day it was a shame to have to go inside. Dunham Massey is a particularly beautiful place, in fact Andy told me that it had a big sign saying that it was the most popular national trust property in the North West of England and that they’re building a new visitor centre there… so it’s well worth a day trip.

ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN

Although I thought it quite strange that a band should be playing in a theatre, perhaps this is the done thing nowadays, because there seemed to be absolutely no problem with it as far as access for Ziggy went. The band were really cool, they played a complete mixture of old favourites and songs I didn’t recognise, but appreciated nonetheless. They did a really beautiful rendition of Ocean Rain, but Andy was more keen on the Manchester version of Lou Reed’s Take a Walk on the Wild Side. The audience were particularly appreciative I thought, which was lovely for such an old band… they were going absolutely crazy at the end.

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

I think I’ve mentioned before that Ruth and I had unearthed my long forgotten novel The Reluctant Vampire from the early 80s, and are currently reading through it. So far it’s a whole lot better than I remember it being. There’s some lovely characters in it, not to mention the very charismatic vampire himself. At this point I can’t remember exactly how the novel ends, only that it’s pretty dramatic. I suppose it’s a bit of a love story, but with a difference. In places it’s written as something you can actually touch, if that makes sense. I’m keen to put it on the internet as soon as my mum’s typed it up as I’d like as many people as possible to be able to read it. The thing I’m wondering about is whether to serialise it on my blog or if readers would find this too frustrating, and would prefer to read it all the way through… in which case, would they have the time to do this? Also, I like the idea of my blog as it would make it more of a two way reading of the novel, where the reader would actually be involved and give feedback. My dad suggests publishing the novel in both ways simultaneously… so what do you think? Any comments you could make on how you would like to read The Reluctant Vampire, would be much appreciated.

TAKE A WALK ON MERSEY SIDE

No, not Echo and the Bunnymen this time, but a canal boat trip, which Andy and I treated ourselves to last weekend. It was actually a special treat for Andy, because I know how much he’s always wanted to do this particular trip. Admittedly, it wasn’t by barge, but still, it was down the Manchester ship canal all the way to Liverpool. I didn’t actually realise how close Liverpool was to Manchester, it’s been so long since I last saw a map! Mind you, the big boat set off from Salford Quays and Andy said there were at least 400 people on board, so it was obviously a popular trip. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I was still aware of the water beneath us, even though there were no waves. The boat stopped at Barton Locks, for quite some time and I had to imagine an awful lot of what was going on, but nonetheless I just about managed to keep informed of the adventure! Although sailing along the canal through the city was a profoundly different experience from my Ziggy barge trip earlier this year, Andy told me roughly where we were and what was happening, so I got quite a good idea of what was going on. My favourite bit was where the canal actually met with the River Mersey at Elsmere Port. This was really exciting, because not only did the light change and become brighter, but I could feel the motion of the boat suddenly as the river is tidal at that point. I wondered at what point did the waves cease, did they intrude into the canal at all?? We continued along the river for about an hour, passing Liverpool on one side and Birkenhead on the other, including Port Sunlight, where Lord Lever built an art gallery for his wife. The boat stopped just before it met the Irish sea and we all got off and there was a short break in Liverpool before the coach left to take us back to Manchester. Both Andy and I enjoyed the day very much and have resolved to do it again sometime!

THE RAW MEAT NOVEL

I believe Andy himself is actually working on Chapter Three of The Light Fantastic, which may follow on from the preceding chapter… though knowing Andy I very much doubt it. But anyway, it should make interesting reading… do have a look at my Weblog when you next get a chance. I’d like to capture someone’s enthusiasm so that they can follow on with chapter four. Don’t worry about having no experience as a writer… it’s those new to writing that I want to encourage particularly. I’m looking forward to hearing from you, and seeing how the novel continues! Clink~the~link~here.

BMB RE-UNION

You might remember back in the May issue me telling you how delighted I was at making contact with an old friend I hadn’t seen for nearly thirty years, Bill Mason. He used to be lead singer with the band, predictably enough called the Bill Mason Band… who were a Christian band with a bit of a difference. I remember at the time the BMB having an enthusiastic following of young people, as they were sort of punk – well definitely rock anyway. By incredible coincidence the BMB are doing a re-union concert on October 21 at Wythenshawe Forum Theatre… maybe I’ll see you there!

ZIGGY-FRIENDLY

One of the main reasons I enjoyed the boat trip so much was because I felt totally involved all the way through, simply by the boat being completely Ziggy friendly. And this went for the coach as well. There was one other chap in Ziggy, but simply the fact that everything was quite possible to do in Ziggy meant we were not excluded on practical grounds and that made such a nice change!!

RAW MATERIALS

THE SPACE BETWEEN – THE STORY SO FAR

As 1907 begins, Harriet has just been saved from jumping off tower bridge, by Gustave, who has taken her back home to the Freedom Press. As far as they know, Georges has left with Wilde’s manuscript and is unlikely to return. At a new year celebration Robbie Ross has asked Charles Ricketts to get a part for Freddie in the play he’s working on. Meanwhile, it’s still new year in the kitchen of the Freedom Press where Gustave and Harriet have been sleeping by the fire. I was rather stuck at this point – how could I possibly follow such a dramatic scene as the last one on the bridge and keep the reader interested enough to read on… for after this I want to keep the novel going for another 18 months. This seemed a pretty impossible stunt to pull off… but there had to be something I could do which was quite new, like introducing a totally fresh character. I’d been thinking along the lines of the Inkheart Trilogy idea, which I’ve been quite obsessed by ever since I read it. I’m talking about the idea of people disappearing into a book, of course. I’ve already used this device in The Space Between with Adrian Singleton vanishing back into The Portrait of Dorian Gray, so couldn’t I do something else along the same lines? But the thing was, I needed to introduce someone or something from my own novels into The Space Between, and so the solution came upon me. it’s really strange, writing about yourself as a twentieth century character, so you’re mixing your own fiction with past fiction into this current work in progress, so that you become a half-fictional character, being set sometime ago before my novels were written or even thought of. I’m yet to see if it works, as I have my doubts, particularly about introducing myself into a historical novel which might be a little confusing, so it’s a bit of a trial really. It may not work out at all, in which case I’ll have to scrap it, but I just thought that something pretty dramatic had to happen at Harriet and Gustave at this point. As well as this, it was also vital to keep myself interested… for admittedly as we’re so near and so far from the end of the novel, my initial enthusiasm is beginning to wear a bit thin, but I know myself, and I know that I never could resist such a challenge as this. So let’s see if it works… I appreciate your feedback on this one, as ever.

NOW READ ON…

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

Waking with a start from his doze as the front door banged shut, Gustave looked all around him in confusion. For a moment he couldn’t remember exactly where he was, or who was sitting next to him, squashed against him in the armchair, with her head leaning against his chest, staring vacantly into the still smouldering fire. He listened to the voices from the hallway. At first they sounded familiar to his ears, he thought that one of them may belong to Wilf, though he didn’t recognise the woman’s laughter at all. Shaking his head to clear it, he began to get to his feet, but Harriet stopped him, clinging to him like a limpet.

“Please, don’t move, don’t go yet,” she said urgently, “please stay a while longer.”

Laughing softly, Gustave reached out towards the fireplace and picked up the poker.

“Don’t worry… I’m only stoking up the fire, I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright, I’ll stay.”

Harriet watched his movements silently, with her hands clasped tightly before her, almost as if trying to pray. She seemed dazed by what had just happened up on the bridge a few hours ago… Gustave wasn’t sure if she could hear the voices from outside, though of course it might be that she was simply ignoring them, as they had no place in this reality.

Replacing the poker beside the fireplace, Gustave looked around as the kitchen door opened and Wilf’s bald dome gleamed in the dim light as he came through. In his hands he held his woolly hat, passing it from one to the other with quick, anxious movements. He was grinning, obviously a little drunk.

“Happy new year to you, Gustave,” he said loudly, “My, it’s a freezing night out there… I’ll be glad when the winter’s over, I can tell you.” Stepping back, he pulled the woman’s arm who was following close behind him, so that she was forced to move into the light, though it seemed obvious that she would rather remain hidden. Her long dark hair could be seen below the strange trilby hat she wore, and it seemed probably she was drunk as well. There was a fixed smile on her small pale face, which was slightly flushed either from the cold or embarrassment. She stood there awkwardly in her long shapeless black overcoat, which reached almost down to the ground, pulling at each finger of her leather gloves in turn. She seemed nervous, as she stared at Gustave in disbelief and shaking her head very slowly.

“Gustave? Are you sure?” the woman whispered, her voice barely audible.

Gustave shrugged, laughing uncomfortably.

“I… I think so,” he said awkwardly, examining the woman’s face more closely. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?”

Reaching out her hand towards him, the woman touched his arm very lightly, almost as if she expected him to vanish in a puff of smoke at any moment. She was still shaking her head from side to side, refusing to believe her eyes.

“Well… yes, I suppose we have, in a manner of speaking. Though I don’t expect you to recognise me.”

Wilf looked quickly from Gustave to his friend, blinking in confusion.

“Well, I’d like you to meet a friend who’s come all the way from Manchester, this is Nicola, Gustave. She’s staying here for a few days,” Wilf announced, smiling easily as the two shook hands formally. “Where did you meet Gustave before, Nicola? It seems an amazing coincidence.”

Still Nicola stared at Gustave, releasing his hand reluctantly, she didn’t answer for quite some time, but eventually took a deep breath, seeming to pull herself together and glanced apologetically at Wilf.

“Gustave’s right, we haven’t really met… only in my imagination,” she said lightly, trying to laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat and quickly died. “Gustave’s familiar to me from one of my novels I wrote a few years back, that’s where I know him from.” She smiled at Gustave, pushing back stray strands of hair under her hat with a self conscious movement of her hand. “I must say, Gustave, you’re exactly as I imagined you would be.”

MORE FROM The Space Between trilogy in November.

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

As Nic mentioned above, I’m attempting to write a chapter for her Raw Meat project The Light Fantastic. I got off to a good start and jotted down a couple of hundred words, and then nothing, I just couldn’t see which direction I should take next. So, I’m going to have another go this week and see where my muse takes me.

IRELAND

We stayed in County Wicklow, not far south of Dublin, in a lovely part of the countryside. The country lanes, were really country lanes, complete with pot holes and grass growing just to prove that they were not busy at all. Wonderful! It was some distance to the coast and we had to cross the Wicklow Mountains in fact to get there. These mountains have dramatic changes of scenery as you drive across them. Sometimes you could be in a Swiss Valley, a few minutes later they resembled the highlands of Scotland complete with heather and bracken. Around the next bend you could be forgiven for thinking that you were in a Canadian pine forest. Another mile along the road and they became like the hilly Pennines with sheep grazing and spilling out onto the track. At one point we came across the place where two mountain rivers met. Not far from there was a couple of lakes, one with a waterfall. Then there were the ancient ruins of a monastic settlement, and as we drove further and higher the land became bleak and stony, and there was evidence of ancient quarrying. Finally we reached the sea.

MANCHESTER SHIP CANAL

I had always wanted to travel on the Manchester Ship Canal, and when Nic booked a couple of tickets for a six hour cruise on a Mersey Ferry I was delighted. We left Salford Quays at ten am and arrived at Pier Head in Liverpool shortly before 4 pm. It took nearly five hours to reach the fifth and final lock on the canal, and then another hour to Birkenhead and then a few more minutes across the Mersey to Pier Head. Wonderful day! Thanks Nic!!!

More from Urban Scrawl Andy in November.

Thanks for reading Raw Meat!!!

September 2011 Issue 132

2011-09-10T15:08:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

ZIGGY BARGE TRIP

Now, it seems that the end of summer has actually arrived and even turned into Autumn what with the continual rain outside. I must admit though, I’m not sorry to say goodbye to August - it’s been a fairly stressful month generally speaking - though it certainly had its moments. One of these was a really peaceful barge trip earlier in the month, when the rain was not absolutely falling! In fact it was even fairly warm and very tranquil, that was the main thing - just being away from the continual traffic. Though despite my initial thoughts that a barge trip would be totally unexciting and even boring, just sailing along the canal in Marple it didn’t grab me at once - in fact it turned out to be really beautiful and relaxing… plus I could also feel the movement of the barge which was lovely. I was glad I was able to sit outside all the time, and feel the countryside passing by - even if I was aware constantly of not being able to see it. I enjoyed this trip much more than the one I did twenty-five years ago in fact - which just goes to show. That time the barge hadn’t been a Ziggy one, so I was carried onto it by a friend. I remember that I’d just had a car crash and so my leg was totally shrouded in bandages… this might well explain some of my bad feelings about barges I suppose.

CAERNARFON BOAT RUN

Another boat trip which I greatly enjoyed took place a few weeks later when I went to Wales with my mum and Brigitte. This boat was a slightly bigger one than the barge, but never the less I was still able to feel the motion of the water especially when another boat passed us. The boat went along the Menai Straits just about up to where it joined the Irish sea and then turned round and went back to Caernarfon Castle. On the way we passed Anglesey which I had always thought was a piece of land sticking out from the rest of Wales - but in fact is an island, just joined by a bridge to the mainland. There was the Welsh flag flying above the castle which I greatly like the design of… a red dragon on a green and white background, really beautiful. Although we walked all round Caernarfon Castle I wasn’t that impressed, I wanted to go inside the towers all around the walls but… no go for Ziggy, which I should be used to by now. That’s the most annoying thing about these beautiful old stone castles… they’re so often Ziggy hostile. I suppose they never used to have Ziggy’s in those days, so I’ll let them off.

TOUCHING THE DRAGON

After the castle we drove over the bridge onto Anglesey, where we had been told about a butterfly house… and as the weather wasn’t that beautiful, we thought that we would stay inside. In fact there weren’t too many butterflies inside the house, but there were quite a few other interesting animals in tanks. Although animals in tanks don’t mean too much to me anymore, I was allowed to actually touch and hold a few of them which made my day. I’ve always really liked lizards, so was overjoyed when I held Tom, a Bearded Dragon who stood very still in my hand, just moving his feet very slightly and looking round. Although I liked Tom very much, I thought the next creature was even better… a snake though not a python or cobra as I would have liked, but only a corn snake. Nevertheless it was lovely, because he sort of kissed me with his tongue which was a very nice feeling, sort of like being tickled. The final creature I held was a soft and furry one… a Lion Haired rabbit which was wriggling and squirming on my lap. I was very sad that I couldn’t see it because I imagine it must have looked so weird with long hair on its head and short hair on it’s body.

PORTMEIRION

We decided to visit the nearby Portmeirion, which I heard was used for filming the cult TV series in the sixties, The Prisoner. I don’t remember much about The Prisoner except for there being a giant bubble in it, we did visit The prisoner souvenir shop… but I was much more impressed with Portmeirion itself which I believe was built in the 1920’s in the style of an old Roman town, with lots of pillars, fountains and paintings all over the buildings of fish, mermaids and other designs. We went for a walk along a costal path almost right down to the sea, on the way passing a statue of Lord Nelson… I thought this was very strange, I don’t know why they had a statue of the chap there. It must be something to do with it being a port, I suppose… but nonetheless I liked the strangeness of having his statue stuck in the middle of nowhere.

STROKING THE LLAMA

Before we left Wales the next day we visited a nearby farm where I could touch some more animals. We had been staying at Porthmadog where my mum has a caravan - although the caravan is actually Ziggy unfriendly, so Brigitte and I had to stay in the town itself. The farm had quite a few animals which didn’t seem to be usual farm animals… such as Llamas, and guinea pigs, both of which I touched. But my favourite was the kid I held on my lap, although I also liked the collie puppy - my mum wanted to take the puppy home but she wasn’t allowed! As it began to rain in earnest, we got back in the car and drove back to England. It’s been so long since I’ve last seen a map of Britain, I couldn’t visualise exact dimensions of where England began or the shape of Wales. I wish that someone would make a map with the borders of the country so they stood out, so that I could feel them. A really good idea would be a globe where countries were heated from the inside according to the climate, so that the deserts were red hot and the south pole freezing… this would be a wonderful way of being able to visualise the shape of them all without sight. Maybe I should patent these ideas before someone nicks them. Anyway, when we returned back home and met up finally with Andy, we discovered he’d been having his own fun time in Swindon which perhaps he’ll tell you about in his column.

NO GO SNOWDON

I was very disappointed that I couldn’t do the only thing I wanted to do in Wales as the steam train that takes people up Snowdon was all booked up. You must know by now my passion is mountains, which was increased when I discovered there was a steam train which goes half way up Snowdon, then the train is shifted on to a rack and pinion system, because of the steepness, and takes passengers right to the summit. I was very excited about this, naturally enough, and it would have been an added bonus to get out of the train at the summit and experience that wonderful sensation of height… but unfortunately I’d left it too late to book one of the two Ziggy spots. I have every intention of making this trip up Snowdon next time, maybe even with Andy!

THE BIRTHDAY BOYS

We’re nearing the end of Beryl Bainbridge’s novel which both Ruth and I are really enjoying. There are five different sections to the novel, each by one of the chaps who actually went to the South Pole in 1912. I don’t think any of them returned… but I’m a bit mystified as to what happened to Taffy Evans as I know that Scott, Bowers and Wilson perished in the their tent. And of course we all know about Titus Oates’s infamous final words to the remaining chaps inside the tent: “I’m just going out side - I may be some time…” Actually, we are just reading the section by Titus Oates, and he’s talking about how much he dreads removing his socks for fear of finding his toes in them- though I suppose it’s no joking matter having frostbite in both your feet, which was why he decided to take his own life rather than keep holding up the other three on the way back from the South Pole. I really like the way Ms. Bainbridge has chosen to use the birthdays as the link between all the pieces… it’s a reminder that all the chaps weren’t just heroes but also common human mortals all celebrating birthdays - and sometimes not even their own.

PLATO’S DREAM

Still talking of ice and snow, this next chapter of the Raw Meat Story I started last month was set in the Alps though I was prepared for it to move somewhere else completely in the next chapter. Chapter two has now been completed and you can read it on my Weblog - the writer is Rebecca from Melbourne - so I suppose this is a world wide writing project. I won’t tell you anything much about the chapter except its title, so that you’ll have to read it for yourself… and then do feel inspired and confident enough to get in touch with me and carry on the story, to take it whatever way you choose. You can use any of the characters already mentioned on the settings, but you don’t have to… don’t worry about not being an experienced writer, that doesn’t matter. I look forward to hearing from the next writer. You can email me at: nicbat3963(at)aol(dot)com

FRIEDREICH: THE INHERITANCE

This is the title we’ve suggested to the rest of the FA literary group, though whether they take us up on it, is yet to be seen! The title they were talking about using last week was The Inheritance of Friedreich, so it’s only a slight variation but it sounds much better, in my opinion. Rebecca is one of the 27 writers in the group, who are scattered all over the world, but mainly based in Spain. I’ve made quite a few contacts through the project and that seems to be one of the best things about it, there’s such a lot of undeveloped creativity there, though whether this is specifically linked with FA is debatable! Perhaps that’s an unexplored theory, that FA goes hand in hand with creativity… or more likely this is simply a product of being in Ziggy, or just being on the sidelines. Anyway, back to the project – I don’t think they’ve actually published the novel Online yet, in fact I’m not sure if it’s quite complete, but I hope they’re going to take up our suggestion of starting a blog to advertise all the individual writers, in which each writer could advertise their own work. Also Maria, the brains behind the project, could write some background about the novel including links with Ataxia. From this single idea of Maria’s, so many other things have become possible, if we just use the means we have at our disposal – of course I’m talking about the internet.

WHEELIE WOBBLY WALK

Forget the internet for a moment – now the letters WWW have an entirely new meaning. This wonderful name was given to the Ziggy sponsored walk which takes place in a couple of weeks in aid of Ataxia UK. But anyway, I think it’s such a great name, which should attract some attention. This event is going to be held at Dunham Massey on September 24^th at midday, so do come along and meet us! As I’ve mentioned before, several of us in the Manchester Ataxia group are in Ziggies, though most people have Cerebella Ataxia and they’re the wobbly ones, using sticks to get around. This is because Cerebella usually attacks later in life, thought the symptoms are similar to FA, both affect the coordination. Anyway, maybe I’ll see you later this month for the walk?

RAW MATERIALS

I’ve been advised to be quite honest with you in describing the way I’m feeling about writing in general at the moment, and more specifically The Space Between. I just can’t bring myself to go on and complete the novel, according to the ideas I’ve got in my head, which would take a bit of time and effort to bring to completion… this is my problem at the present time, because I just can’t get up the enthusiasm necessary if I want to bring together all the separate stories going on in the novel. Andy has suggested I just finish the thing right now and leave it, if it’s becoming a drag to write, but this goes right against my instincts as a writer!. Having come this far with the novel, to break off and leave the story incomplete is unthinkable to me, I just can’t do it, but neither can I go on and finish it off properly, so I think what I’ll probably do is leave the novel for a while and come back to it later with renewed vigour.

Part of my reluctance to continue with The Space Between at the moment is because it’s been going on far too long and now that the end is in sight, I need to finish off according to the ideas I’ve got, which will take some work that I just can’t face doing! But writing when I don’t want to write is a total waste of time, as I’ve learned from experience. Of course I want to do justice to the novel and bring it to a natural end… so I think I’m going to leave it temporarily and give it the breathing space I need.

And so, this extract is from the start of a new chapter, making a change from having written about Harriet so much in the previous chapter, I’ve brought back Gustave, who’s just met Harriet at the Freedom Press the previous month. Although it was really refreshing to write about a different character, I’ve spent so long with Harriet it was difficult to remember what was going on with the other characters, which might explain my lack of enthusiasm for continuing the novel. Bringing back Gustave and his opium gave me more ideas about finishing off the novel. I’m still thinking of bringing back the Pissaro’s, but haven’t reached any definite conclusion yet. I’ve always liked the opium link, and I think that would tie in with a way of ending things in one strand of the story. But here I wanted to take Gustave up onto the Tower Bridge walkway, simply because I thought it was such a fantastic place, high up above the road bridge itself, so that you could walk across even when the bridge is raised. It became such a notorious spot for both suicides and prostitution that it was closed down around about 1910, I thought that I could use it in my novel as it was both a piece of history and also an incredible place, so high up that the feeling of being up there must have been like being in another world completely. I can quite easily understand why it was such a notorious spot! As soon as I stumbled on the facts about the walkway, I knew that I just had to use it in my novel.

This piece came about after a hasty rethink I had to have when I realised things weren’t going to work out according to plan. There was no way that Harriet would survive a fall from the walkway into the Thames. I did intend Gustave to jump into the river and save her, so this is only a slight alteration! I toyed with the idea of having Harriet arrested for attempting Suicide – also as part of my original idea but I decided against it as a policeman would have no evidence, so would have most likely have just left Harriet to her own devices. This meant that all my plans for Harriet being incarcerated for the next few years had to change pretty drastically… but in fact this wasn’t a total disaster at all because I was never really that keen on putting Harriet in prison, I just didn’t like it for some reason, and so I was quite relieved to drop it! anyway, judge for yourself how it’s worked out, I’d be interested to hear any other opinions.

PS: TAFFY EVANS

Yesterday we finished reading The Birthday Boys – A brilliant last chapter by Titus Oates answering my question as to what happened to Taffy Evans. Apparently, on the way back from the south pole things began to get pretty hairy for all the men, and they were all in a pretty bad way… the first fatality of the five who actually made it to the pole was Taffy Evans, whose hand seems to have come right off… also he had frostbite in both feet and so it was no great surprise that he died. When I read that I remembered the scene from the film Scott of The Antarctic where he dies and is buried. A tragic end – but an absolutely wonderful book!

THE SPACE BETWEEN

– THE STORY SO FAR

As 1907 begins, Harriet has just had a final meeting with Georges, who has now gone back to America, leaving Harriet in Angel Ally at the Freedom Press building. Georges has given Wilde’s original manuscript to his wife who intends to sell it. Meanwhile, the other copy of Wilde’s story has been given to Kathleen Bruce by Charles Shannon as a parting gift, though this is not known by Ricketts, who thinks Shannon still has it. when we last saw Harriet she was climbing up on to the walkway above Tower Bridge, now read on…

CHAPTER 7: 1907

As Gustave left the den on that frosty night and turned down the street, he could smell the fumes of opium still clinging onto his clothes and lifting the top of his head so that he smiled to himself despite the cold of the air against his face. The sharp chill of it brought him to his senses a little, just a little… for that sweet smell still lingered all around, and he had no great desire to obliterate it from his memory. He paused for a moment on the corner of the street, listening; he thought he could hear the church bells still tolling, thought he wasn’t sure why. Then a couple of men on the other side of the waters edge called out, “Happy New Year!” and he suddenly remembered exactly where he was and what he had been doing at the den. In fact the sharp clarity of his memories came back to him so vividly that he was sure he could still taste and savour the cigarettes and pipes he had smoked. Even though the fumes still filled his head, lingering in his consciousness and refusing to dissipate, he felt quite clear headed now - sure of where he was going. These Limehouse streets crisscrossed each other as he headed towards Whitechapel, but as he approached the high street he felt his steps turn towards the river with a determination that he couldn’t explain; it seemed all so foreign to him, this strange feeling of determination which gripped him suddenly and guided his steps for him. He had no control over it, no say at all.

Moving quickly along through the streets of Whitechapel, Gustave didn’t pause to consider exactly where he was going; he just knew with a certainty which was quite unnerving that he must go to the bridge… and then go up, go up as far as he could. He couldn’t explain this knowledge to himself or where it came from, it was just there and he had to obey. It didn’t even occur to him that the opium may be influencing his mind, what if it was anyway? He must obey the command. So he thrust his cold hands into his pockets and headed towards Tower Bridge without argument.

As he climbed further and further up the spiral stone staircase, he felt his head begin to clear and he wondered if the height of the air around him had anything to do with this. The pull on his steps became sharper so that it seemed he was being drawn by an invisible magnet. Those winding steps seemed to twist round endlessly, though eventually he reached the open doorway leading out onto the walkway running over Tower Bridge. He hesitated for a moment before stepping out, for the walkway was completely dark and silent – though the wind up here buffered all around him so that it was difficult to keep any sense of proportion or even sanity. He was suddenly frightened, he felt so completely alone… there seemed to be nobody else here on the walkway, or even in the entire world… he couldn’t tell exactly where he was, he was just gripping the iron railing to show him where the edge was… just that, and the wind buffering all around, confusing his senses.

As he moved carefully along, still gripping the iron railing, he was somehow just able to make out her figure lit up intermittently by a weak light from further along the bridge. He could actually feel the warmth of her body as his icy hands touched it, for she was sitting on the railing with her back turned towards him so that she seemed to be leaning back against the wind, supported by it. Without thinking Gustave seized her shawl and her arm before she could lean back any further and fall. Dragging her away from the railing, he shouted, “Are you alright?” But the noisiness of the wind swallowed his words and the woman didn’t seem to hear him. She shook her head in confusion. She seemed to be uncertain on her feet… tottering, unbalanced… and so Gustave placed his arm around her shoulders and guided her back towards the entrance tower.

MORE FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN IN OCTOBER

URBAN

SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

SWINDON

When Nic went to Wales with her Mum and Brigitte, Jack and I went down to Lower Shaw Farm in Swindon for the Summer Activities Week. It was a special week and we met some old friends and made some new ones.

PUB POETRY

Everybody tells me that I need to get out more often, so we Nic and Kim, my sister went to a new open mic night in a pub in Manchester. But guess what? It was an upstairs event in a little room above the bar. I really should have checked if it was Ziggy friendly before we went. Such is life, I guess.

HAIKU CHALLENGE

On the blogging front, I’m taking part in this September’s Haiku Challenge where you simply have to write a Haiku style poem each day and post it on your blog. They give you a one word prompt for each of the thirty days. I do daft things like:

WINDMILL

Round and round she sails

Fighting with Don Quixote

At the Moulin Rouge

03092011

KISS

Kiss me quick

Illuminations

Blackpool Rock

06092011

SweetTalkingGuy

If you really want to read any more of my silly Haikuesque nonsense then you’ll be very welcome over at my blog, but please leave a comment so that I know you’ve been.

August 2011 Issue 131

2011-08-03T23:58:00.003+01:00

Nicola's Editorial
JULY
Now the holiday season is well and truly upon us, I must be thinking of warm places, for I had a dream last night about Spain, or rather the Spanish literary project I’ve been telling you about. In this dream the woman who originally had the idea for the project (predictably, her name is Maria) looked like Frida Kahlo, the surreal artist, very exotic looking, with lots of strange jewellery, a headdress and long skirts. She spoke to me in fluent English but with a beautiful accent. This might well be true, as I’ve spoken to her many times by email, but I’ll probably never know for certain how accurate my picture of Maria is. By the way, the latest news about the FA project’s novel is that it will probably be coming out on the internet, though I’m not sure about the details yet.
JACK’S EIGHTEENTH
So, our little boy is not so little any more, in fact he’s a fully fledged adult. We celebrated his birthday a few weeks ago with champagne and birthday cake of course, and the best thing was to actually have Jack there with us for a while, as he didn’t go out until later! A couple of weeks afterwards, we had another birthday celebration at my mum’s, this time a garden birthday party with all my sisters and brother. I’m still filled with pride every time I look at Jack…
WIND FARM
This month we’ve been out and about several places, just day trips in the warm weather. We went to Blackpool one day, which I usually don’t like at all but this occasion was just before the schools broke up so it was reasonably quiet. We spotted a cluster of windmills in the sea, and Brigitte told me they were a wind farm, used to generate electricity. This might not be terribly exciting to you readers, as wind farms have been around for some time – but it was the first time I’d ever heard about one actually in practice, rather than just an idea. So I was quite excited by this, to realise that methods of alternative energy are actually being put into practice at last.
THE FANTASTIC VOYAGE
At Jack’s party my Dad was telling me that he’d just bought the Isaac Asimov’s novel for both of us and he’s nearly finished reading it. I don’t think I’ve ever read the book – I just remember seeing the film which has stuck in my mind, so it must have been pretty impressive! I can’t remember exactly how the chaps manage to shrink themselves so that they can enter someone’s bloodstream, but it’s such a wonderful idea that it has remained in my mind for nearly 40 years.
THE BIRTHDAY BOYS
BUT Mr Asimov will have to wait, because at the moment we’re in the middle of Beryl Bainbridge’s novel about Scott’s journey to the South Pole, and both Ruth and I are greatly enjoying it. So far each chapter seems to be by a different member of Scott’s team. Taffy Evans and Doctor Wilson are the ones we’ve read… I wonder how Ms Bainbridge has worked out the timing, as the team are only at Trinidad, still on the ship. I think she must jump forward quite a bit to hurry them on through the Antarctic… I’m not quite sure. It’s interesting to read about Doctor Wilson’s particularly close friendship with “Birdy” Bowers, as these were the remaining two companions of Scott who all ultimately starved to death. Ruth told me that she thinks Birdy Bowers is so called because he looks like a bird, with a big nose!
HOT NEWS
As to my own writing, I’ve now completed Chapter One for The Light Fantastic. You can read it on my web-log. Please see RAW MATERIALS for more.. I’ve just heard that someone is interested in writing Chapter Two, but if anyone else is inspired, there will doubtless be more chapters to come.
RAW MATERIALS
Variety is the spice of life… and we’re back to Harriet’s confrontation with Georges in this extract. If you want to read more of Chapter One of The Light Fantastic, it’s on my web-log Anybody who feels inspired to write a chapter, please get in touch as soon as possible, especially if you’re a newcomer to writing, I want to encourage anyone to have a go at writing in whatever form they choose, whatever length they choose. I’m waiting to hear from you!

Back to The Space Between, which I was quite unable to stay away from for very long. To slip into Harriet’s shoes again was an easy task but also a painful one, which is perhaps inevitable. I’m having to tread very carefully here because I don’t want to give away too much of the ending and I want to keep readers interested in what’s going on so that they can understand the loss Harriet feels, I wanted to spend a long time building up the atmosphere of the Whitechapel silent night, for I felt this was an essential part of the loneliness Harriet would feel at this point. Harriet’s realisation of her loss is something I wanted the reader to be able to feel completely, in exactly the same way as Harriet did… and this meant that is was necessary to build up slowly to the climax, which is yet to come. The time of year in which all this takes place is very important – it all happens in the space between Christmas and new year, which is also Jack’s birthday. I hope readers will still remember back to the very beginning of The Spark , which opens with Harriet going into labour… and so The Space Between sort of comes full circle.

I found it particularly difficult to write Harriet’s head on meeting with Georges, because I felt things were so much different now. At the beginning of the 20^th century there wouldn’t have been much of a life for a poor woman alone, so the wrench Harriet feels when Georges leaves would be a completely negative feeling of loss rather than an anger as you’d expect today when women have much more freedom and confidence to their lives in their own hands and change the shape of them in whatever way they choose. So I wanted to get this feeling across powerfully, but not too powerfully if you see what I mean! Also, I don’t want the novel to actually end here… the story goes on a bit further, and so I’ve got to keep the reader interested and wanting to keep reading.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

The following is an extract from Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy.

There was no way of knowing how many hours she had spent lying on her mattress up there, perhaps it was too late already, perhaps he had gone. Twisting the door handle hastily, she stepped out onto the stairs, wrapping her shawl around her. Her bare feet made no noise as she moved silently towards the very dim light that was issuing from all around the edges of the kitchen door… a flickering light, perhaps just the fire light? She pushed the door very slowly and carefully, willing it not to creak. The silence was very important to her at that moment – to break it would be dangerous, very dangerous indeed. It was difficult to make out Georges’s figure for a while, for he was sitting so still with his head resting on the table in front of him, that he might easily have been asleep… in fact, he was asleep, Harriet realised. She moved towards the table with the same very slow, very silent treads, as though pulled along by an invisible thread… she was so close to him now, that she was able to reach out her fingers and touch the black hairs on his head and his face, the gentle bristles of his beard. She remembered the sensation so vividly that she almost felt the same pain running through her now like an electric current, all the way through her veins towards her heart. And what then? Her heart didn’t know how to react. She pulled her hand away from his face hastily as he began to stir, his eyes flickering slowly open. She took a step back as he raised his head, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Hello, Harriet,” he said, his soft accent touching the words and making them into a lullaby. It was as if all the time between them had buckled and become nothing. Her fingers played nervously with the edge of her shawl; she couldn’t look away from him for a second, should his image vanish. “How are you?”

For a moment Harriet was tempted to laugh, there seemed to be nothing else she could do that could possibly take the question seriously. But her smile was fleeting upon her face, like a ghost smile, disappearing easily as she remembered the reality of their long separation. She shook her head numbly.

“Why did you come back, Georges?”

With a huge sigh, Georges got to his feet and moved over to place the kettle over the smouldering fire.

“I had to… I had a few things to straighten out with Wilf… and with you, of course. I probably won’t be coming back here again, you see.”

“I know. Jack told me.” Her fingers twined the fringes of her shawl tightly around them, so tightly that she thought they might draw blood… and this would be nothing but a relief, to know that she was still alive, her heart still beating, keeping time. “I just don’t understand why, Georges, I just don’t understand!”

His back remained turned to her.

“I didn’t mean it to be like this, I didn’t plan it. Once I got back to America I realised that’s what I want, I’m sorry, Harriet… I’m sorry you had to hear it from Jack and not me, but –” he shrugged, turning to face her. “I couldn’t stand the thought of telling you myself. I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes carefully lowered so they wouldn’t give anything of herself away, she kept all of her emotions to herself, for he didn’t deserve to see a single shred leak out onto the surface.

“I see. So you just chose to keep me waiting all these years, expecting you to come back.”

“I didn’t choose to do so. There was nothing I could do.”

“Well, you could have told me!” She looked up suddenly. She could feel the anger rush out of her like arrows pointing in his direction. “You could have come back here years ago and told me! You could have written!”

“No, I just couldn’t do that. Harriet, I’m sorry.”

Georges picked up his cup from the table and very carefully made himself some coffee; every movement he made seemed to Harriet so slow and deliberate, as if his actions were already dictated and set out, as if he was an actor playing a part, acting out a script written years before. Still, she could almost feel the blood being drawn from her fingers to the surface… she felt herself falling, falling through space and time. She stared at Georges’s face, and she thought she had seen it all before, back in that room in Whitechapel with the baby Jack lying next to her in the cradle. All the years seemed to peel away from each other like wall paper, curling up and falling uselessly to the floor, smelling of damp and decay like mushrooms in the cellar. Finally Georges put down the kettle after pouring water into his own cup. His eyes seemed cold and hard to her.

“Would you like some tea?” he said with an almost audible crunch, a hard sound of two objects grating against each other. The arrows flew out from Harriet and she felt they must pierce into him somehow. She wanted him to feel the same pain as she herself felt.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said quietly, turning away from him. The sight of him seemed suddenly unbearable, she wanted no more. Looking down at her feet she realised that her toes were blue with cold, so she moved her feet quickly in order to get the circulation running. Moving once again with resolution, towards the door, an icy sensation of numbness overwhelmed her, it came as something of a relief at the time. She didn’t even look back at him, every step she took upstairs seemed measured and staged, tinged with ice. She dressed automatically, every movement quick, even without consciousness. She laced up her boots with no thought. Looking out of the window over the silence and stillness of Angel Ally, she felt the completeness of her desolation. Turning away quickly, she left the room and passed by Jack’s bedroom door, hesitating before continuing on down the stairs and out of the Freedom Press building.

MORE FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN NEXT MONTH

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

WONDERFUL WEATHER

We’ve had some wonderful weather recently and Nic and I have been enjoying it. We went to Dunham Park near Altrincham last Saturday and spent a couple of hours walking round the deer park and the gardens. I think my favourite bit was the water wheel on the old flour mill in the grounds. I’ve seen it running several times and I’m convinced that it could be used to generate electricity, at least enough to charge the batteries on the electric buggy that they use to run people between the car parks and the house. The bods that run it of course tell me that it’s the wrong kind of power to convert to electricity – although it was converted to a saw mill some time ago.

POWER

I’ve talked about this idea before, but perhaps it’s too simple. I’m sure that people who drive long distances in their cars must create as a by product a certain amount of electricity which could be stored in a battery and then used to power the lights in their house or other gadgets such as a computer. I also think that all the components to do this are readily available to buy, it’s simply a matter of sourcing them and assembling a product. If any budding entrepreneur is reading this - it’s yours to develop, just remember to send me my ten per cent of the profits. Thank you.

MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN SEPTEMBER

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July 2011 Issue 130

2011-07-06T00:20:00.005+01:00

Nicola's Editorial
HEAT
Ever since July began it’s been really hot weather… camping weather in fact. I was very jealous of both Ruth and Jack both camping which is a natural state to be in in such temperatures. It’s a real shame that the climate in this country isn’t a bit more predictable and trustworthy - you always take a real chance when you go camping. When we went a few weeks ago the weather wasn’t that good at all, and on several occasions we had to run for cover from cloudbursts! I wasn’t that impressed either with the campsite itself… although it was fine for Ziggy, it was a damn sight to smell free for my liking - I mean, it was meant to be on a farm!! Maybe they just kept the animals completely separate from the campsite… anyway, our camping experience wasn’t a total success. If only the hot weather could have been a bit sooner than July - but that was the British climate for you I suppose.
HOLDING A RAT
Actually, I did come into close contact with an animal down south, though it was not at the campsite at all but when we went down to Worthing, that infamous seaside resort. We went to visit some friends in Worthing who had a rather interesting pet which I held. Though I’ll admit at first I was extremely dubious about holding the rat, Vim - I’ve always believed rats to be very bitey and even vicious. But maybe this rat was well trained as it was really friendly and just sat up in my two hands and looked around curiously. It was a white rat, and I wonder if that had anything to do with it’s name - I’m sure my mum used Vim cleaning powder. My Worthing friends always seem to have interesting animals or fish… they used to have a tank full of sea creatures.
OVER THE WATER
Just before we went camping I managed to complete and post onto the internet my chapter for the FA literary project I was telling you about in the last issue. I only wanted to do a little bit of research into the 1930’s, which is the time in which my chapter had to be set. I was really pleased by the comments I received from the rest of the group which all praised my ideas, so I think obviously they must have worked! The novel continues to be written by other members of the group - there are 25 in all. There’s been a lot of discussion lately amongst them over the internet about the publication of the novel when it’s finished… as far as I can gather, the group can’t find a publisher - which doesn’t surprise me at all, knowing how reluctant publishers are to handle anything which isn’t immediately commercial. The group are considering putting the novel on the internet where everyone can see it, which is a great idea I think. Andy and I suggested that they start a blog in which all the writers involved in the project could write a piece about themselves and their individual chapters… this seems to be the best way to spread the word around generally about Friedreich’s Ataxia and also about the writers themselves.
INSPIRATION
This literary project has inspired me to start my own in RAW MEAT, which you can read more about in RAW MATERIALS. I hope many of you will be interested in trying your hand at a spot of creative writing, particularly if it’s something you’ve never tried before. There seem to be a lot of these writing projects around at the moment, such is the beauty of the internet, making such ventures quite possible. It’ll be interesting to see exactly what shape the RAW MEAT story turns out to have…
MAGICIAN??
Last week Andy was going on about an amazing story about a chap who claimed to be a magician who could walk across the water. He was watching it on a film on the internet. Pretty freaky – until we read a piece by a rival woman magician about how the trick is done, and the chap was just walking across Perspex tables just below the surface of the water. Still, I was impressed by the amount of organisation as this must have taken several secret divers to get the tables in place and making sure all the table legs were telescoped out so that they reached all the way down to the river bed. I’m not sure exactly how deep the Thames is, but the table legs must be really long!!
OSCHOLARS
We discovered that this bunch of Wilde followers were actually connected with the Oscar Wilde Society, not working against each other as I imagined. We also found a bit on their website where people can buy or sell their own Oscar Wilde stuff… which is pretty interesting to me, as it’s somewhere I could sell my novels. They sell antique books from the 1930s, copies of Wilde’s fairy tales etc, which sound really beautiful… I didn’t look at the price though.
OPHELIA
My friend was telling me this week that he’s dug out an old video of Hamlet with Mel Gibson – which I remember having seen when they came out about 1990. my friend was very impressed with the film and particularly liked the way Ophelia was played, saying it reminded him of the pre-Raphaelite painting of her by Arthur Hughes, which is an especial favourite of mine also. Later that day we attempted to go to the park but we were almost caught in a freak hail storm, so we hastily decided to rethink. I was delighted to discover there was an exhibition of pre-Raphaelites and the very first picture we saw was of course, Arthur Hughes’ Ophelia, what a bizarre coincidence! It’s an excellent exhibition that I’d recommend to anyone, it’s at the Manchester City Art Gallery, and it’s free as well! It was amazing, almost like seeing the pictures again. Some of them I didn’t recognise by the title, but they sounded so familiar when Brigitte described them.
EIGHTEENTH
I can’t believe it’s going to be Jacks 18^th next week - now that makes me feel seriously old. I don’t think he’s planning any wild parties… well not to our knowledge any way. He’s broken up from college now and he’s spending the time as teenagers usually do - either in his room or out with friends. I think my mum’s going to hold a birthday celebration in her garden which sounds great providing it’s not raining! That’s the good thing about having a birthday in the summer time, as lots of people seem to do, the summer is a really popular time for being born. Although I’m not sure what the reason for this is… what do you think? Please don’t comment.
RAW MATERIALS
There’s been a slight division of opinion as to the way this RAW MEAT literary project should be constructed… my original idea was for the story to develop naturally, chapter by chapter, each chapter growing out of the preceding one, but my two literary colleagues think this would be too lengthy a process and people would lose interest in the project if they had to wait months before writing a chapter. They’ve probably got a point – anyway, they suggest everyone interested in writing a chapter straight away should do so and send it to me without worrying about it developing from the preceding chapter, so the idea would be to create a piece of creative writing that’s made up of many different points of view, though in the end all the pieces would be connected by the piece that I’m currently working on. You can read just the first page here, the rest will be following on in RAW MEAT in the next few weeks. I’ve mentioned very briefly several things about the character’s life story, which you may choose to develop; for instance, one of the reasons the character has come to the Alps in the first place… you might choose to invent your own chapter about this and send it to me when you’re done. Don’t worry about the length, that’s not a major concern, I just want to capture people’s enthusiasm, particularly those who are new to writing. So you don’t have to be experienced at all, just ready to write!
WORK-IN-PROGRESS
As this literary project is very much a work-in-progress, I’ve not even finished the first chapter, so there’s no desperate hurry for people to be sending me more chapters immediately, but at the same time I don’t want to lose anyone’s interest in the project; so please feel free to send me anything you’ve written as soon as you like. If you’re inspired by anything about this first bit of the chapter, then you should feel free to go ahead with your own chapter. Don’t worry about keeping it in the first person, as you may choose to write from a different point of view to mine. If however you feel inspired to write about what happens next to Gary, that’s fine… please go ahead and do what you feel is right. Keep watching my blog for further chapters, which we’ll add on as we receive them. The story created from all these different fragments should make an interesting read, so please join in with your contribution… lets see what happens!
THE SPACE BETWEEN
By the way, though I’ve not included anything from THE SPACE BETWEEN this month, it’s still very much in my mind… more to follow soon. I’ve just been somewhat distracted by this first chapter… which, I believe, is going to be followed by Andy’s own chapter. So you will be able to see for yourself how exactly the chapters fit in with each other…

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

CHAPTER 1

From here, several mountain tops are visible, and the way the early morning light catches the snow and ice on them seems to shift them into another dimension entirely. Though these mountains are real and solid rock, which I cannot argue with, I don’t feel confident enough to consider climbing them, even though I think I’d like to. Everything about the mountains seems slightly remote and untouchable at this hour. It’s right that I should be here at this time, in this country, I don’t have any doubt of that. The weak rays of the sun glance off the snow all around me, which makes the whole place seem fantastic, like another world completely, even though I know it’s not.

Turning away reluctantly, I begin to clamber down the side of the steep mountain. There are still patches of snow round about, and also areas which are covered in dense forest, where the trees seem to grow so densely that it makes me doubt that it would be possible for me to enter. So I passed by the forest and made my way on towards the cave in which I slept last night, for I’m beginning to feel a bit hungry now and am thinking about the piece of food I brought up here with me.

Although I’m wearing that horrible thick green sweater my mother knitted for me several years ago, for the first time I can feel the cold fingers groping their way through the wool to touch my skin and bones, even eating their way through to the marrow. Even though this sensation of ice is absolutely right for this place, it still comes as a surprise to me… I’m obviously not used to being up here in the alps, I’m just a city boy, after all. That’s what I’ve become now, after all these years – though I feel as if I’ve come back here, as if I was born to be in the mountains. Well, maybe I have.

I feel like I’m coming home when I reach my cave. Straight away I begin to make a fire to warm the place up a bit, though that’s not really possible to do. So I concentrate on my task, every muscle obeys me mechanically, without thought, for too much thought hurts me at the moment. I’m trying hard not to think, not to remember. I had to escape, I had to come here to the mountains, to be alone, I had to do that.

Hearing a sound from deep within the cave, I pause before entering it to feel for my flash light within my pocket, for it’s so dark in there, I feel quite nervous, I admit. When I find my flashlight and turn it on, it doesn’t work, so I throw it away angrily. It’s little things like this which cause my irrational feelings of violence, intense anger – absolutely unfounded, I know, and yet, what can I do but give way to these feelings and allow them to overtake me? I think about what’s just happened to me back in the city and I want to cry out to release some of the emotion that’s been suppressed for so long, so many years. I can feel my chest rising and falling rapidly and I try to steady myself before entering the cave any further. I don’t want to meet any intruder in this frame of mind – for who knows what it will lead to? So I wait, taking deep breaths and watching my fallen flashlight, lying miserably by the side of the cave.

You can read The Light Fantastic as it unfolds on my weblog Without Boundaries..

URBAN SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

NIC’S NOVEL Nic has started The Light Fantastic and she is very exited about how it’s all going to work out. The truth is we don’t know how it will work but we want to do it.

June 2011 Issue 129

2011-06-06T23:52:00.006+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

SUMMER?

Yesterday it turned really hot and sunny… confusing my eternal questions as to when summer actually begins and spring ends. Andy might insist that it doesn’t begin until June 21^st, but to me the whole of June is summer and this sort of camping weather supports my belief. Now I’m beginning to look forward to doing some camping in a few weeks in Kent. I’ve been somewhat less than enthusiastic about it before, though it’s actually been quite fortunate that the weather hasn’t been too good for the past few weeks, as I’ve been very busy on the computer, with various writing projects. But now summer’s well and truly begun, it’s time for a bit of a change, I think!

INTERNET CONNECTIONS

Without doubt, the best thing about the internet is being about to get in touch with people all over the world so easily and quickly. This recently came home to me when I heard from a very old friend who I haven’t seen for nearly 30 years. also I found out about a writing project based in Spain, but more about that later. Another thing I found out about on the internet, is an alternative online journal to the Oscar Wilde Society’s Wildian, called Oscholars (great title, don’t you think?) As the internet becomes more and more full of information, it seems to be completely taking over from encyclopaedias, magazines, letters, journals… even the telephone. I wonder if soon, postmen will go out of business completely?

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

Another thing about the internet that’s recently come to my attention is that complete novels can be made readily available to read for any one who’s interested. This seems particularly attractive to me in relation to my anarchist views… where as I used to believe that quality writing should be paid for, now I think that quality writing should be available to as many people as possible without any money involved. So Andy and I are contemplating the idea of publishing a complete novel of my own on the internet… Andy says “Start with something small,” which is probably quite wise. As there seem to be quite a few books around a the moment on the subject of vampires, I thought I’d strike while the iron’s hot and dig out an early novel I wrote about Vampires, which is a fairly light-hearted yet tragic tale. This project won’t materialise imminently, I have to find someone who’s willing to type it up for me! But I’ll keep you informed…

BILL MASON BAND REUNION

The very old friend I mentioned above, now lives in America which is a bit different from the streets of Stockport, which is where I remember him living. Bill Mason was telling me that there was going to be a reunion of his band in the Autumn, which seemed to me to be one of those amazing coincidences that always freaked me out!! I used to be a great fan of the Bill Mason Band when I was going through my evangelist phase, the BMB were pretty well known, particularly amongst young Christians. They were a really good band actually, playing a sort of punk influenced Christian rock, if you can imagine that! The gig’s going to be at the Wythenshawe Forum on October 21^st… I’ll definitely be there. I’ll remind you again nearer the time.

FA LITERARY PROJECT

My interest was immediately aroused when I heard about a novel being written by a bunch of people, mainly Spanish, but the project is spread all over the world. Particularly interesting to me was the fact that each chapter of the novel was to be written by a different author, each one with Friedreich’s Ataxia. Of course I was dead keen to support such a venture – it just goes to show how full of imagination FA people are. The idea of writing an entire novel by a number of totally different people is an extremely ambitious undertaking, I thought, but none the less deserved my support… so I immediately became a member of the group. I’ve read a few chapters so far, only a few of them have been translated into English. Most of the novel is still in Spanish and as there are so many languages involved in the writing of it, it’s difficult to get an idea of the general gist of the plot as it moves on through time. Basically the plot involves many different generations of a family, starting in 1840 in Germany and ending in 21^st century America. As FA is a genetic disease, the naughty gene is carried down through the family and alongside this there’s a bit of a murder mystery thrown in. if you want to read the novel yourself, I believe it’s coming out in September. All proceeds from the sale of the book are going towards FA research, which is cool. I hope you’ll support this venture, which is a very positive way of FA people using their imagination to help themselves!

OVER THE WATER

I was asked to write Chapter 5, which I immediately agreed to do because it meant I didn’t need to read much beforehand. At first I was very daunted by the subject matter… for the transition of the characters between Germany and America was not something I found immediately inspiring! However, I did a bit of research into jazz music in Nazi Germany and Einstein, and came up with quite a few ideas. I wanted my character to be a lot more substantial and living than in the other chapters I’d read so far. So I think that my chapter might stand out a bit, but I hope it will still fit in alright with the rest, which is all going to be a bit disjointed, inevitably.

MY OWN LITERARY PROJECT

Although I may have criticisms about the FA project, I do have a great admiration for Maria, whose idea it was in the first place. She’s inspired me to start a literary project of my own along the same lines, of a complete novel written by different people, but without having anything to do with FA. I thought I’d start off by writing the first chapter and then… whoever wanted to could take it on from there. Andy says that there are plenty of similar things around already, but I want mine to be different in that each writer would need to write an entire chapter instead of just a few lines. I like to think that some people would have the time and inclination to participate in such a venture. May I have some feedback on this from you, please? There must be a few of you who are willing to be involved in a communal RAW MEAT novel… what do you think?

INKHEART OVER

Having reached the end of the first book in the Inkheart trilogy, I’m glad to see that my favourite character, Dustfinger, is still around. Ms Flunke has left plenty of scope to continue within the same vein, more fictional characters interacting with real ones in the real world so far, though her next move may be to shift the story into the fictional world of another book, so it’d be like a story within a story, if you see what I mean! I’ve decided to have a little break before starting reading Inkspell, the next part of the trilogy, and get on with a few books that I’ve had but not read, for one reason or another. One of these is Grimm’s Fairy Tales… I can’t understand why I’ve never read it as I love the more macabre tales, rather than the Hans Christian Anderson Tales, which I found a little too squeaky clean for my liking. To me Fairy Tales should always be associated with the sinister, impossible and strange… I can see why Angel Carter was so obsessed with them, her book The Bloody Chamber being one of my favourites.

NOAH’S PYRAMID

I’ve always thought that the bible is full of wonderful stories… I’ve got absolutely no desire to get any Christian readers’ backs up by saying that. But the story of Noah’s ark was one which Andy and I were recently talking about; he’d just been reading some factual information on the internet about it. Apparently it’s been found that the exact dimensions of the ark given by Moses matched the dimensions of the pyramids exactly, thus it seems the ark may have been pyramid shaped, but this doesn’t seem to me to be surprising at all – especially not if Moses was around a the same time as the ancient Egyptians. Anyway, whatever the shape of the ark, Noah would still have been hard pushed to cram into the pyramid two of every species of living creature. So Noah’s ark remains a classic work of fiction, no matter what the scientists may say.

SCOTT’S HUT

There seem to have been quite a few recent discoveries made by New Zealand Heritage Trust in the Antarctic – actually in Ross island, which is where Scott’s ship landed in 1910, a few years before his South Pole expedition. Scott’s hut has been discovered there amidst the beautiful scenery of the island… I would love to go there, even if it is pretty cold – minus twenty, I believe. There were many objects found inside the hut, which have all been preserved. In fact New Zealand have put loads of money into making a proper conservation area around the hut. When we read Scott’s journal, it became obvious to us that Scott was quite a worrier, and this is also evidenced by the discovery that’s been made of several boxes of food on a nearby hillside. Apparently Scott was afraid that the hut would catch fire when he left… which seems hardly likely, in a snow-covered place.

RAW MATERIALS

I’ve got several projects on the go at the same time which is kind of a bit confusing… but luckily not too much so, it only takes a little time and reading to get back into exactly where we’re up to. I can’t ever completely leave Harriet, incomplete as she is now, while I’m aware of what’s going to happen. The thing is, it’s all been pretty much written already in my head for the past few weeks, so now it’s just a matter of sitting down in front of the computer and writing the damn thing. Not that I mind doing so at all – far from it, I really want to get it down before I can turn my mind on to anything else properly. One of the main reasons for my distraction is the FA literary project which I’ve already explained about more fully in the editorial. In fact, I did think about including a piece of the chapter I’m writing for it in RAW MATERIALS, but in the end I decided to stick with my own novel, both because I’ve been racing through Harriet’s final confrontation with Georges, as this bit of The Space Between is pretty gripping, I think, so that I’m pretty much obsessed by it. hence I broke off writing it with great reluctance while I turned my attention to chapter 5 of the novel by the FA Spanish bunch.

Not that I mind doing so, not at all. It’s a really exciting idea, this novel, which is an entirely communal project, with each chapter by a different author, written in different languages. Straightaway I knew I wanted to be involved in such a project. I felt happy that it was well within my capabilities, as a novelist with some experience. I was a little daunted by the fact that it would have to be translated into various other languages. I felt quite limited because of this because I’m used to using English expression and other flights of fancy absolutely freely in my usual imaginative writing, sentences that wouldn’t make any sense in another language. Perhaps I’m just too used to writing for English readers, but I felt a bit limited by this. I’ve now been assured that the project has professional translators involved, so there shouldn’t be any reason for me to worry. Well, they said just go for it and write the chapter… so that’s what I’m doing. I’m not going to include any of it here, if you’re interested you’ll have to get the novel when it comes out.

So, the extract here takes place at the Freedom Press in Angel Ally. Harriet has just heard Georges come into the house and so she hurries upstairs with Jack – as she has neither seen nor heard from Georges for several years, she doesn’t want to speak to him again, but at the same time, she does, of course. So it’s a dilemma. I wanted to spend as much time with Harriet, as I feel she deserves it. also in this extract, Jack’s Dad is mentioned, and this could possibly lead on into the next novel… I haven’t quite decided yet. I hope you’ll notice also that this extract is set during the space between Christmas and new year, which makes it a particularly significant period of time for the final scenes.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

- THE STORY SO FAR…

It’s now the end of 1906; Harriet is still living at the Freedom Press in Whitechapel with her son, Jack, and the following extract takes place there. Georges has one of the two remaining copies of Wilde’s manuscript, which he has taken overseas to America before returning to London for a final visit. The other copy is with Kathleen Bruce, who has just met Captain Scott for the first time. NOW READ ON...

CHAPTER 6 - 1906

“He says he’s come to collect some of his things,” Harriet said numbly, looking at her hand and seeing it was empty, no candle stub after all. Was this a sign of her own madness. She frowned, shaking her head quickly, denying the fact. I don’t know… I really don’t know why he’s come back, Jack. I just don’t want to see him.”

“That’s alright, don’t worry. Like I said, I don’t want to see him either… so we’ll just stay over here for a while.” Turning back to the window, Jack took several slow strides across the room and touched the panes of glass which were covered in frost. The sensation of cold on his fingertips seemed to bring back some memories which caused him to smile. “You know, I was just thinking… it must be my birthday soon. A few days time, isn’t it?”

Harriet nodded quickly, glad of the distraction from herself.

“Yes, I suppose it must be. Another year gone by - can you really be seventeen now?”

Jack nodded very slightly, then turned to face Harriet directly. Their eyes met for the first time that evening… drawing in his breath, Jack spoke in a carefully controlled voice.

“I was thinking about changing my job… as I told you before, I don’t want to be a sailor or anything like that any more. It’s not just because of Georges, but it’s also because I want to go back to Pa, back to drawing and painting. I don’t know why I ever thought about stopping…this is not something I can just forget about anyway, it’s always there - I can’t leave it just like that. I want to go back, maybe I can meet up with Pa again. I know he works in a theatre, so maybe… do you have any idea where the theatre is?”

She stared at him speechlessly for a while; was this really Jack, her boy? Finally she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I really can’t help you… I’ve got no idea. And…” She could feel the frown creeping gradually over her brow. "I’m not sure if your Pa would want to see you again… not after all this time. He might not want to remember the old days -" with me, it had been on the tip of her tongue to add but she broke off, simply allowing her words to sink into the boys consciousness.

“But… why should he not see me? I don’t understand… I never did understand why he left. Why did he, Ma?”

“Oh…” Harriet sighed shrugging helplessly “Jack… I don’t know, he just wanted to go back to his old life.”

Jack was silent for several long moments. When he spoke again, it was in a matter of fact tone, as if he had abandoned all emotion by the wayside.

“Well, alright… but why shouldn’t he want to see me again? I don’t think that’s right… I think I’ll try to see him once again, thought I don’t know quite how. There must be some way…” he paused drumming his fingernails on the windowsill thoughtfully. “I wonder if Freddy could be of any help? Though I’m not sure where they are now, him and Mr. Ross.”

Harriet could see this sharp edge of pain in his eyes, even though he looked away quickly trying to conceal it. “I suppose he’s still with Ross… though I don’t like to think about that. But I suppose I could go back there… maybe. What do you think?”

She stared at him helplessly, shaking her head very slowly as if it were a disembodied thing.

“I don’t know Jack… I don’t know what to say or think. I don’t feel I could go back… I don’t want to go back to anything. I don’t want to move through time at all… I’m so frightened.”

She was staring without seeing anything, there was nothing any more. She felt Jack move slowly towards her, holding out his hand as if he wanted to take hers, but he didn’t. He simply patted her arm briefly and tried to smile reassuringly.
YOU CAN READ ANOTHER EXTRACT FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN IN JULY
URBAN
SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit...
Acrostic Anagram,
FlameThrower! Poetry

EGOCENTRICITY
Hot as a summers day night, already
Already wishing that spring would come now
Nowhere to be seen in the extreme cold
Cold like she put ice to make his drink hot.

Ganging up on me, beating me like eggs
Egocentricity and his own gang
Landing is only possible on ice
Iceland and further north wish it was May

Coasters not giving them much attention.
Attention is paid to many wrong things
Thingy told me about the frozen ice...
Ice creams on the beach sitting by the coast

Cold as December in a frozen land
May on the other hand is just as cold.
01062011/1

EGOCENTRICITY (REVEALED)

Cold as December in a frozen land

Landing is only possible on ice

Iceland and further north wish it was May

May on the other hand is just as cold.

Attention is paid to many wrong things

Thingy told me about the frozen ice...

Ice creams on the beach sitting by the coast

Coasters not giving them much attention.

Cold like she put ice to make his drink hot

Hot as a summers day night, already

Already wishing that spring would come now

Nowhere to be seen in the extreme cold.

Ganging up on me, beating me like eggs

Egocentricity and his own gang.

01062011/1a

May 2011 Issue 128

2011-05-07T15:56:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

BLOSSOMING

This spring has been an unbelievable one so far with every day being sunny (at least partly) and generally spring-like for the past month, making it impossible for me to complain about the normal Manchester greyness as I usually do. Perhaps this years seasons are going to stick to what they are usually meant to be like but never are. Although it still could be a bit warmer to be truly pleasant outside, at least it’s not raining which makes a nice change in these parts. It’s still a really nice feeling to be able to walk around in the park and be aware that everything’s growing around you, and to be able to smell the flowers and blossom. Especially the white blossom, because I’ve never noticed before what a distinct smell it has. Which blows the theory about white flowers which normally have a fairly subtle smell… but the white blossom stands alone.

LATE EASTER

My sense of time has been thrown a little out of joint recently by the incredibly late Easter weekend… which means that Jack’s only just gone back to collage today. So what will happen to the Whit break? Will that still come at the end of May… who decides these things anyway? Who has the power to control the calendar? Can it really all be decided by the church still… surely not. Do they really hold a big meeting at the beginning of every year involving all the head bishops in the country… the meeting is called, perhaps, The Agenda for 2011. I wonder…

EASTER WEEKEND

On Good Friday we drove down to Lower Shaw Farm in Wiltshire, where we had arranged to meet Sheila and her kids. Although Lower Shaw Farm is not actually a total farm any more, the farm buildings have been converted into more general community buildings with dormitories etc., the farm does still produce most of it’s own food. There’s also chickens and ducks… I actually held one of these ducklings, which was quite fresh - only about one day old. I was surprised that it didn’t really feel feathery so I imagine the feathers were quite smooth. It was kept in a completely dark room, probably because the light would damage it’s eyes. The food was great… all home grown vegetables and home made crunchy bread - all cooked in the big kitchen which served all the people who were staying there for the Easter weekend. I’m not sure exactly how many people were there, but judging by the general business of the place I’d say there were at least fifty. The farm seemed to me to be run along general anarchist principles in that there was no rigid schedule, but there was a very loose structure, more like a guide line you could follow if you wanted. My favourite day was Easter Sunday although this wasn’t anything to do with it being Easter… we went to the nearby village of Avebury to see the ancient stone circle and stone buildings. These buildings were actually inside the circle, though at the time I didn’t realise this… I thought they were just nearby somewhere. Although this ancient village dated back some 4000 years I was amazed to find the church had a steeple… and yet this was way before Christianity or God. (Actually Brigitte’s just told me that the village was built some time later than the stone circle, so that makes sense). Quite useful having Brigitte to fill me in on the missing gaps as she also visited Avebury at another time. Possibly the stone circle was used to tell the time by the sun… or perhaps we will never know for certain. Anyway, it was fascinating to be so close to such ancient things… I could feel those thousands of years passing as I touched the stones of the circle. Very exciting.

IN THE DARK

As has been happening for the past few years, I felt very confused much of the Easter weekend, simply because I was somewhere where I’d never been before and so was quite literally in the dark. It was also very difficult to hear what people were saying which was pretty frustrating. I don’t want to stop going to crazy places or doing wild things… it just takes quite a bit of adjusting to, if you see what I mean!

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Which brings me up to something I’ve been avoiding writing for ages - even though I have written The Ziggy Collection, which on it’s own is pretty directly autobiographical. But I haven’t written anything about the past ten years, which have been an extremely traumatic time for me… but also a very exciting time in the way of my ideas about fiction being involved in my life. Therefore, I wonder if I could write about the loss of my sight and combine it with fiction, perhaps the final part of The Space Between?? I’m not sure if this would work at all. Even if it doesn’t, I may just write about the last ten years - so that it would follow on directly from the final story in The Ziggy Collection.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

We took several copies of my fairytale, Catching the Light with us down to Lower Shaw Farm, and got quite a bit of interest and even positive feedback there! This short fairytale based on Oscar Wilde’s life is now available from us, so please don’t hesitate to order a copy from Rawprintz. I’m still waiting to hear from the Oscar Wilde Society, as I’m hoping they’ll show some interest… maybe even allowing me to write an article about the story.

NO ELEPHANTS

Last week I found out I didn’t get lucky with the Jerry Farr application… which means there will be no touching Elephants or Cheetah’s. Naturally I’m really pissed off about this, as I was really looking forward to this Touching Safari in South Africa… though I suppose it was pretty inevitable in a way. The letter from the Jerry Farr organisation said that the standard of applications was very high which made it difficult to choose. Andy’s just told me that the organisers only received eight applications from all over the country, which I find absolutely incredible. I would have thought most Ataxia people would have applied again this year, especially because the project limit has gone up. I can’t see any reason why everyone shouldn’t apply for such a great idea as the Jerry Farr Memorial Fund… can you?

ROYALTY

After I’d overcome my initial confusion over Prince William getting married, when I thought he was still a little boy, I was thinking about the royal family generally. I’m not a big follower of them but I am looking forward to the day when the next king, Charles comes to the throne. Although I’ll admit readily that I think the monarchy is a pretty useless showpiece of the English establishment, I do think that having King Charles will be amazing… simply because it’ll take us back maybe to the seventeenth century. Perhaps knee breeches, white stockings, and buckled shoes will come back into fashion… not to mention wigs for both men and women. I suppose this has already been the case to a degree with the New Romantics in the early eighties, but it will have more impact with King Charles on the throne.

BANK HOLIDAY

I had a real fun time on the bank holiday for a change, nothing to do with the royal wedding. Or I suppose it was really, because we went to a street party, which was the first time for me – even though I’ve lived in the city most of my life. As well as being a beautiful sunny day, there was a general atmosphere all around, with flags and bunting everywhere along the street and kids running around with animal faces painted on. There was plenty of music as well… and this became absolutely deafening when we arrived home and discovered they had a sound system across the road which caused everything in the house to vibrate. It was quite ridiculous – so we escaped pretty rapidly to another crazy party in another part of town. Here the music was also pretty deafening… which made it even more confusing for me. But I didn’t really mind, it was great to sort of see all my old writing friends again – this was a writer’s party after all. It was held to celebrate our friend Gary’s engagement. When we finally arrived home way after midnight the deafening music across the street was still in full flow… and continued for another few hours – I don’t think anyone got much sleep that night, but it was a great bank holiday.

RAW MATERIALS

I couldn’t make up my mind whether or not to include this piece about Scott or whether to just leave it to the imagination after having talked about it for so long. Though including a different piece may have turned out to be plain annoying. Anyway, here it is… I don’t think I said much about Scott himself anyway, as this is just a piece of my own fiction. The actual first meeting between Kathleen and Scott doesn’t take place until the following year, but I wanted them to meet earlier to fill in a space in The Space Between… and of course, fiction is more important than fact.

While feeling uneasy about not describing Scott more fully than I do, even though I am telling this meeting from Kathleen’s point of view, and I don’t think she would have been particularly impressed at that time, the thing is I can’t actually remember ever having seen a photo of Scott except where he was swathed in balaclavas, so I’ve got no memory to go on, the only image in my head of Scott is of John Mills playing him, and I’m not sure how closely he resembled the captain! I decided finally to include this piece because it didn’t really say much, as I think that such meetings take on such historic significance afterwards while at the time they almost pass by without even being noticed. But I do want to get across some of Scott’s vision and obsession with the Antarctic as I think these things would have struck Kathleen particularly… just that feeling of excitement. Also, I thought this would lead on nicely into the next book, as we’re nearing the end of The Space Between now, though I’ve not yet worked out the exact way I’m going to end the book, though I have some ideas which I hope will work out once I begin to write them down.

I was really surprised when I found out that in fact Kathleen and Scott had only just met when Scott went on his final South Pole expedition, so that I suppose they couldn’t really have known each other so well. Perhaps this is a fault of my imagination, but I’ve always imagined there to exist a particular closeness between them, and maybe this was not the case? I wanted to get this across particularly, and I hope that I’ve succeeded. Scott was undoubtedly obsessed with the Antarctic, and it was absolutely suitable that he should have met his end there. I’ve found out recently that Scott’s body is actually buried there, along with the bodies of his two comrades in the tent. I was really glad to hear this… it just seemed unimaginable that they should be buried anywhere else but deep in the snow.

I really wanted to touch Kathleen’s statue of Scott to get some idea of what the captain looked like, but I was dismayed when I discovered her statues of Scott and his team were in New Zealand!! The only reason I can think of for this is that Kathleen made then there, as this is where she and her husband said goodbye for the last time. Anyway, Scott’s statue fell over recently when there was an earth quake in Christchurch, and both of Scott’s legs were broken… this catastrophe reminded me of when Scott’s body was actually discovered and dug up by other members of his team. Though Scott’s legs remained in tact this time, his arm actually snapped off, presumably they just placed the limb beside him tactfully and left all three bodies beneath the frozen snow and ice. My mum told me an interesting geological fact about the bodies gradually moving because of the ice-sheet above them… which means that in the next century they’ll be beneath the sea. But this doesn’t really matter anyway, because the point is that they’re buried in the Antarctic.

The Space Between

THE STORY SO FAR…

It is the autumn of 1906 and Wilde has been dead for six years, leaving only one copy of his manuscript which has been taken over seas to America by Georges. Meanwhile another copy has been printed by Charles Ricketts and given by Charles Shannon to Kathleen Bruce, who is a sculptress and is promised to Shannon. But here she visits the house of a friend in Highgate, where she meets a man who will greatly influence her future.

Now read on…

CHAPTER 6 - 1906

Kathleen was surprised.

“Are you really a Captain? How very impressive.”

Robert laughed softly.

“It took me several years to become accustomed to giving orders, but by now I’m becoming quite used to it.” Robert adjusted his navy blazer self consciously, brushing fluff from his lapel with a slightly impatient movement. “The men need some focus to their energy… someone to urge them forwards towards their goal… wherever that maybe.”

“But surely, Robert,” put in Henry, in his loud, commanding voice, “the point of your Antarctic expeditions is to explore unknown territory, and therefore making new scientific discoveries should be the most important thing. Isn’t that the focus to keep the men’s minds fixed on?”

“Well, yes. Certainly science has its place in my Antarctic expeditions,” said Robert, “but I would never say that science alone drives me forward… it’s something much more than that, about the frozen landscape of the Antarctic, those glaciers and white snowdrifts… so completely unmarked and new, awaiting a footprint. And we have to go forward, to go onwards into those unexplored territories… we have to make them our own.” He fell silent, giving a healthy shrug of his broad shoulders. “And that is the nature of my obsession with the Antarctic.”

Nobody spoke for several moments; outside, the wind blew raindrops which splattered against the window pane.

“I… I would very much like to see the Antarctic, I’m sure… though I don’t think I will ever be able to…” Kathleen said hesitantly, her voice sounding quite unnatural to her. She felt suddenly as if she was alone in the room with Captain Scott, as if all the other people had disappeared. “Your words about it fill me with an excitement, also.”

“Indeed, Kathleen… I’m sure you would be greatly impressed by such wonders. I myself intend to return within the next few years, for there are many more discoveries to be made in such a place.” Robert’s words sounded like they had travelled from much further than the Antarctic; to Kathleen’s ears, they seemed to have taken on a quality that was strange and unreal. She realised suddenly that her eyes were fixed directly on Robert and she dropped them quickly as Sarah took her arm; there was certainly something about the excitement and intensity of Robert’s Antarctic visions that she was absolutely unable to resist. Although she could feel Sarah pulling at her sleeve, it was several moments before she turned her mind and face to her friend.

“Kathleen,” Sarah gave an impatient tut, glancing apologetically at Jane. “Sorry to distract you from such important scientific matters, but we did come here to see Jane’s ceramics… which are in her studio. Would you like to come?”

Giving a little laugh of embarrassment, Kathleen began to move away towards the other door leading back into the house. Of course… please lead the way,” she said. As she turned she stopped and glanced back at Robert, whose eyes still followed her. She reached out tentatively towards him, and their hands met briefly, but the contact between them was lingering and promised much more.

“I hope to meet you again, Kathleen,” he said quietly, his words almost inaudible above the general chatter of his friends, who seem to have found their voices. “I don’t know when I shall be visiting London again but I hope to see you when I do.”

Kathleen smiled, her mind still filled with his vision of the Antarctic. It was as real to her as it was to him.

“I’d like to see you again very much, Robert,” she said, as she withdrew her hand slowly and left the room.

Another extract from The Space Between will appear in June.

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

TRAVEL AWARD

I was sorry to hear that Nic failed to win the Jerry Farr travel award again this year. After missing out last year and the year before with her proposal to go to Tahiti, (which is something she still wants to do) she simplified her application this year proposing an African Touching Safari, for blind people. When we found out that there were only eight applicants and that the standard of the proposals was very high, I said maybe they should have given the prize to the worst entry as they obviously need the break, whereas somebody who is able to put together a winning entry is probably able to find the funding from elsewhere. Anyway… Congratulations to the winner, I sincerely hope they have a fantastic holiday.

ABOUT GEORGE

Finally, I want to tell you about, George DeRoe who sadly died recently. He lived in a shepherds hut in a remote part of Wales and he was a friend of a friend of ours called, Olive who is a long time subscriber to this Newsletter. I wrote a poem about him that you can read here on my Proper Joe’s bloggage.

April 2011 Issue 127

2011-04-03T16:22:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

SPRING FORWARD

As usually happens around this time of year, we seem to have taken a dramatic leap in to spring… the change has not been gradual at all. Suddenly it’s mild enough outside to actually go for a pleasant stroll around the park without risking frostbite or some such thing. Indeed the blossom on the trees, which has such a beautiful smell, is out, so that the whole park seems to be filled with this complete spring white blossom scent. With the time change as well, it’s so much lighter, it makes me think of the coming summer, which I’m really looking forward to. If only Manchester could get caught in some sort of climate shift so that it would become surrounded by rainforest and always warm, of course… though I don’t think this is very likely.

STILL CATCHING THE LIGHT

Andy’s old printing computer has been busy these last few weeks, not to mention Andy and Stan, printing out more copies of my fairytale. If you haven’t ordered your own copy, you may do so by emailing me. I’d also welcome your comments and reactions to the story when you’ve read it, so please do leave them in the comments box. I would be particularly interested to hear comments from any children… I’m still not sure that I’ve managed to make it equally open to children and adults. I’ve just been approaching the Oscar Wilde Society with Catching The Light, which I think will be of particular interest to them. I think we’re also going to take some copies down with us to Lower Shaw Farm, where we’re going to stay with Sheila at Easter.

FIREWORKS

A few weeks ago I started writing another short story in a similar vein to Catching The Light, which has been in my head for six months or more. Though it’s based on actual historical events and people involved with the gunpowder plot, such as King James, Guy Fawkes and Robert Catesby, it’s also very much a work of imagination. One of the major difficulties has been with avoiding making it too political or religious, while keeping it based in the actual historical climate of the early 17^th century. I’ve been trying to work out a way of embroidering all three colours of the Irish flag – green, white and orange – into the appearance of three angels – each one of them representing a different colour. As you can imagine, this is a pretty difficult task without making it too political. I want it to remain a story above all things… it’ll take all the pleasure away from both writing and reading it by making it too closely tied to historical fact. Of course I could say exactly the same thing about The Space Between, as I would say that’s the main thing that’s become clear to me recently through writing it.

ROBERT CATESBY’S TATTOO

Perhaps this is where my idea for getting a tattoo came from, though I don’t know if the leader of the gunpowder plotters actually had a tattoo, but he has in my story, and it would have been quite possible to have a tattoo in the seventeenth century, so I think I’ll use this in fireworks. I remember reading that when Robert Catesby was shot by soldiers, he died clutching a locket with the Madonna’s picture in it – I didn’t want to bring Catholicism into Fireworks at all, so I’m trying to show this visually in orange, green and white… I’m not quite sure if it works, so perhaps this is why I’ve been having such problems with the story – I want to lift it above all those tedious, realistic situations, which is why I’m using angels perhaps! Anyway, my fiction gave me the first spark of a change in colour and design for myself.

COLOUR

Since losing the ability to see colour, colours have not become any less important to me, in fact they’ve become more so. I’d like to be able to tell approximate colour by other senses such as smell, and also by the amount of light still visible to me. It’s also possible I think, to be able to get the feel of colour… if you imagine being in a totally red room it would feel different from being in a totally yellow room. It’s interesting to realise how much colour is a concept in the mind, rather than just a physical sensation. I remember going to visit a medium in a room completely decorated in shades of blue and purple… both of which are high frequency colours that supposedly attract spirits and induce a higher plane of consciousness. In this way I don’t feel that colour has lost any of its meaning to me, in fact now it’s more important than ever. To be surrounded by plenty of colour is essential to me now as without it I’m totally in the dark!

FOUNDATIONS

Talking about psychic wavelengths, I still believe there’s some sort of telepathic communication between twins… and recently an example of this came to light between my twin sister Suzanne and myself. Suzanne writes poetry, and she sent me A poem she had just written about her own experiences within the foundations of our childhood house back in Cheadle Hulme. I was amazed by this as I’d just written about exactly the same thing, which you can read on my weblog if you’re at all interested. Suzanne captured the same feeling of fascination in the dark recesses in the cellar wall, and the burning curiosity of the child wriggling into the foundations as I did, hopefully!

It cane as a surprise to me to discover that Suzanne had also shared the experience of the foundations with me as I never realised… I had thought that my insatiable thirst for underground exploration was something that was absolutely my own… but it just goes to show that with twins, there’s always some special form of communication between them. If you’re curious to read Suzanne’s poem, I’ll ask her… so keep your eyes peeled.

ZIGGY BIKE

With this wonderful spring weather we’ve been experiencing lately, I decided to go to the Peak District National Park once again for a spot of Ziggy Cycling… surprisingly Andy was also enthusiastic, and so off we went with Brigitte. If you remember back to the autumn of last year we bought our own Ziggy Trike which was intended to be ready for the road by the spring… but it’s obviously going to take a lot more work than Andy at first thought. As it’s a double seater it looks like the entire seat needs replacing by a single Ziggy which is quite a big job – however Andy is quite positive about it still! In the meantime, the Ziggy Bike at the Peak District was a perfectly adequate ride even though Brigitte said that the gears weren’t working which made it somewhat arduous to go uphill… though it was still lovely to feel the speed going down the other side.

BUTTERFLIES

When I visited Chester Zoo last week I was particularly impressed by the newly opened Butterfly House which reminded me very much of The Eden Project which I visited last year with Andy in Cornwall. I didn’t really notice any windows in the Butterfly House though I imagine they must have been just like ordinary windows with glass – whereas the Eden Project was in a massive greenhouse. But the two buildings were both recreations of a tropical rainforest complete with a river and waterfall – and of course Butterflies, at least in the case of The Butterfly House. I could imagine all the beautiful insects flying freely around, in the same way as did the bats in The Bat House also at the zoo. I wonder if such places are becoming more popular – as these days people want a closer contact with the animals… I wonder how far this is true?

THE SMELLIEST CREATURES

Still talking about the zoo – I was trying a new experiment there , telling what animal it was by the smell which was actually not so easy a lot of the time. It was easy to tell the Tapir’s which have to be the smelliest creatures in the zoo… also The Monkey House had its own distinct smell as did the Giraffes. I’ve also discovered recently that white blossom has its own smell which is also quite strong and distinctive… this surprises me because other white flowers have generally no smell or at least a very subtle one. One of the best things about summer is the abundance of interesting smells carried by the breeze… I’m looking forward to this one’s arrival!

RAW MATERIALS

I’m actually feeling quite excited about The Space Between, because my vague ideas about the ending seem to have come together and gelled into a solid form… or at least something semi-solid, a fairly squishy substance but still completely pliable. I’m also very excited about going on to write the next few pieces which will include Kathleen’s first meeting with Scott, which will be a major focal point of the novel so far. I’ve been doing some research, but not too much, I’m very cautious about finding out too many facts about Scott’s early career in the navy, which he actually joined when he was just thirteen so that by 1906 he was quite high up and a bit of an old hand at commanding sailors. It’s essential to get some idea of his character and also to make an educated guess at what it was that drew these two together, for there must have been some vision in Scott, which I think must have appealed to Kathleen’s artistic nature, as well as being a scientist. as Scott also had a driving obsession with the Antarctic, it must have been really exciting to bear witness to. From reading Scott’s journals, some of his character came through – he was obviously a bit of a worrier, as well as being a natural leader. He seems to have been an interesting chap, one of the people I really wish that I could have met, particularly because he must have attracted Kathleen, I think he was obviously something more than a scientist. I chose to make their initial encounter take place in this year, 1906, even though I’ve read that they didn’t meet until 1907. Still, who’s to know such things for sure? Anyway, it suited my work of fiction better this way, and fiction always has the upper hand.

Back to this instalment, which is a conversation between Freddie and Robbie Ross. It takes place at a restaurant in Kensington; though they have been chatting about Freddie’s acting career, here they move on to Robbie’s memories… I wanted to make my novel go back into itself by mentioning the prologue of The Spark – I hope my readers will remember that far back! Robbie then goes further back in his mind to an instance taken from Killing Time, which is set in 1888, when Jack the Ripper was on the prowl. Our first encounter with Harriet takes place in Killing Time and so I wanted to refer back to my own fiction from another fictional world, hopefully not making it too confusing! It was somewhat tricky to make Robbie recall so far back in his memory while still not making obvious contradictions in history such as making him wander around in Whitechapel before he’d been known to meet Wilde! So certain facts had to be bent a little… but as I’ve already said, such is the beauty of fiction. I’m not so afraid of doing this now with The Space Between… whereas I was always too careful, perhaps, with The Spark. This is the major difference between the two novels – I’m much more satisfied and also excited about The Space Between, as I feel it opens out into fiction much more naturally. I hope you’ll agree when it’s complete, which shouldn’t actually be too distant a point…

MORE RAW MATERIALS NEXT ISSUE!

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

By 1906 there are only two copies of Wilde’s The Portrait of Mr WH left in existence; one of these has been taken to America by Georges on board a ship – this is the original manuscript that was previously in the hands of Ross and Freddie, kept in a special box that Freddie made. The second copy is with Kathleen – Shannon gave her this copy without Ricketts’ knowledge. The following scene takes place in a restaurant in Kensington where Freddie and Ross celebrate Robbie’s birthday.

Now read on…

CHAPTER 6 – 1906

“Back to important matters, like champagne. Drink up, this is a celebration, after all. And we should treat it as such. As Oscar always used to say, a birthday’s not a birthday unless you have champagne.” He watched Freddie raise his glass carefully to his lips and take several long sips. The taste of champagne was obviously a new one, but one which he enjoyed; looking up at Ross with a broad smile he cleared his throat before speaking in a tentative voice.

“You still miss Oscar very much, don’t you? I feel as if he’s almost still alive… still with us, you remember things about him so vividly they’re almost real.”

“Mmmm.” Ross gazed thoughtfully at a point just over Freddy’s left shoulder, without actually appearing to be able to see anything, for his gaze was unfocused, but definitely not an empty one. Raising his own champagne glass and making it sweep gracefully along the same line of motion that Oscar followed many years before with Bosie by his side. Ross took several mouthfuls of the liquid, savouring it upon his tongue before allowing it to slide away down his throat… every movement of the swallow was so vivid and tangible to him, in exactly the same way as his memories of Oscar had become now, sitting here at this restaurant in Kensington with Freddie. Shaking his head very slowly, Ross’s eyes became clouded as his memories became clearer and sharper. “It must have been when I very first met Oscar, because we were both so young… back walking in the woodland with him. In… I can’t remember, was it Oxford?” Frowning, he shook his head again. Freddie said nothing, waiting patiently for him to go on. “It must have been summer, anyway, the trees all around were so green… and then the golden light falling through and dappling everything below to make it seem completely unrecognisable… there, I think, Oscar first told me his ideas of the story he was going to write. That was the first spark, the ideas we mulled over together and banded back and forth almost as if we were playing a game of tennis with them.”

“And so… what was the story, Robbie?” Freddie asked finally.

“That was the beginning of The Portrait of Mr WH… which you’ll remember, Freddie, though I suppose it was a few years ago that you read it. I wonder what’s become of it now?”

“I thought you said Harriet took it for some reason?”

Raising his eyebrows, Ross shook his head and then shrugged.

“Well, I don’t know, but it looked that way. I don’t really want to believe such a thing of Harriet… I always thought I could trust her… it was almost as if we were old acquaintances. Do you know what I mean, Freddie? Déjà vu I suppose… something like that.”

“Go on,” Freddie prompted, after a long pause.

Once again, Ross’s eyes became unfocused and clouded with memories, memories that reached even further back into his consciousness. When he spoke at last, his voice was heavy as if weighed down by the recollection of time gone past.

“When I think about Harriet the first time we met, I feel almost outside myself, as if I was looking on and watching the scene taking place from afar: it was at a music hall, or some such place, the carpet was thick beneath my feet as I stood with Oscar and talked about… many things, I don’t remember.” Ross made an impatient movement of his hand, clearing away the debris before continuing, “Killing time and such, all these memories are fixed in my head still, so real even now that I know they took place so sharply… even though they’ve now become so far away and distant that I’m not sure if it was really me there at all. Looking back on it now, I wonder if I’m making the whole thing up, even if it’s just something I’ve read in a book somewhere.”

He fell silent. After a while Freddie touched him lightly on the arm, causing Ross to start violently.

“Sorry,” Freddie apologised. “I only wanted to say that maybe it was a play you’d seen at the theatre you were remembering, something like that anyway. it was not really Harriet then, do you think? Maybe just an actress.”

Ross nodded slowly, then he smiled and shook his head.

“No, that can’t be right, because that was Oscar, I’m quite sure of it. So that would follow then… that must have been Harriet we talked to on the balcony at the music hall. The memory is quite clear in my head, but… it just doesn’t seem quite real. Ah, I can’t say more.”

March 2011 Issue 126

2011-03-04T15:46:00.009Z

Nicola’s Editorial…

TITANIC

For once I’m not going to begin this issue by complaining about the weather… in fact it’s been beautiful these past few days - if a little on the cold side! In fact such weather always makes me think of the film from the nineties, Titanic - in my head I can still see Rose and Jack standing on the deck looking out over the sea, which was absolutely freezing with plenty of iceberg’s. I still think it still needs to get a good deal warmer before anyone can safely say spring is here… still, at least it looks a bit more promising. Talking of warm weather makes me think of our brief spell in the sunshine in Tenerife, which I wrote about and stuck the piece on to the last issue which is something I’ve never done before, so I think that quite a few of you may have missed it. If so you might like to look back… I don’t think I’ll repeat adding bits on to Raw Meat in future as it breaks up the natural flow of writing it, which I usually do all at once. Also I think readers might get a bit lost… so I’m not into it even though Andy is!

TOUCHING THE SKULL

So I’ll tell you now about something which happened a few weeks ago - while it’s still quite fresh in my memory. I was only slightly anxious about going to see my favourite Shakespeare play Hamlet, as I’m pretty familiar with it having seen and read it in the past. Unfortunately I had forgotten how long the play is and so I still managed to get pretty lost with it, because I couldn’t remember exactly where we were up to! I was confused also by the sound of sword fighting, despite having touched a gun on the “touching tour” beforehand and being told that the play was a modern version. Although I didn’t find the touching tour that much help it did give me a real sense of the play… the only real sense I could get! I touched Ophelia’s coffin and also her cuddly toy which she used in her mad scene, and Yorick’s skull… but the best thing about the tour was when the actors came on the stage to warm up before the show - and Hamlet himself actually said hello to me. Even though I wouldn’t say the touching tour was a great help to me, I do wish that they’d attach them onto every play as a matter of course, and so involve people who can’t see with the theatre more closely.

TOUCHING THE ELEPHANTS

Although I was going to make my application for the Jerry Farr travel award for a Ziggy safari this year, so far things don’t look totally hopeful as far as safaris go - basically they are too expensive, way beyond the five thousand pounds limit. It’s a shame , as I was quite into the sound of these safaris which cater also for people with sight problems - and include things like elephant interaction and touching the cheetahs which sound amazing! As this award is open to all applicants who have Ataxia, I’ve asked my friend Sue for any more ideas… I feel a bit stuck as to what to do now, I’m wondering whether to completely forget the idea of touching safaris and go instead for a straight holiday in the Bahamas, or whether to try for another idea I came across when making my application last year… this one was for a Ziggy jungle trip in Brazil, staying in a hotel in the middle of the jungle which sounded pretty freaky. Although I’d much rather camp in the jungle, maybe that’s pushing it a bit…

CATCHING THE LIGHT

You may not believe this, but at last the long awaited completion of my fairytale based on the life of Oscar Wilde! A few days ago my dad actually finished his wonderful cover illustration, after having to make a few last minute alterations… he has put such a lot of time and effort into it, because I think he understands that I want this little book to look like a work of art. I feel confidant that Oscar would greatly approve of both the story and it’s presentation… there’s a fair bit of imagination thrown in to the story so that it involves characters from Oscar’s story Dorian Gray, as well as giants, elves, imps and characters made of glass and Andy assures me that we’re now ready to take your orders… so please leave them in the comments box after this issue. We’re going to put the old anarchist method of printing to order into practice, so for just £3.95 plus postage you’ll receive this charming little book… suitable for both children and adults.

SKIING

At the moment I’m using Andy as my helper as Ruth’s away in Austria doing a spot of skiing – which sounds great fun. I’m actually pretty envious as skiing is one of the things that I never did while I still could in the days of my youth. Though nowadays it must be possible to rig up some way of attaching skis onto Ziggy’s wheels, but this would be pretty dangerous without my sight… perhaps some guide-husky’s could be used to pull Ziggy along through the snow? This idea greatly appeals to me as it sounds rather like the troika I went on while in Transylvania many years ago. Ruth will be skiing, but some of her friends are doing snowboarding, which sounds even more fun as I’m sure Ziggy could easily be strapped onto a giant snowboard. I love the idea of speed – there’s absolutely no reason why people in Ziggy shouldn’t be able to experience such exciting things… it only takes a bit of imagination to make such things possible.

DUSTFINGER

I’m looking forward to Ruth’s return next week, when we can get back to reading The Inkheart Trilogy, which I’m really into. My favourite character so far is the enigmatic Dustfinger, with his scarred face and little horned creature he carries around with him in a rucksack. He intrigues me ‘cos he seems to be a pretty untrustworthy and shady chap, and yet I really like him! It’s that edge of surrealism about Dustfinger that appeals to me I think – he juggles, and does fire eating, and rides a moped along with other bizarre tricks… I can’t believe that he’s going to turn out to be a real baddie… or at least I hope not.

RAW MATERIALS

This following excerpt is taken from a conversation between Harriet and Jack at the Freedom Press in Whitechapel; Jack has just been telling Harriet about his dream (which you remember from the last issue I hope). I felt it was important for reasons that will become clear later in the novel that I should spend some time with Harriet, elaborating particularly on her closeness to Jack. Despite rewriting this excerpt I’m still not satisfied with it – I’ve always avoided writing about such moments of heightened emotion because they always make me feel so uncomfortable when I read them afterwards. It’s so difficult to write this sort of conversation and make it sound natural… I just can’t believe that a young boy would say these things to his mother… particularly not in 1906. As I said this is my second attempt so I’m not going to try it again… I’m just asking for some feedback from readers, absolutely anything you can suggest for improvement will be more than welcome.

Andy has said a couple of times that much of The Space Between is made up of conversations between various people, so I was thinking that maybe I’d missed my true forte… perhaps, like Oscar himself, I should be writing for the stage. Well I suppose I have really with Skin… a sign of the times maybe, the TV script taking the place of the stage. I do like writing conversations between people, but I also find the static quality of them being set in one place pretty limiting… having said that I’m thinking of that bit in Doctor Faustus where Mephistopheles and Doctor F are flying from Rome to somewhere in Germany I think… that’s definitely not static and it was written centuries before television so that goes to show how powerful the imagination is.

Anyway, back to The Space Between; I think I’ve already mentioned some of my future plans for the novel. I’m approaching the end now so I have to sort out which characters I need to devote some time to in the light of what’s going to happen. That all sounds very intriguing, especially because the climax which I had been working towards ever since the conception of the novel didn’t work out, so I’ve had to hastily change things quite dramatically. Originally I was going to end the novel with the sinking of The Titanic, and Jack’s drowning with it but this didn’t work out in terms of the timescale because the story was moving so slowly through the years! Most readers will remember the film The Titanic from 1997 which impressed me greatly… particularly perhaps because it was the last film I was able to watch all the way through fairly successfully! Involving this film in my novel would be much along the same lines as combining fiction and history which you know by now I’m obsessed with doing. I must admit to being slightly relieved by this change of plan as I was rather dreading having to kill off one of my characters that I’ve grown so fond of. It would have to be a particularly tragic loss because Jack would have been so young so I abandoned this Titanic plan quite readily but I had to replace it with something else to work towards with a suitably dramatic climax – so what would it be? Enough said for now.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

“Everything has changed, and now not only is pa angry with me, but Georges is too.”

Harriet’s frown deepened.

“Is Georges angry? But why?” She shook her head sharply in disbelief. “That sounds very unlike Georges – are you sure Jack?”

Jack was silent for several moments. He stared intently into the smouldering coals as if trying to remember back.

“Yes, I think he is – he certainly seemed to be at the time. He told me I should go home and mind my own business, and leave things to him… things I didn’t understand anything about, but I couldn’t, how could I do that? I couldn’t leave it with him – he had absolutely no right to it.”

Jack’s gaze switched suddenly to Harriet as the memory of his anger bubbled just below the surface.

“He had no right to touch those pages – never mind to show them to his wife! I wanted it back, I told her to give it back – ”

“Jack, what are you talking about? Calm down, why are you so angry?”

“Oh, it’s just that he had no right, Ma!” Jack cried desperately, giving a helpless shrug. “None at all. I told him to give it back, but he said it wasn’t mine anyway – ”

“But what, Jack? What?”

“Oh, the story… whatever it was! I can remember Georges taking it out from the box before throwing it in the Thames, and he put it in his pocket carefully. He took it with him all the way to America, and even then I was so angry when I saw him that evening, showing it to his wife, just like he’d found it! She took it with her greedy hands and said it was by Oscar Wilde and would be worth a bit of money and that he should give it to her, but I said no, give it back right now!” Raising his fist to his face, Jack rubbed away the tears in his eyes. “I was so angry to see them there together, talking about the manuscript and making plans for both of them… when they were both thieves. Especially him. He had no right to anything, not when he’s already made promises to you. How could he say all that and then just forget you and everything over here, treat it like it didn’t exist?”

Harriet got to her feet very slowly, still keeping her eyes firmly downcast. She reached out towards Jack reassuringly, trying to soothe him.

“But how could he do that?” continued Jack, “How could he stand there and make promises to her, tell her he was going to stay with her, how could he do that?”

“Don’t, Jack…oh, don’t say that.” She raised her eyes to Jack’s desperately, pleading with him not to go any further. Even though she knew there was something to his words, to hear the obvious truth of the matter was too much for her to bear. Raising her hands to her face, she turned away, her voice muffled by her fingers, as she added, “I don’t want to hear any more.”

Jack touched her tentatively on the arm.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma… I’m really sorry. I didn’t want…” Seeming to realise the uselessness of any further words between them, Jack gave a great shrug of his shoulders as he turned away. He took a few wondering steps away from Harriet, as if realising that their brief moment of intimacy had ended. Going over to the table, he played with an old broken clock that was standing uselessly upon it, the hands standing stubbornly still at three o’clock, refusing to move, to make any attempt to change the situation. Harriet could feel the boy’s sadness, could feel the frustration and anger… even though this had all become crushed by the passage of time and the distance between Georges and Jack. Harriet gave a start as Jack replaced the clock on the table with a sharp sound. “And that’s why I don’t ever want to go to sea again,” he said shortly, raising his eyes to look directly at Harriet. Even though his emotions seemed to have drained away now, Harriet felt even more unsettled by the dryness of his words than she had before. “I don’t want to see him again, not ever.”

She watched him move away slowly, as if reluctant to leave the situation completely, at the same time accepting that there was nothing more to be said or done, absolutely nothing more.

February 2011 Issue125

2011-02-01T00:57:00.004Z

Nicola's Editorial

ERUPTION

You might be forgiven for doubting the truth of my explanation for the early appearance of some of this issue, as I myself doubt the reality of it. We’ll be catching the plane to Tenerife at the beginning of February… finally, after all this time. We’re both looking forward to a little break in the relative warmth, even though I’m told it wont be that sunny, it will still be warmer than here, that’s the main thing. I’m particularly taken, at the moment, by volcanoes, and as Tenerife was formed by an underwater volcanic eruption, I’m extra excited… walking – or rather wheeling – on lava sounds quite freaky… I’ll have to bring part of it home, part of the lava I mean. I just wish I’d been there when the underwater volcano erupted, it sounds wonderful.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

Even freakier that an underwater volcanic eruption is the materialisation of my long awaited fairytale Catching the Light. This should be available about mid February, so please get in touch to place your order. My dad’s worked long and hard on illustrating the cover quite beautifully, according to my design, of course! He’s also created a border for the inner pages… I wanted this book to be a work of art, not just your average, but something special. Although the story’s based on the life of Oscar Wilde, there’s an awful lot of pure imagination thrown in. It incorporates some characters from Wilde’s Dorian Grey, in which Wilde saw himself appearing split into all three major characters of the novel… I’ve used this idea embroidered into Wilde’s life. It all seemed perfectly suited to the form of a fairytale… I’ve always loved Oscar’s fairytales, and so was very influenced by them. Copies of Catching the Light will be available at £3.95 so they won’t break the bank… please don’t hesitate to order as many copies as you want.

HELL’S FIERY FURNACE

The conversation with my mum – who is something of a scientist if you remember – progressed from volcanoes onto the formation of the planet. I was fascinated to learn that the centre of the earth is made up of molten iron and nickel which is absolutely red hot, as you can imagine. The thing is, how do scientist’s know anything for certain about the centre of the earth as nobody’s ever been there, it’s too hot! I suppose anything could be down there… or if Hell is really supposed to be there, is this where the idea of it being a fiery furnace came from? Surely not though, because how could people writing at the time of the old testament know anything about the centre of the Earth? Where did the idea of Hell being at the centre of the earth come from? Have I made it up?? Maybe Hell’s just meant to be underground… I’m sure that volcanic activity made people believe that Hell was a red hot place – the idea of hot lava being chucked out of the ground is pretty freaky, don’t you think? Can anybody enlighten me further on how Hell became connected with the fiery furnace idea?

ONE HUNDRED GUITARS

Moving swiftly on to books, we’ve finally reached the end of Eric Clapton’s autobiography… which I’d recommend to anyone, as I found it pretty absorbing. Mr Clapton seems to have a bit of a thing about providing treatment for alcoholics, both physiological counselling and medical treatment, and this is what Crossroads, a clinic he opened in the Caribbean, offers. In the mid-nineties Eric decided to hold an auction where he sold a hundred of his own guitars to raise money for Crossroads… a few of these guitars fetched thousands of pounds each, so as you can imagine there was quite a bit of money involved. I myself had mixed feelings about this action of Eric’s – it seemed to me to be misdirected, surely all that money should be put into a more urgent and needy cause? I suppose though that it’s up to him what he does with his money… and at least he’s giving it away and not just pampering himself. Another interesting thing he mentioned in passing, right at the end of his book, was that he was loosing his hearing… this seems to me to be a really dramatic loss for a musician, and yet Eric only mentioned it almost as an afterthought. Maybe Ruth’s right and he’s exaggerating his deafness, as he says he can hear very little but at the same time he refuses to wear hearing aids, saying he likes the way things sound without them… which seems to be very strange.

INKHEART

So, we’ve made a start on the first part of the Inkheart trilogy and already I can feel myself becoming pretty much obsessed. I particularly like the straightforward way it presents quite involved and strange ideas, not least because the main character’s a twelve year old girl. It could be written for children, but can be equally enjoyed by adults, rather like Harry Potter or His Dark Materials. Another similarity with His Dark Materials is the idea that some of the characters have an animal companion, like Pullman’s daemons. In Inkheart, the character Dustfinger has a sort of horned ferret-like creature in his rucksack. I’m also reminded of Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast, which also involves characters with strange names and various oddities. Although I don’t feel like I want to say that much at this stage, of course I want to go on and lose myself completely within the book as the characters themselves have done. For more of this issue, keep watching this space.

RAW MATERIALS

I make no bones about it, Andy gave me the idea for this piece… although I knew that I wanted it to be about Charles, I didn’t know quite how to write the actual meeting between father and son without making it seem absolutely unbelievable, and so, not fitting in with the rest of The Space Between. But it felt nice to be actually inside Jack’s head for just a while, a totally new sensation, which was much needed, because I don’t think we’ve spent enough time with the boy. When writing this piece I actually realised half way through that it should all be in the first person and so I hastily switched. At the same time, it has to switch back when Jack wakes up. I hope this works as I’m not at all sure about it. Although I wanted his dream to be slightly weird and dreamlike so I was also not so worried about keeping it credible, I also had to be careful to keep a hold of my imagination and not let myself get totally carried away. The important thing I wanted to show here is that Jack still thinks of his Dad, has he really let him down by not following him into art? I’d welcome any feedback you can give in reaction, please do send in your comments.

As there doesn’t seem to be an awful lot of actual events that happened historically in 1906 – as far as The Space Between goes, anyway – I rather suspect that much of this chapter will be either totally fictional or else mostly so. I’ve been thinking for sometime of bringing Jack back for a final meeting with Harriet. This may happen in this chapter, though I’m a bit nervous of making this happening without it sounding stupid and melodramatic. I also want to do a piece about Kathleen’s first meeting with Scott which I know happened in this year – but as I don’t know anything else, I suppose I’ll have to read some of Kathleen’s biography. I’m a bit reluctant to do this though – by now I should surely have the confidence to reconstruct their meeting, but at the same time, I want to keep the book based in history, from which I can leap off into fiction. So then, I think a little bit of research is needed. The meeting between the artist and the scientist seems such a chance one, what can have brought these two very different characters together in the first place? It’s not just an intriguing question, but also essential to the trilogy if Scot is to form the basis of the next part. I’m still thinking along these lines – The Space Between seems to be setting the scene perfectly for a further fictional leap.

THE SPACE BETWEEN – THE STORY SO FAR

By 1906 there are only two copies of The Portrait of Mr WH remaining, and one of them has been taken overseas to America by Georges. Jack sailed there with him but returned alone, back to Angel Ally in Whitechapel, where he lived with his mother Harriet. The other Copy is a book made by Ricketts and Shannon and is now in the hands of Kathleen Bruce. At his house in Whitechapel, Jack sleeps and his dream is particularly vivid. Now read on.

CHAPTER 6 - 1906

My Pa looked at me and smiled very gently, his voice becoming so soft and mellow that it was almost drowned by the sounds of the men working all around. But still, the words rang out loud and clear. “Now that we’ve found each other, we must take care not to loose each other again. “

My grin became even wider, as though threatening to crack my face right open, like an egg shell. I thought I may even have laughed aloud, I’m not sure.

“Yes, of course! Stay here with me always!”

Taking my hand, Pa stroked the skin very gently.

“I’m sorry that I missed your birthday… I know you’ve just become sixteen, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you a birthday present. Do you still have those coloured pencils I gave you?”

I couldn’t say anything, I felt I was completely filled with guilt. All I could do was shake my head silently, not even daring to look up into his eyes. He said nothing either, so eventually I tried to speak and explain myself.

“Things have changed quite a lot, Pa... I need to earn money now, so I have to work and not draw so much.” I could feel the intense heat from Pa’s eyes boring right the way through me – I was so filled with remorse and shame, I was barely able to continue. “I – I’m sorry, I really am. I’ve lost the pencils, I’m afraid.”

I could feel the hairs of Pa’s beard bristling with a living energy, the orange glow of his beard pulsating with anger as the emotion flowed through him. I could feel the heat stinging my face, so that I had to step back. Pa’s smile fell away crumbling and falling to the ground as his mouth fell open in an expression of dismay.

“Jack… your not really saying this to me, surely? How can this be true? Once an artist, always an artist, you know.” I continued to shake my head, falling into such a rhythm that it seemed impossible to break.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know where the pencils are.”

Pa’s shout sliced through the air, and I was frightened – I’d never seen him so angry before.

“How dare you! Those pencils were my gift to you… how could you possibly lose them? Artists never lose pencils… don’t you understand? Don’t you care?”

I was forced further and further back from Pa as his beard burst into flames.

“I’m sorry Pa, I’m sorry! Please don’t be angry!” I cried desperately, covering my face with my hands. Through my fingers I could feel the heat becoming more intense as Pa lunged towards me, seizing me in a great big hug which wasn’t entirely friendly. I began to panic, great sobs of fear issuing from me as I tried to wriggle free from the fire, from him. “No! Please! Go away – go right away!”

Pa’s voice rose in my head, until it completely filled everything, obliterating every other sound of the docks around. I continued to wriggle and fight for breath, as my lungs were filled with smoke and flame… I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t break free, I was so scared, so scared…

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

HELL’S BELLS

Nic’s been talking about hell recently and the idea that it is a place, some kind of fiery furnace under the earth. This led me to read about the ‘hollow earth’ theory and how some people believe that a mystical master race live somewhere down there in the bowels of the earth. One theory takes the whole thing a little further and states that the whole universe is inside a hollow earth. Phew, it’s difficult to get your head round some of this stuff.

FOUR CORNERS

Then she went on to ask where the four corners of the earth were, I thought that the four corners simply meant the entirety of the earth. However, on reflection we came up with our own theory that the four corners of a spherical earth could only be right in the very centre. Right down there in that hellishly hot place. “Enough!” I hear you cry.

FINALLY

Here’s a click-able link to a little piece I wrote some time ago. The Anagram of Eden .

January 2011 Issue 124

2011-01-08T01:08:00.002Z

Nicola’s Editorial

NEW YEAR DRIVE

I must say that it comes quite naturally to me to refer to this new year as twenty eleven after calling the previous year twenty ten. And anyway, don’t you think twenty eleven sounds much better than two thousand and eleven, which is a bit of a mouthful? I’ve noticed that everyone around me also calls this year twenty eleven… so maybe my way of thinking is catching on. It always seems to me that we should change the calendar to fit in with the seasons, it makes no sense to begin the new year right in the middle of winter while everything is still dead or dying. January is still so very cold and horribly dark and dismal… why don’t we just skip the rest of winter and go straight into spring and begin the new year then? This would be much more natural, to wait for all the animals and plants to begin to come to life once again. Instead we have yet more snow to cope with… I’m still waiting expectantly for our long awaited trip to Tenerife to materialize – if it’s not too late.

STILL CATCHING THE LIGHT

One of the most exciting things for me this Christmas was being involved with the creation of the cover illustration for my new story, which my dad is at the moment working on. He’s actually drawing it using the computer, hence I could choose every colour for each character. According to my dad, the characters are all on either side of the Palace Beautiful… it sounds absolutely wonderful to me, and I can’t wait until it’s finished!! Dad’s also done a simple border design for the inside pages, which I feel is essential as I want the book to look like a complete work of art… certainly not your average paperback. Dad thinks that the cover should be ready by February, so I hope you’ll be ready to order your copy then – I know we missed the Christmas rush, but Catching the Light should be worth waiting for.

CONOR’S DEATH

Over the cold, dark Christmas period I’ve been doing lots of reading, continuing with Eric Clapton’s autobiography. Several weeks ago we read about the sudden death of his five year old son – and ever since then the horrific story has been playing on my mind to such an extent that I just can’t get rid of it. The whole story of Conor’s fall from fifty two floors up seems to me to be absolutely unbelievable… how could such an accident have occurred? Apparently the apartment Conor shared with his mum had floor to ceiling windows which the young boy must have smashed right into and fallen… I think it sounds as if Conor was in a state of some excitement, as he was expecting his dad to come and take him to the zoo. Reading such details in Eric’s autobiography seem even more horrific… even though I remember my mum telling me about it in the early nineties, reading Eric’s side of it brings home how traumatic the whole thing must have been to cope with. I listened to Eric’s song written for Conor, Tears From Heaven, which I had never heard before. It must have been extremely traumatic for Mr. Clapton to write such a song without making him feel that he was cashing in on Conor’s death… which I’m sure he wasn’t.

BEING RICH AND FAMOUS

Still on the subject of Eric Clapton, another thing that strikes me about his autobiography is his fascination with psychology… a fascination which he shares with another hero of mine, Peter Gabriel. I don’t know if there’s any link between being a famous musician and wanting to develop the mind, but Eric’s just bought a plot of land in the Caribbean and hopes to build his own sort of retreat… which is vaguely medical but more counselling etc. I remember reading in Peter Gabriel’s biography about his strange experiences of taking part in some research into Sensory Deprivation at a psychological centre. He was made to lie in a warm bath in a darkened room, so that you simply floated with no other sense around… Mr. Gabriel found the experience absolutely wonderful and said he lost all sense of the passage of time, but I think it must have been pretty scary as well, having no light or sound, or even being able to touch anything.

MORE FROGS

Time for a total change of subject now. I went to the Natural History Museum in Manchester recently and decided to check out the live animals they have there. You might remember me telling you about the collection of frogs and lizards they had at the museum last year – this year it has been improved slightly by the addition of another sort of frog, a horned frog. Brigitte described this frog as absolutely massive, and it actually sounded pretty fierce with teeth – though I don’t know whether or not they were pointed as the frog kept it’s mouth firmly shut. The designs on the frogs back sounded beautiful, wonderful patterns and colours, which perhaps were intended as an additional warning to other creatures. My favourite frog is still the tomato frog, who inflates like a balloon when it’s threatened and is an amazing scarlet colour. Along side these frogs was another interesting addition, a chameleon… although it’s colours weren’t particularly exciting, because his background wasn’t either! I remembered my intentions last year of sponsoring one of these creatures… I still don’t know if the museum have introduced such a scheme yet, but I’m sure other people would also be interested in taking part.

LIZZIE BORDEN

Another total change of subject… I don’t know what it is about this month’s issue, perhaps this says something about the state of my mind at the moment. Anyway, I’ve just begun writing a short story about my old favourite, the axe murderess. However I wanted to make this story quite different by not concentrating on the fateful day in Fall River, when Lizzie supposedly slaughtered her father and stepmother… I thought that I had written quite enough already about that. I rather wanted to show the old Lizzie, for it fascinated me that she went on living in Fall River, with her sister, for the rest of her life, within sight of the house where the murders took place. She surely must have been haunted by memories of that day, though I don’t believe she and her sister talked much about it… the fact that it was mostly unspoken between them made it no less real. Though Lizzie was taken to trial for the murders, she was acquitted – perhaps due to public opinion – the very fact that a nicely brought up woman, such as Lizzie Borden, could have possibly done such a thing as butcher her parents with an axe was unthinkable, and so Lizzie’s case was hastily dropped. Although it’s quite difficult to avoid using all those wonderful images of blood and axes, I thought that it would make the story much more powerful to simply concentrate on the two elderly sisters… leaving all those horrific memories far behind but never quite forgotten.

DISCOVERED

For several months now I’ve been considering beginning writing a story and putting it on my blog for people to read and comment on – hopefully I should get some feedback as I believe I have quite a few followers! I have ideas in my head for several stories – the one I’ve chosen to start with is an old title, Discovered… I hope that readers of RAW MEAT will have a look at my blog Without Boundaries to follow the story, I’m not quite sure at this point how many instalments it’s going to stretch to – maybe only a few, but then maybe I’ll go on to a different story. Ever since Andy and I spent the day talking about Plato’s caves, I’ve been determined to use Plato’s ideas for a short story called The Light Fantastic – simply because I love this expression. I haven’t actually written Discovered yet, but it’s coming soon so keep your eyes peeled

RAW MATERIALS

I particularly wanted to set the following extract during the space between Christmas and new year, as I thought this would make a nice circle … I don’t know if you’ll remember that far back to the beginning of The Spark where Jack was born during the space between Christmas and new year. It seems important at this time to be thinking about the two novels as a whole work instead of just a string of unconnected fragments, especially now that I have a pretty clear idea of the events leading up to the end. Although I’m quite sure now about the two main dramatic events that will occur around the same time in 1908, I’m still uncertain about the exact order to put them in… I’m still always conscious of not distracting from other bits of stories that are happening.

I decided to include this piece about the relationship between Freddie and Ross, both because I felt it was important to show the intimate friendship they had at the time, which was much more than a brief affair… the couple lived together for quite a few years, despite their difference in ages. This is why I wanted to draw the comparison between their relationship and that of Bosie and Oscar. I also thought it was important to show the tireless work that Ross was doing on Oscar’s behalf as regards publishing his work… which naturally arouses doubt about the whereabouts of the missing manuscript – of course I’m talking about The Portrait of Mr WH. I imagine that this was a question that was constantly plaguing Ross, especially as he practically held the manuscript between his fingers at one point, before it was stolen from him. I think that Robbie must have felt a special responsibility towards the manuscript, a special extension of Oscar entrusted to him as Oscar’s literary executor.

While I can see clearly the ending of the novel and feel the electric energy tingling through me, I wanted to make use of this, and get the damn thing finished now… but that makes it sound like it’s an arduous task to be completed, which it’s not at all, though it’s a time consuming and laborious one, to be sure. But now that this initial drive has filled me I intend to complete the task however laborious it may be .

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR…

As 1905 draws to a close, there are only two remaining copies of the manuscript – the original has been taken to America by Georges, who thinks that it may be worth some money. The other has been printed by Ricketts and Shannon and given by Shannon to Kathleen Bruce as a gift. The following scene takes place in Robbie Ross’s room at his mother’s house, and the conversation is between Ross and his boyfriend Freddie.

Now read on -

CHAPTER 5 - 1905

“As I said before, we should look for somewhere else to live… I think we deserve some privacy after all this time. Think about it Freddie, wouldn’t it be rather nice to live in our own house together, with just each other?”

Freddie looked up sharply and caught Ross’s eye.

“Do you mean that? Would it really be possible?”

Ross shrugged slightly and turned away.

“I don’t see any reason why not. We should think about it, anyway.”

Getting to his feet also, Freddie began to tidy up the desk, pausing as he came across Ross’s copy of Wilde’s De Profundis – the book seemed to shine newness, so that Freddie doubted if anyone had ever touched it before.

“That certainly would be nice, to have no interruptions… we’ll keep our eyes open. This book… did you say you wanted to give it to your friend?”

Ross took the book from Freddie.

“Yes, that’s right – I’ll take it with me now. I’ve been talking for ages about Oscar’s prison letter, I think we should just give John a copy – just to prove that I have published it, like I said I would.” He turned the pages absently, running his eye over the words and frowning, as he always did when reminded of Oscar’s attachment to Bosie. “You really should read this, Freddie – I hope it will show you some things to avoid. I never want our relationship to end up as theirs did, to degenerate…” Continuing to turn the pages, Ross tried to keep his eyes on the book – it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. “Even when Oscar was dead Bosie could show him no respect, though he deserved it so much… I saw Bosie at Oscar’s funeral in Paris, where he made such a show of himself by pretending to be so grief-stricken that he almost fell into the grave –”

Freddie gave a sharp snort, which could have been mixed with laughter, though it was definitely a strangled sound. He raised his hand to his mouth, smothering it hastily.

“I’m sorry… did he really do that?

Ross nodded slowly.

“Oh, it was disgusting, Freddie, the whole thing. I was furious… how could he act that way, making such a fiasco of the occasion. Did he have no respect for Oscar?” He snapped the book shut, shaking his head sadly before meeting Freddie’s eyes directly and smiling. “I suppose there are certain similarities between Oscar’s friendship with Bosie and our own… but I definitely don’t want ours to end up like theirs. I hope there’s a much greater understanding between you and I, Freddie. I think with them there was too much passion and far too great a chasm between them, an unbridgeable gap, in fact. I hope this’ll become clear to you when you read the book. It’s not all pleasant reading but you should read it nonetheless.”

Freddie paused, his eyes fixed on the book in Ross’s hand with a startling intensity.

“Aren’t you – aren’t you afraid, of what Bosie will do? I don’t think he’ll like that letter being printed, will he? Aren’t you worried he’s going to cause some trouble?”

“Yes I am, Freddie… but I feel it’s much more important that the truth should be known. Oscar deserves that, even if it does come a little too late.” Ross stared at the book in his hand absently, turning it over; his thoughts became absorbed by the memory of Wilde, all entangled within the pages of his writing. “You know, Freddie, all this I’m doing for Oscar’s writing now may all seem to be too late, but I don’t feel it is – it’s so important that he should be remembered in the right light, as the great man he was. That’s why I tried so hard to publish all his work, like The Portrait of Mr WH –” he sighed heavily, “which disappeared suddenly… and I think will never be seen again.”

MORE FROM NICOLA’S TRILOGY IN FEBRUARY

URBAN SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Twenty eleven is with us already, and things are starting to get busy here. Nic's new publication Catching the Light is ready for printing now, and as she mentioned above, we're just waiting for her dad to put the finishing touches to the cover.

CITY

I don't know about you, but I feel optimistic about this year - my football team Man City are doing well at the moment and are at the top of the Premiership. I think this could be a big year for them too.

ZIGGY BIKE

Then there's the Ziggy Bike, I'm just waiting for the weather to get a little better and I'll be out there putting the finishing touches to it and then we'll be off out on it all summer!

POETRY

The other thing I'm excited about is the possibility of doing some live poetry gigs again this year. It's all very well being a blogging poet, and I've enjoyed my time on SweetTalkingGuy and Proper Joe's, but I'm ready to get back to live performance now. I can't wait!

December 2010 Issue 123

2010-12-06T00:35:00.003Z

Nicola's Editorial

FOR BOB

Before we go any further I want to dedicate this issue to a friend of mine, Bob Hall, who died recently. He was a great supporter of my writing generally, and more specifically RAW MEAT, which he used to read and criticise regularly! He was always ready to give me new ideas – and it was he who suggested hiring out a Ziggy bike at the national park. I think he’d appreciate an issue of the Newsletter being dedicated to him, with all my thanks and love.

WHITE STUFF

It may seem a little early to be surrounded by thick snow, though I haven’t actually been out in it! I’m told that it looks really pretty and scenic in the countryside, but Manchester itself doesn’t do much to help snow look beautiful and it mostly looks disgusting and slushy – and anyway, I don’t think Ziggy would be able to tackle deep snow in the parks. I’m reminded of the time we went to the Carpathian mountains in Romania, where my friend was skiing. We got stuck several times when we tried to go out into the countryside around about the town. Someone should design some special attachable skis for Ziggy’s wheels. All the snow may well look beautiful, but it’s too cold for my liking, I’m afraid.

WARM THOUGHTS

While we’ve been spending so much time inside we’ve been continuing to read Eric Clapton’s autobiography… but his tales of the estate he’s just moved into in the Bahamas didn’t do anything to make me feel better about this winter weather! In fact I’m filled with envy. All his talk of a paradise island with its white sandy beaches and constant music, just made me feel really restless – I really must go to such exotic places as soon as possible. Are any of my readers interested in coming with me?

PATTIE HARRISON

To return to Mr Clapton’s book… he’s now living with Pattie Harrison, George’s wife, which seems to be quite an open affair, she must have a thing about guitarists, because she’s actually just married Eric – though I don’t think it’s going to last as it looks pretty shaky already. Though I’d never heard about it before, his autobiography is quite fascinating to read, as it’s totally different from a simple biography which just states facts and dates without giving any idea of how the other person feels about the things that are going on around him. I admire Mr Clapton for being so honest… for instance, his obsession with a young girl called Alice when he was with Derrick and the Dominoes, around that time he was messing around with heroin and he introduced the nineteen year old Alice to it – I think that’s quite a bold claim to make these days.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

My short story is now completed and ready to print, we’re just awaiting Dad’s cover illustration – which I feel is an essential part of the book, and so I can’t feel totally confident about it being ready by xmas as I originally hoped. Having said this I know that Andy and Stan both think it will be ready in the next couple of weeks, so there you are, take your choice! Perhaps the boys will be right after all… the story actually worked out like a short fairytale, along the lines of Oscar Wilde’s – that is, filled with vibrant colour and light. It was a truly magical experience, writing it… one which I have every intention of repeating as soon as possible. Although it is intended for children, I hope that it also appeals to adults, particularly those who know something about Oscar. Having said that, I’m very keen that Catching the Light should be equally enjoyable at surface level, as Oscar himself said, the visual surface is every bit as important as the deep and meaningful! I hope that you’ll place your orders within the next few weeks, and please leave your comments, they’re much appreciated!! I can’t think of producing it without it looking beautiful – fantastic boarders etc, which will take time of course. So please be patient, It’ll be worth it.

TOUCH AND GO

Over the past ten years, the sense of touch has become absolutely essential to me. nowadays, most people realise that until they touch me I don’t know they’re there! I’ve noticed several interesting events around recently which seemed to show some awareness of this reliance as opposed to sight. Such as a theatre event we read about recently. My interest was aroused at once when we found out that Shakespeare’s Hamlet was coming soon, for this has always been my favourite – I like a nice bit of tragedy! But particularly interesting was the touch tour before hand – the brochure didn’t go into much detail, but we think it’s where blind people are allowed to go and touch the set – and perhaps the costumes? I’m not sure but it sounds like a great idea – I feel totally lost with a lot of theatre because I have no idea how the play looks until afterwards when someone describes it to me. My favourite play should become more immediate and real to me this time.

ON SAFARI

We’ve also discovered a touching safari in South Africa, though apparently there are quite a few others to choose from. They’re mostly in National Parks and involve camping as well; obviously you can’t touch the lions and tigers but the website mentioned cheetahs which are also pretty wild. I think I’m going to apply to the Jerry Farr travel fund this year with the idea of one of these touching safaris. I want to experience something like this; which encourages blind people to go out and enjoy life with other senses apart from sight.

WHITE XMAS?

With the snow remaining thick on the ground, it feels quite Christmassy already – though I suppose it’s not that far off! I must say I’m looking forward to the return of the warmth, especially because that should provoke Andy into some sort of action concerning the Ziggy bike!! I believe it’s currently lying in pieces in the shed – Andy tells me it’s his winter project… whatever that means. He’s confident the bike should be ready by the spring, well we shall see.

FINALLY

May I take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy Crimbo and New Year from everyone here at RAW MEAT

RAW MATERIALS

It took me ages to finally decide to return to this idea with Adrian Singleton, Gustav and Lucien… I was quite tempted to just leave it hanging but I thought it should come to some sort of conclusion. But at the same time, I don’t like definite conclusions, particularly not in this idea with Wilde’s Dorian Gray… I wanted to leave it fairly open. So in the end I decided to simply write this piece as a bit of an experiment, which turned out rather different to how I expected it to. I originally intended Gustav to find Adrian dead by his own hand. But I thought – it would be a much better mystery to leave it absolutely open, never concluded? Also, I continue to be intrigued by this idea of fictional characters stepping out into reality, even though I haven’t yet got round to reading the Inkheart books. I wanted to make my Adrian a real, solid character, and so to have him involved with opium and various young chaps, all gave added substance to him in The Space Between. It was very important to me that I should present him as quite a different character from Dorian Gray in as much as he’s become a solid character, a friend of Gustav and the Pissaro’s – to juxtapose these historical characters with my own fictional one (Gustav) and also with Wilde’s fictional one (Adrian) was exciting in the extreme! And even more so because I wasn’t at all sure it was going to work against the historical background of The Space Between… I had a strong suspicion the whole thing was going to sound extremely pretentious but in the end I just went ahead and wrote it. Well, I’d welcome your comments on it… but I myself am actually pretty pleased with the way it has worked out. To me it doesn’t sound pretentious at all, though this may be simply my obsession with Wilde and his fiction.

I must have gained a bit of confidence in writing this piece – it has made me want to go on and complete the chapter, if not the whole book. The Space Between seems to have taken on a new shape which I didn’t intend… it seems to have got tangled up with fiction so completely that I have no hesitation in continuing this embroidery into the final novel. I can now see the remaining few years of The Space Between quite clearly and I feel confident it should reach completion and most important is that I still feel excited about writing it, even after all this time!

Talking about The Spark now…which I wouldn’t blame you if you’d forgotten about completely, but I finally sent it off to this agent I was recommended by the creative writing team at Manchester University. The Spark was highly praised by them and they said it was too good for them to be able to handle themselves, and so they told me to try the agent, even though I’m dubious about the role of agents as a go between, but these days I think it wouldn’t do any harm at all to have someone else to give me a helping hand in practical matters concerning publishers, proof reading… all that stuff, so I’m waiting now to hear… even though I feel that The Spark needs much editing, which is pretty much beyond my physical limits at the moment. I’m hoping the agents will agree and be willing to help. Such are my hopes… they may turn out to be futile, but what have I got to lose by trying?

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR…

There are only two copies of Wilde’s manuscript in 1905; one of them has travelled to America with Georges and Jack, the second has been printed as a book by Charles Ricketts and is in the possession of his friend Kathleen. In the meantime, Gustav and Lucien Pissaro have met an old friend, Adrian Singleton, who needed their help to get home as he had been taking opium. The following extract takes place at Adrian’s house, to which Gustav and Esther Pissaro have returned to some months later to check everything’s alright with Adrian. However, there’s no answer when they knock at the door so Gustav breaks in, leaving Esther in the garden. NOW READ ON:

CHAPTER 5 – 1905

Esther waited nervously, feeling Gustav’s sense of unease begin to creep over her. All around nothing moved. The silence stretched and seemed to be waiting for something. She vaguely remembered the last time she had been here, in the garden with Adrian and Lucien… had Lucien really been there? She couldn’t be sure – but definitely Adrian had sat in the same wicker chair. She remembered it clearly for a moment, and then the memory was gone. She moved slowly towards the metal chair at the back of the garden, wondering if Adrian had been sitting there enjoying the summer sunshine, perhaps reading the book that she saw lying open on the chair. The slight movement of the pages fluttering over as the breeze caught them, seemed to be such a strange phenomenon that she hardly dared to lift the book from its resting place… The book felt heavy in her hands, and she saw that it was soaked by rain so that most of the pages stuck together and was probably ruined. She wondered how long it had been lying out there in the garden, days or even weeks? Closing the book she could still make out the title in gold letters stamped across the front: The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Of course, Oscar’s novel!

Esther had read it herself some years ago, though why Adrian had left it out here, she couldn’t imagine, and the apparent carelessness with which such a thing had occurred filled her with unease. Something was definitely wrong, Gustave was quite right to be scared. Esther felt it too and she glanced back at the house just as the back door was pushed open by Gustav. He walked towards her slowly without raising his head or catching her eye, so that it as very difficult for her to read anything into his expression.

“Well? What did you find?” she demanded.

Gustav was standing almost close enough to touch by the time he raised his head and met her eyes directly. He shook his head slightly without smiling.

“Nothing there… he’s gone completely. Taken all his clothes and everything. But this is the strange thing Esther… the table’s all laid out for dinner, but there’s no one there.” He gave a slight shrug and sighed heavily, continuing in a flat monotone that was quite lifeless and hollow. “I don’t know… I don’t know why this should feel so wrong. I expected to find him asleep… or even dead in a chair, but not just gone like this… something’s wrong.”

Esther drew in her breath sharply, staring.

“Surely not dead, Gustav… don’t say such things.” She reached out towards him quickly with tentative fingers, brushing his cheek as if to dissipate such thoughts from his mind. He seemed to be suddenly vulnerable, almost like a child in need of protection. She frowned and shook her head firmly. “You’ve no reason to think like that, have you? He’s probably just gone away.”

Gustav smiled briefly and gave a short laugh that didn’t work. “No, I’ve no reason… let’s hope you’re right, he’s just gone away somewhere. It just seem’s so strange. What’s that you’ve found, anyway?” Esther glanced down at the damp book in her hand – she had almost forgotten about it.

“A book that was left out here – it’s Oscar’s novel in fact. It looks like Adrian was reading it.” She handed the volume to Gustav who leafed through its soggy pages. “Looks like it’s been rained on. Take care not to tear the pages.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever read The Picture of Dorian Gray, though it feels too familiar to me just to hold the volume in my hands and turn the pages. It’s the strangest sensation Esther. Wait – what’s this?” he drew out a small piece of card from between the rain-soaked pages. Immediately Esther noticed that it was absolutely dry, bearing in beautiful ornate letters:

From paper I have come, and into paper I shall return.

Adrian had signed it in the same flowing ornate handwriting which seemed almost to breath with a life of its own as Gustav examined the piece of card. Handing it to Esther and quickly lifting his face to receive the full sunlight upon it so that he was forced to screw up his eyes. He could feel Esther’s confusion floating across to him like waves as she replaced the card inside Adrian’s book and closed it with a sharp snap.

“You haven’t read the book, Gustave?” Esther gave a short laugh and began to move away. “There’s a character called Adrian Singleton in the story… so I can only imagine Adrian’s making some sort of joke, he always did have a rather strange sense of humour, I remember.” She took Gustave’s hand reassuringly. “I wouldn’t worry about any of this… there’s a quite reasonable explanation I’m sure. Let’s go… there’s no more we can do here, he’s gone and that’s that. Let’s take this book with us… we can come back some time. Let’s take the book with us.”

When Gustav finally forced his eyes open, he could see only bright white spots of light that seemed to dance and circle around each other. Gradually the image of Esther’s dark hair and sharp features filtered back into his field of vision and he turned his back on the sun and followed her slowly out of the garden.

November 2010 Issue 122

2010-11-07T16:52:00.002Z

Nicola's Editorial

BLEAK WINTER

As we enter into this most dreary and depressing month of November, I’m well aware of the cold winter ahead – there seems to be nothing much to look forward to. Even Andy’s promises of going away to Tenerife or some such sun spot, are proving to be somewhat shaky, shall we say, as time goes on. Not even the celebration of my old hero, Guy Fawkes, can brighten up this time of year… I’m perhaps dreading the winter even more than usual this year because at the beginning of the year we promised ourselves that we’d spend this Christmas somewhere warm – either Tahiti or Thailand. Well, our plans have fallen through on both places, so it looks like Manchester once again.

EXTRA BOOST

There wouldn’t be much point in our going over to Thailand to visit Andy’s brother, Stan, as he’s staying with us at the moment, right here in Manchester. His presence gives our creative household an extra boost as Stan also writes, and together he and Andy have come up with the idea of re-launching a magazine of Andy’s from the eighties. I’ll leave Andy to give you more details about the magazine, which is all to do with a favourite character of Andy’s, Doktir Nairobi – who I actually believe to be an alter ego of Andy himself. I’m sure he will give more details about all of Doktir Nairobi’s theories on his page… this magazine will also involve contributions from me, the first being a piece about dreaming.

DREAMING

Dreams have always been a favourite topic of discussion between Andy and myself – he’s particularly interested in the vivid quality of my dreams, particularly since loosing my sight. In my dreams I can see colours and people around me… though whether I can actually physically see them or just remember and know they’re there, is debatable. I don’t think physical senses are used at all in dreams, and so it makes perfect sense to me when I dream about colours or myself walking, or more often running or even flying. Anyway I’ve written the piece for Andy’s magazine, but he says it won’t do, I need to go into much more detail about my dreams… and so read on at your peril.

HYPNOTIZED??

Doktir Nairobi uses hypnotism to allow people to access their dreams… and so Andy’s been trying hypnotism out with me, to get me to recall the details of my dreams. While I’m quite happy to talk to him freely about my dreams I wouldn’t say that I was in any sort of hypnotic trance, as Andy claims! I was simply talking to him, and remembering the details of a few particular dreams which I’ve had recently… and it is amazing how many details come rushing back when you take yourself back into your dream, and talk about it. It is a magical sensation, I’ll admit that. Yet at the same time I was quite aware of things going on around me, like the phone ringing, feeling cold or whatever… so while I’m not sure exactly what being in a hypnotic trance is like exactly, I don’t think I was in one by any means. Yet I could feel once again exactly the same sensations I had in my dream, for instance of being tall and walking around with high-heeled boots on which made a clopping noise against the floorboards. Or, in another dream I was a formless spirit on the ceiling, just watching. Recalling these dreams takes me right back to being there, but is this being in a trance?? I wonder…

STARGAZY PIE

This is the wonderful name of an evening event involving poetry and art… once again, I’ll leave Andy to elaborate as he knows much more about it than I do. All I know is that we’re going later this week, despite the fact that the event takes place upstairs above a café. Someone told Andy that last time he went to this venue he saw a chap in a Ziggy there, but he doesn’t know how the chap got up the stairs… still, it must be possible. I was immediately intrigued by the name – which apparently is a Cornish delicacy involving pilchards. While this pie doesn’t sound that promising… maybe the event, run by an artist, musician, and writer friend Gary Parkinson, will be worth a try – if I manage to get up the notoriously narrow and steep stairs, that is.

SPEED BUMPS

It’s time to make my views on one of my pet hates known, which now seem to be becoming a more and more frequent hazard. Not only are speed bumps potentially damaging to the vehicle, but also to the people inside the car. I’m heartily sick of having to be sat up again and again whenever going over a speed bump shakes me down in Ziggy. I’m sure I’m not the only one to complain about this – pregnant women must also feel the discomfort caused by speed bumps, not to mention other people in Ziggy or even those who are old. While I was in France I noticed the absence of speed bumps over there, so perhaps they are just a stupid British invention… anyway, I’m sure they don’t do anything to stop vehicles speeding. Even if they do, couldn’t some other method be used which is less of a discomfort to people in Ziggies?

HOT NEWS

MORE ZIGGY BIKES

So far, I’ve been full of negative thoughts about the winter ahead, but just to contradict all this, this morning dawned really bright and sunny… so off we decided to go to Wythenshawe park. I wasn’t sure if they’d still have the Ziggy bikes there in winter, but we had a go on the same one as last time. Even Stan had a go at peddling, and once again I enjoyed the sensation so much that I thought to myself: we simply must get ourselves a Ziggy bike as soon as possible. Even without the warmth of the summer, it’s still a wonderful sensation of the closest thing to freedom I’ll ever get! When Brigitte and I had finished on the Ziggy bike, we found Andy examining a 1970’s double Ziggy bike… I wanted to have a go on it, but Andy did better than that – he actually bought it then and there! We haven’t actually managed to bring it home yet as it’s pretty big and would take up the whole van… when Andy collects it he’ll need to make some modifications on the seat, and then it’ll be ready to go! I’m looking forward to enjoying some winter Ziggy cycling round and about… the advantage of it being a double means that someone else can have a ride as well as me!

CATCHING THE LIGHT

My fairy story is now nearing completion and has still been a major distraction from The Space Between, as you will see in Raw Materials. I have been enjoying writing Catching the Light so much that I am determined to repeat the experience, though I haven’t written anything very much for children before. In fact I’m not even sure if my story would appeal exclusively to children, and one of my major worries about it is that it’s a bit complicated… though I hope that both adults and children will be able to read and enjoy it. It’s extremely visual: simply full of colour, which makes me think about a beautiful cover for it – I’m hoping to get Jack interested enough to want to illustrate it. Anyway, Andy says the story is short enough for us to be able to print it… so it should be ready early next year. I do hope everyone will be as excited about this as I am myself, and will support this new venture for me into the realms of fantasy writing! Though the story’s based on Wilde’s life, there’s an awful lot of fictional characters embroidered into it from Wilde’s Dorian Gray - so the whole thing is a complete mishmash of history and fantasy, but more hopefully fantasy, because all the historical characters are things like giants, elves, people made of glass etc. The only way you’ll see what I mean is by ordering your own copy, which you’ll be able to do in the new year.

‘KILLING TIME’ POSTPONED

I confess to having forgotten completely about my promise to publish my novel Killing Time in the autumn… so this novel should be ready by the spring. I blame Catching the Light for distracting me… I suppose it’s a good advert for how obsessive my fairy story is. Anyway Killing Time is already just about laid out on CD format, so it just needs a cover illustration. I’m not quite sure about this one yet, as it’s such an ambitious tale in which the heroine is taken over by the spirit of a Victorian prostitute, and so I’m not sure whether to base the cover in Victorian times or not. She’s taken back to the time when Jack the Ripper stalked the streets in 1888… so possibly this feeling of the Victorian East End fog will be on the cover. Remembering the novel now makes me feel quite excited about it – although it’s nothing at all like Dry Rot, which was written just a few years earlier. It’s completely different, being based in the East End of London - oh, and Wilde appears in it… surprisingly enough. This was actually the first novel of mine in which he made an appearance, and as it’s set in 1888 he’s actually nearing the height of his success. Also this novel involves the first ever appearance of Harriet from The Space Between, the East End prostitute as she was then. I’ll say more about Killing Time nearer its publication…

RAW MATERIALS

I’ve been very much distracted once again by Catching The Light, which I’m finding totally addictive. As I go further with the story, it becomes more and more a fantastic tale, which seems to have no barriers, because it’s set in a magical realm where fact becomes entangled with fantasy. While a lot of the characters are based on historical ones, they’re pretty crazy… beings made of glass or fire or wood, giants and elves etc. It’s extremely exciting to write as the story moves on quickly and I don’t have to worry about explaining the logic of the situation or making them particularly credible. I simply must write some more stuff in the same vein… though nobody’s actually read it yet. I feel pretty happy with it myself, though I’ve yet to hear other people’s reaction. I’m particularly anxious to get some children’s reaction as I want the story to be enjoyed by them without it being necessary to be familiar with the historical background of Wilde’s life. it’ll be interesting to hear Jack’s comments - if I can actually get him to read it that is!

So it was a bit of an effort initially to take a break from the fairytale, but I’d already decided to put a piece of The Space Between in this issue. It’s a bit different from the last piece where the characters from Wilde’s Dorian Gray were entangled with Gustave and Lucien Pissaro. I thought we should get back to Harriet and move the story on a bit further. I’m very aware of spending too long on a single situation that doesn’t seem to change, even though this is the way things often are in reality… things go on and on in the same state, just really boring!! Yet the joy of fiction is that it doesn’t portray reality. The difficulty is making the novel progress and not become too static, so when I wrote this piece I wasn’t happy with it as I thought it was too realistic – Jack didn’t actually say anything to Harriet! I added more to the conversation and hope that this works… do send me your comments on it. the extract goes straight into Harriet’s conversation with Jack who’s just returned from sailing from America with Georges. The conversation takes place at the Freedom Press.

No matter how much I’m distracted by other things, it always all comes back to me in a minute… once you start writing a novel, you just can’t leave it – the very notion doesn’t bear thinking about!! Not only does Harriet’s situation come rushing back, but other characters too, and I’m always aware of the general shape of the novel in terms of the whole year I’m writing about. I still see this novel only going on for a few more years, though I’m still undecided exactly how to end it. I’m not too anxious though, as I’m sure it’ll come quite naturally.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

Following Wilde’s death, it’s now 1905. the copy of Wilde’s manuscript that he gave to Gustave on his deathbed has ended up in the hands of Harriet, who gave it to Jack. Jack and Georges have taken it with them to America, where they’ve been for several months, though Georges promised Harriet he’d return. This extract takes place in the Freedom Press in Whitechapel, where Harriet has been staying. Jack has just returned home.

NOW READ ON:

CHAPTER 5 - 1905

“So, still no sign of Georges?” She asked tentatively.

“No,” Jack said flatly. He moved closer to the fire and stood there for a while, rubbing his hands together. His expression was unrecognisable to Harriet, had he really grown so much older this past year? When finally he caught Harriet’s eye, she still didn’t feel that he was being completely honest with her. He tried to smile but it didn’t work at all and the expression collapsed. “He’s still in New Orleans. He’s not coming back for a while.”

“Oh.” Every move Harriet made seemed suddenly weighted against the incredible silence. The clink of the cups set her teeth on edge, as did the thought of Georges’ wife and comfortable home. As she handed Jack his tea their fingers touched, and she was suddenly warmed by his presence there. “Well… at least you came back – I’m glad about that anyway,” she said in a rush, turning away to hide her emotions.

“I wanted to,” Jack said after a pause in which he stared vaguely out of the window into the backyard, betraying the affection he felt for these Whitechapel streets. “This is my home, this is where I want to stay. Georges asked me to stay with him but I didn’t want to, so here I am.” There was an awkward pause in which Harriet waited for the boy to go on. Growing suddenly impatient, he changed the subject. “I’ve changed my mind, I’m not going sailing ever again! Not to America or nowhere!” He fell silent and there were several moments before he could regain sufficient control of his voice to continue. His tone was so bitter, it was not difficult for Harriet to see the boy’s closeness to Georges had been interrupted for some reason. “Don’t worry, I’ve thought about this and I’m going to keep working at the docks… but I’m not going to go away again,” he said calmly. So calmly in fact that the words seemed harsh.

“Jack… wait, what’s brought this on?” Harriet asked abruptly, “You’ve always wanted to be a sailor, why has it suddenly changed? You’ve not… had an argument with Georges, have you?”

Jack shook his head firmly, though she noticed that he would not meet her eye.

“Not Georges, no.” He gave a shrug and sighed, kicking the fender viciously with his boot. “I just didn’t want to stay there with his family, I didn’t fit in at all.” He raised his eyes to Harriet very slowly. “I didn’t like his wife at all… and it made it worse because he wanted to stay there with her. It didn’t seem fair, the whole thing, because I knew that he should be here with you. He’d told me just that before we left… that he was going to come back to London to be with you, and yet he’d changed his mind. It just didn’t seem right, I didn’t want to have anything to do with it anymore. So I think I’ll probably go sailing again, but not with him.”

Harriet stood immobile, her eyes fixed on a vague patch of damp creeping up the wall immediately ahead of her. The sinking feeling inside her seemed to become a crushing one, never to be lessened. Georges’ wife materialised in her mind – a laughing, scarlet-lipped figure with strawberry blond curls. She shook her head violently, trying to get rid of the image, but it clung on with a startling tenacity – she wanted to take Jack’s hand and pull him to her, but she knew she couldn’t, he wouldn’t let her. When she spoke it was as if her voice had been crushed and completely flattened.

“Georges wife… do you think he’ll ever come back? Maybe… do you think he’ll change his mind?”

This time Jack didn’t kick the fender, but only gently nudged it, but somehow the sharpness of the motion conveyed his answer and his feelings of the bleakness of the situation with even more drama, without making any sound. Quietly the boy turned and left the room, leaving Harriet staring at the damp patch, feeling it creeping over her entire life to consume it. she could feel the hairs on her arm moving gently as though Georges’ hand were stroking her flesh, the undulating rhythm of the quivering, tidal motion of the sea, her eyes stung but no tears would come to ease the situation.

October 2010 Issue 121

2010-10-08T01:04:00.002+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

SEPTEMBER

I’m even more than usually confused when writing this issue – it feels like I’ve only just completed the last issue… time must have become buckled somewhere along the line, though I’m not sure exactly where or why. Perhaps the reason for this is that September’s been such an unusually busy month for us – not only have we been away but there’s been quite a few things going on in Manchester too. My confusion is only increased by the excessively mild and sunny spell we’re enjoying at the moment, which is most unseasonal. Or maybe it’s not, because I seem to remember quite a few really beautiful and glorious autumns, at least early autumns, maybe we should wait until November for the bleak chill and damp, as I’m sure it’ll come in time.

DOCTOR FAUSTUS

I’m really excited about going to see Christopher Marlowe’s play tonight. We’ve been doing a stupidly fast reading of it, which I think we should just finish in time before we go and see it tonight at the exchange theatre. Mr Marlowe actually wrote one version of the play in 1604, and then added some more bits and characters in 1616. I intend to find out more about it’s actual historical background, public reception and such things. I had an idea a few weeks ago of writing a short story based on Mr Marlowe’s actual writing of Faustus and fusing it with some of the characters from the play, including devils like Mephistopheles, though I’m not sure about Faustus himself. I’ll have to work some more on this idea.

SAILING AGAIN

A few weeks ago we went down to Southampton for a day’s sailing on the Jubilee Ziggy Ship as we’ve done before at Falmouth. This time we’re on a different ship from the Lord Nelson, the Tenacious, which both Andy and I instantly liked better, though we weren’t sure exactly why! the lay out of the ship seemed to make it a bit easier to get around. Neither of us minded the extremely early start for it was beautiful weather – bright sunshine and even slightly warmer!! I loved the feeling of being outside and being away from the constant traffic – the smell of the sea and gentle creaking of the sails made it necessary to be doing nothing other than relaxing in the sunshine – sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? And it was – both of us would like to sail further next time, because just going along the coast, around the Isle of Wight and back is a bit frustrating.

WOODLAND CONFUSION

At the last moment we arranged a meeting with an old friend of mine from Germany, Doris - who I actually haven’t seen for ten years… so I was a bit nervous to start off with. But things became even more confusing when Andy parked the van in a back street. Intrepid explorer though I may be, I was totally confused when Doris lead us from the back street through some woodland which I could identify as such by the wonderful smell of damp. When we came to a halt and continued to sit outside in the sunshine, I was listening out for the sound of a baby crying, for Andy told me Doris had a baby which actually turned out to be seven years old, hardly a baby really. This added to my complete confusion… I half suspected Doris to live in some kind of log cabin, but in fact it was a fairly straight forward house, with steep steps around the front which was obviously why we’d come round the back. Doris’s son was called Olando. I’ve never read Virginia Woolfe’s novel, but I wonder if it’s about a woman disguised as Olando? I was very sorry not to have spoken to the little boy but he was very shy, Andy said that it was a memorable meeting after all this time. I’d love to return to the woodland again, and maybe not feel quite so confused next time.

FRENCH TRAFFIC

The next day we caught the ferry across the channel to France, and drove down to the campsite in Picardy - not our first choice of Normandy, but next to it which is close enough! To begin with our van didn’t have a very good journey, we had a slight mishap with another vehicle… and things got even worse… driving in France is a real nightmare, it turned out. Andy said there was just too much traffic and the towns were particularly badly laid out so that the flow of traffic was slowed down by stupid one way systems and traffic lights everywhere. So we were constantly stuck, crawling along wherever we went in northern France. In fact we never got to see half the places we wanted to, because we just couldn’t face being stuck in traffic for hours… which was very sad. We did go to the little village of Eragny, Pissaro’s hometown - we even saw his house, though it made me feel rather sad because he’d obviously been completely forgotten by the wealthy French people who lived there… They probably didn’t even know about Camille’s anarchist principles anyway,

PARIS GHOST-LAND

Despite the dreadful traffic situation, we decided to brave it and go to Paris - although it turned out to be a totally unwise decision!! It took hours to get into Paris to start with, and then crawled round the city all day before finding a parking space near the Seine. Even though it was later by then it was still warm, and we strolled through the Luxembourg Gardens into Montparnasse - where Modigliani used to have his studio. Both Andy and I really wanted to go to it, but we found it impossible to get into so we simply had to look from the outside. However we did manage to see the house from which Jeanne, Modigliani’s partner jumped from after the artist had died himself. It was wonderful just to be able to spend these few hours soaking up that amazing feeling of Paris - even though we found back at the van - a parking ticket!! Oh well.

PICARDY CAMPSITE

One of the best days in France was one we spent on the campsite itself, only driving a very short distance to a nearby town. There was a beautiful old castle at the town which looked like it had been cut out of an old folktale, it even had a drawbridge and moat. In the evening we went for a walk around the lakes at the campsite, which made me think of a similar campsite in Norfolk. There was exactly the same feeling of peace… it was not too cold, just slightly autumney but in the daytime it was really warm in the sun. In fact I was surprised that more people weren’t camping as we seemed to be just about the only ones there. Although I’d say the campsite wasn’t particularly wonderful - it’s very much used as a stop over place for people passing through on the way to somewhere else, it’s quite adequate Ziggy wise and this day we spent there was perhaps the best day of the holiday!

ATAXIA DAY

When we arrived back in Manchester things continued to be quite busy. We went for another spin on the Ziggy bike through the Peak District National Park… we took a different route this time through some woodland which was lovely. Every bit as exhilarating an experience as last time. I Still haven’t managed to get myself a Ziggy bike yet - but still the intention is there. I forgot to mention in the last issue it was Ataxia day on 25^th September, but I believe Andy mentioned it. We took part anyway in the sponsored walk at Etherow Country Park near Stockport along with lots of other members of the Manchester group… most of whom just had sticks, but there were a few other Ziggy’s there leading the way! It’s a beautiful park which I don’t remember having been to though my mum tells me I’ve been there several times… it has both a river and a canal which used to have a water mill, and also a lake… lots of water and woodland. It was a great walk anyway, and good to see everyone else from the group.

THE OTHER OSCAR WILDE SOCIETY

As you might well be aware by now, October 16^th is Oscar Wilde’s birthday and as usual the Oscar Wilde Society is holding a birthday dinner in London, the price is £69. This is a bit beyond my budget, as you’ll perhaps understand - and I’m fed up finally with constantly being unable to join in with such capitalist society events because they’re ridiculously priced! So, I’ve been thinking of starting my own The Other Oscar Wilde Society here in Manchester, which would be of interest to many other Oscar Wilde followers, but wouldn’t be quite so expensive. Although I have quite a few contacts who I could ask to give talks etc. I’m not quite sure if I feel confident enough to go ahead and actually start something… so could other readers of Raw Meat please give me more feedback on this idea? I feel that it’s very important to give people a more complete picture of Oscar - who wasn’t just pampering to the wealthy all the time, he was also extremely generous as well as calling himself an anarchist. So I think he wouldn’t have been that impressed with the Oscar Wilde Society’s extortionate demands and elitism. I’d be interested to know other peoples feelings about these ideas of mine, which are as yet just feelings. But are they to become action??

RAW MATERIALS

Even though I’ve not yet got round to actually reading the Inkheart Trilogy, I’ve every intention of doing so, because this ability of fiction to come to life continues to intrigue me, to such an extent that I’ve finally decided to use the old idea in a bit of The Space Between. I’ve been toying with the idea for so long now and I realised it would fit in just here. There didn’t seem to be much happening historically speaking, so there was obviously a space to be filled with a spot of fiction mixed with historical characters to create a bit of drama. I’d already decided quite a few years ago to use Wilde’s Dorian Gray characters which seemed to be a natural choice – Wilde’s novel being the best known of his writing, apart from the plays perhaps. I deliberately didn’t want to use any of the main characters as I like the feeling of being able to fill gaps left by the original writer – in this case, Wilde. So the choice of a lesser known character, Adrian Singleton, came quite naturally from Gustav and Lucien Pissarro’s occasional bouts of opium smoking. I was also really intrigued by Wilde’s brief mention of Adrian – and then nothing more, he simply disappears from the novel… so I picked up the pieces and put them together my own way! I was drawn to Adrian because I felt he was a very sad and lonely character, having been ostracised – and of course he ultimately loses Dorian himself, so I can’t see any sort of positive future for him, if I’m taking him 15 years on after Dorian’s death and I wanted him to walk out of the pictures of Wilde’s novel into mine, I’ve always wanted to do just that. Exactly how Wilde himself would have reacted to my own taking such a liberty with his work, I wouldn’t like to say, though I like to think that he’d support my own use of stepping away from Dorian Gray into my own fiction, and mixing the two together to create something new. Adrian only actually appears in Wilde’s novel a couple of times, briefly in the opium den at Limehouse – so he quite naturally fitted in with Whitechapel and as he’s been mentioned a couple of times in The Space Between already in relation to Opium, the path was paved rather nicely. Andy has warned me to be very careful in saying anything about a historical character such as Lucien, in relation to opium – but there you are, I like playing with fire! This is fiction after all.

I’m aware I’m playing a dangerous game here, trying to involve fictional characters head on with actual historical ones, for wouldn’t they be aware of the fiction at the time it was written? A further complication arises with the Dorian Gray stuff, in that Wilde was using Bosie as the basis for Dorian, even though he’d not actually met him at the time, so the whole thing about Dorian’s involvement with real life is much too complicated for me to handle, therefore I feel no hesitation about making a complete hash of Dorian, Lucien Pissarro and Gustav! Having written this piece I really want to go on with it and maybe spend more time with Adrian, which is perfectly possible for me to do at some point.

I’ve not been writing anymore bits of Alice for Writers’ Island this month, perhaps because my attention has been centred on The Space Between for a change… which actually makes quite a nice change I think, as it’s something that is never far from my mind. I’ll always return to it simply because it’s an obsession which can’t possibly be left incomplete. So though I may toy with the idea of giving up novel writing, I just don’t think that’s a realistic step to take at the moment. I might well have to change the form of the novel to suit me… but that’s ok, fiction should alter and bend to fit in. I’ve still got every intention of completing my children’s story Catching the Light – in the same way I can’t possibly just leave it at this point, when it only needs a couple more chapters. I’ve got a rough idea of them in my head, so I’m going to finish it, even though I didn’t hear anything about the competition – so I presume I didn’t win. But that doesn’t really matter at all for the ending of the story is already in sight, though I don’t want to make it too sad, it won’t be a happy one by any means!!

I also want to involve Constance’s fall down the stairs in this chapter, which is an incredible example of a metaphorical fall with Oscar becoming real for his wife, that I can’t possibly overlook it… I suppose you could say that it catches the light perfectly.

THE STORY SO FAR…

It’s the winter of 1905, and Lucien Pissarro is making a delivery to the Freedom Press anarchist bookshop in Whitechapel with his friend Gustav.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

“We’ll see you next time, Wilf,” he said as he opened the door and allowed Gustav to run lightly down the front steps, for the rain had stopped by now. Lucien followed Gustav out into Angel Ally as he turned to his left towards the main road. The ally around them seemed suddenly very silent. Gustav seemed to be uncertain of what to do, as if he had been distracted by something, some feeling.

“What’s the matter, what is it?” asked Lucien, straining his eyes to see anything in the dim light of the gas lamp.

“I’m not certain,” said Gustav quietly, “I just think something’s wrong… I don’t know,” murmured Gustav, taking a step towards the dimly lit passageway that led around behind them. Suddenly there was a scuffling sound and a man appeared from the passage way – he stopped as soon as he caught sight of Gustav and Lucien, turned away and ran quickly out of Angel Ally. Gustav hesitated only momentarily before entering the passageway; ahead of him he could only just make out a thin figure half crouched on the rough ground, leaning back against the wall of the building and holding his head in his hands, which he was shaking slowly from side to side.

“Are you alright?” Gustav called as he ran up to the figure. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

The man gazed at Gustav vacantly, shaking his head all the time. His voice seemed to be as plain as his face, the words pushed out like a dying breath.

“Dorian… you’ve come back to me, at last.”

As Gustav examined the man’s face more closely, an uneasy sense of familiarity came over him.

“Wait a minute… it’s Adrian, isn’t it? are you alright?”

Lucien appeared beside Adrian and helped him slowly to his feet. Still Adrian continued to stare at Gustav, as if in some kind of trance.

“Dorian… Dorian…”

Lucien glanced at Gustav quickly.

“Adrian Singleton… I don’t believe it,” said Lucien flatly. “Still the same, eh?” he turned to Gustav, still supporting Adrian with his strong arm. “I don’t think he’s hurt, Gustav, just shaken. It’s probably the opium that’s making him so confused. He thinks you’re someone else.”

Adrian suddenly lurched forwards, half falling upon Gustav and enfolding him in his skinny arms. Gustav tried to push him away.

“You’re wrong Adrian – I’m not Dorian, I’m Gustav. Don’t you recognise me? It’s been quite a few years, I know.”

“No… don’t say that,” moaned Adrian, struggling to keep hold of Gustav’s shoulders. New lines had appeared over his face since the two men had last met; in fact, Gustav felt that he hardly recognised him at all. Adrian continued to stare at him blankly, his eyes looked strangely haunted by unreal memories. “You’re Dorian… you must be.”

“I’m afraid not… I really don’t know who this Dorian is,” said Gustav impatiently.

“I think I do,” said Lucien, his voice becoming suddenly gentle, as though he realised the pain his words may cause. He pushed the haggard-faced man back against the wall, separating him physically from Gustav. “You mean Dorian Gray, don’t you, Adrian? He’s dead, you know that… he died years ago. We’ve seen each other since then, don’t you recognise Gustav? He’s not Dorian.”

The harsh edges of pain became etched right into Adrian’s face. The memories of his vision hanging like a shroud before his glazed eyes. He continued to swing mechanically, like a pendulum, as he faced Lucien. “No… don’t say that, you’re wrong – Dorian can’t die. That’s all a lie somebody else told… I don’t believe it.”

Lucien gazed into the man’s vacant expression for only a moment before giving an impatient sigh and turning away.

“Well, it’s true, whether you believe it or not, I’m afraid. Look, I think this has gone quite far enough… can we take you home, Adrian?”

URBAN SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

OSCAR WILDE

I’m not sure about Nic’s idea to form an alternative Oscar Wilde society. I know £69 sounds like a lot of money to pay for a meal, but for a five star hotel in The Strand that doesn’t sound too bad to me. Perhaps it’s a case of knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing.

FRANCE

What can I say about France, we had a good time camping, I often think that I like to go camping just for the sake of going camping, rather than going camping to visit Paris or Normandy or wherever. We managed to find Modigliani’s studio in Montparnasse and Camille Pissarro’s house at Eragny, and we spent a nice afternoon in the Luxembourg gardens. We didn’t go in any of the big galleries this time but we did go in the little Orangery in The Jardin du Luxembourg and had a look at the 1865 apple tree.

SPONSORSHIP
Finally, many thanks to all the people who sponsored Nic in the Wheely Wobberly Walk, she managed to get a few people to cough up a fiver or two, and we're collecting that money right now, as we have to hand it in very soon. So if you pledged any money, this is a reminder, and if you didn't, it still isn't too late to send us some anyway! If you want to see the pictures from the day you can find them on Facebook on the Manchester Ataxia Branch site.
More from Urban Scrawl Andy in November.

September 2010 Issue 120

2010-09-08T00:19:00.002+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

GETTING ON

Well, even though the years are ticking by with such a remorseless sense of urgency I wasn’t looking forward to celebrating my birthday this year. In fact it turned out to be a far more enjoyable occasion than usual because I received quite a few birthday messages from various friends – some of whom I haven’t seen for ages! So this made it a very special day for me – many thanks to anyone who remembered it, your thought was much appreciated. Also, I decided to actually do something a bit different this year – so we all went to Chester Zoo for the day… it was a particularly beautiful September day as well which added to the enjoyment, and the whole experience was highly enjoyable for everyone I hope. My mum adopted a tamarind for me, as I’ve always been really fond of these little monkeys, I still remember them clearly… they had such tiny, delicate little faces and long fingers, and were covered in silver fur.

THE BAT HOUSE

At the zoo I was particularly keen to go and see the bats, as I hoped I’d be able to feel them flying past, as they’re kept in a sort of bat room. This room, which has no windows, I actually found a bit claustrophobic, having no source of natural light, just an artificial twilight, which made it quite eerie. I knew the bats were there, flying past, but I couldn’t feel them – probably they’re much too skilful and good at navigating! The thing that struck me about the bat room was the strong smell of both fruit and… something else, probably bats. I found out afterwards that the room was about thirty feet high – which explains why I couldn’t feel the bats whizzing past, they were all overhead of course.

ANIMALS

Andy wanted to see the giraffes, he’s a bit fascinated by them, as he says they can walk for hundreds of miles. I liked the giraffes, of course, but not as much as something a bit weirder, the Okapi. They were like a combination of a giraffe and a zebra! Another weird creature was a little dragon, without the wings. They also seemed to have quite a few rhinoceroses there for some reason, and I was struck by how closely these animals appear to dinosaurs – which they are, I suppose.

JACK’S MUSIC

Jack didn’t come with us to the zoo because he had an interview at City College for his music production course, which he’d set his heart on doing. Well, he must have made a good impression as he was accepted right away – in fact he’ll have already have started by the time you read this. I’m not quite sure exactly what the course involves as I don’t think Jack does either, but apparently it’s the best course of its kind in Manchester, so he should enjoy it.

LATE SUMMER

As the weather’s been better these last few weeks than it has been all summer, I’m beginning to feel a bit more optimistic about our camping expedition in Picardy next week. The combination of Paris and the Normandy countryside should bear fruit. Both Andy and I have a great affection for this area of France – possibly we were both northern French people in previous lives, maybe even sans culottes during the revolution. We also hope to visit Eragny in Normandy, and see for ourselves the weird triangular house which belonged to Camille Pissaro, the artist and anarchist.

MORE ZIGGY BIKES

Having enjoyed our ride on the Ziggy Trike a couple of months ago, both Andy and I had made up our minds to buy one for ourselves so that we can use it right away whenever we want… not to mention without the expense of hiring one! We found a couple of possibilities on the internet which were for sale by auction – both of these weren’t standard Ziggy bikes, but could easily be made suitable with a bit of work. The first was a double Ziggy bike for weddings, with a white canopy veil and seat – immediately Andy had ideas of becoming a chauffer and going into business. But we didn’t get the bike which was actually an Indonesian Rickshaw, we were outbid at the last minute. The second one was a Dutch Cargo trike – but once again we lost it right at the end of the auction! Extremely frustrating but we’re going to try again at the next opportunity… so keep watching this space.

PLAYS

I finally got round to reading Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest after having seen the play in June and feeling really frustrated at having missed so much of the humour in it, which I hoped to be able to appreciate more fully if Ruth and I had read it together. So that’s just what we have been doing - and sure enough it’s every bit as funny as I remember. Also reading it more closely emphasises the brilliance of Oscar’s mind, as far as working out intricate plots! I never realised before that Jack was actually pretending to be called Ernest, and that the other chap Algernon knew him – I thought that Ernest was nothing but a fictional character. I can imagine Oscar chuckling to himself as he penned the play all those years ago in Worthing… is still wonderful now. There’s another play that I want to read in preparation for a visit to The Royal Exchange Theatre in Manchester next month because I want to be able to appreciate this play as much. It’s Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe which I’ve never seen before, so I’ve got absolutely nothing to go on which is a little bit daunting. However, I don’t want to miss this opportunity… I’m sure I’ll be able to get to soak up the atmosphere of this massive stage classic.

CREATIVE SUMMER

Over the past few months I’ve been writing quite a few different things, some of them being completely new stories which are sort of for children but also seem to be really appreciated by adults. As well as continuing with my children’s story based on Oscar’s life Catching the Light – which will soon be finished - I’ve also been continuing with my short pieces for Writer’s Island. And continuing to receive such enthusiastic comments urging me to go on with the story that of course I intend to, as I enjoy writing them every bit as much. It makes me think that the internet has completely changed the whole writing/publishing industry… so that conventional publishers should perhaps become eventually obsolete. If you’d like to read my Alice stories for yourself you will find them on my Without Boundaries web log.

RAW MATERIALS

Despite my initial nerves about getting back to The Space Between after such a long break, it only took a bit of time for it all to come flooding back – exactly where we were with Harriet… and then the amazing thing was that I began thinking along exactly the same lines as I had been six weeks ago!! I mean by this that I knew ideas would develop, for I know by now which way all the characters destinies are heading, so then it was actually quite an exciting experience to resurrect these ideas, and toy around with them as much as I had been doing before I took the break. My fears of feeling at a loss and, worse still, mixed up about in which direction each of the characters was heading instantly dissolved away to nothing. In fact it was like I’d never been away, except that I just felt a new burst of energy… I may even bring into the story an idea I had, but didn’t feel confident enough to tackle earlier. This idea would involve bringing in a fictional character from Wilde’s Dorian Gray, and it would develop the opium smoking idea..

This idea of characters stepping out of books and becoming real is one that’s been coming up time and time again; one of the comments I received about my Alice stories (which have been appearing every week on my Web log Without Boundaries) compared my story to the Inkheart Trilogy. I had never heard of it, but I discovered that these German books by Cornelia Flunke (wonderful name) concern exactly the same idea – characters stepping out of fiction and confronting reality, this excited me right from the very beginning, the initial spark that became the The Spark later. It’s interesting that the prompt from Writer’s Island last week was Inception – it’s a shame that I can’t see the film, because the idea sounds wonderful, and I can and definitely will read Cornelia Flunke’s books… I’m not sure quite how popular these books were, because no one I know seems to have heard of them.

THE SPACE BETWEEN: THE STORY SO FAR

It’s the winter of 1905 and Harriet is still awaiting the return of Georges who has set sail for America, taking with him both Jack and Wilde’s manuscript which had been in the care of Robbie Ross since Wilde’s death in 1900. there is one other copy of the story, in the possession of Charles Ricketts.

CHAPTER 5 – 1905

A miserable icy sleet had just begun to fall as Harriet collected together the final pieces of washing from the line across the yard; hastily she stuffed them into the basket and returned inside, pulling the back door closed behind her with relief and moving quickly across the room to stoke up the fire. she watched all her own movements, with a strange, detached sensation, as if the wind had intruded into her heart and turned it to ice. The characters of Georges and Jack moved around as they constantly did in her mind… but they had become dim and gloomy shapes by now, flimsy, without substance. She looked up as the door creaked open, without interest, to see Wilf come in.

“Morning,” he said to Harriet as he went over to the table and made himself a cup of tea. A warm, knitted hat was pulled over his balding head and the tip of his beaky nose was beginning to glow scarlet. “Filthy weather out there. You’re best off in here by the fire… don’t go out unless you have to.”

Harriet smiled, saying nothing. She watched his quick, hurried actions, which seemed so mechanical, like a clockwork toy. The printer glanced at a few letters in his hand, then back at Harriet.

“Wait here a minute… there may be some news for you. This is from Georges, I think.”

Harriet took a step forward but stopped abruptly as Wilf began to rip open the envelope; she realised that the letter was for Wilf, not for her at all… this realisation caused her a great feeling of sinking disappointment. He had not even kept his promise to write, so that now his words came to her from someone else, made distant. She stared ahead numbly as his eyes moved over the words.

“Well, what does it say?” she asked abruptly.

“Oh… just that he’s been delayed over there in New Orleans and will be back next month. That’s all… Jack as well.”

It was a moment before Harriet could bring herself to speak.

“Why has he been delayed? Doesn’t he say?” She was aware of how bitter and harsh her voice sounded. And she hated herself for it. Wilf laid a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, sensing her disappointment. “He doesn’t say… maybe bad weather or something, I wouldn’t worry if I was you, he says he’ll be back. He says he’s sorry he missed Christmas, but everything’s alright, Harriet.”

Harriet turned her back on Wilf, staring fiercely into the fire, the flames themselves seemed to coil and writhe like trapped snakes trying to break free from their bondage in the grate. At The Freedom Press there seemed to be no escape, no real freedom.

August 2010 Issue 119

2010-08-07T23:40:00.001+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

GOLDEN ISSUE

My intention was to make this issue of the newsletter a truly golden one… but whether or not Andy has been able to get the computer to comply with my wishes, I wouldn’t like to say! Still, the idea was there anyway. Last month my parents celebrated their golden wedding anniversary, so now I’d like to dedicate this issue to them – even if it is a bit too late!

GOLDEN DAY

A few weeks ago there was a complete family get-together at my mum and dad’s house, or rather in the garden, because it actually wasn’t raining for once!! It’s a rare occurrence indeed to get all my sisters and brother and Jack and Andy and even my mum’s sister together at the same time. Surprisingly there were no arguments or curt silences as there used to be on family occasions such as these… but nowadays it’s just really nice to see everyone and have a chat. There was plenty of good food and wine, even a golden gazebo tied with balloons, and lots of presents of course. I think that mum and dad really enjoyed the whole thing as well… fifty years together still seems unbelievable to me! Ah, the passing of time…

CAMELOT

I haven’t been up to any more crazy stunts on a Ziggy bike recently… but I did go on some of the rides at a theme park near Chorley recently. I wanted to go back to Camelot because I remember so well everything about it… I hoped I could still enjoy all the medieval feel to it, even without my sight. Well, perhaps that was being slightly too ambitious… because the whole thing was extremely confusing as it’s pretty noisy all the time, so I was completely in the dark!! But I must be getting used to that situation now, because I still greatly enjoyed just being there, even if I could only appreciate it fully afterwards, if you see what I mean. I was particularly impressed by the jousting they did… two chaps dressed in armour on real horses, which must be well trained, I thought. On this particular occasion one of the lances actually broke, which must happen pretty frequently… also I thought the knights must get injured sometimes, falling off horses all the time! Presumably they must be stunt riders or actors or something, and they must be paid extremely well!! Also there was sword fighting, which was actually more like sword hitting, and a jester. I had to imagine a awful lot of the medieval background… the stripy tents, the castle façade even the horses, as I couldn’t touch them or hear their hooves. But nonetheless it was great just to be there and get the sensations that I could!

DRAGON FLYER

Of course I reacted enthusiastically to Brigitte’s suggestion that we go on a few of the rides. This is something I hadn’t done since loosing my sight, but I didn’t hesitate for a moment… with Brigitte beside me, what could possibly happen? Besides that, I remember the Dragon Flyer really well, and used to love the temptation of speed so much that I was just glad I could go on it again. Andy told me afterwards the Camelot staff who were around on the rides were all really cool and helpful… even if they weren’t allowed to actually physically help because of bloody insurance, which I’m well used to. Fortunately both Brigitte and Andy were there to help, so there was no problem. After the Dragon Flyer we went on the Whirlwind which was a bit confusing, not least because I felt everything going round and round, without realising that we were travelling forward at the same time along a sort of roller coaster. I must admit that I hesitated slightly before going on the Knightmare… it sounded pretty scary by the sound of it. But Brigitte said it was just like a roller coaster, so I thought “oh why not?” It actually felt just like a roller coaster… I still love that sensation of speed, going down really fast. It’s really wonderful, not half as scary as it could be… if I could see, I think I’d be much more scared. I think of all the rides Dragon Flyer was still my favourite… even outdoing the Ziggy bike for sheer exhilaration!

BLACKPOOL??

We’ve not been doing anything much of late, mainly because of the totally nondescript weather. Ever since we arrived back from Worthing, it’s been grey and cloudy… even rainy from time to time. Andy and I actually went to Blackpool a few weeks ago, such was my boredom with life and everything in it!! I must have been desperate, because I hate Blackpool… and my feelings hadn’t changed much, despite the fact that Blackpool prides itself on being totally Ziggy friendly. In fact that’s one of the main reasons I don’t like it – it’s all so artificial, miles and miles of promenade, along which we could cycle if we had a Ziggy bike, Andy told me enthusiastically. I wasn’t impressed with the idea though – it would be really boring without hills, countryside and speed! Added to all this, the tide was out so there was no smell or sound of the sea. For some reason all the piers were shut so the place was like a ghost town, really silent and sinister. What happened to all the summertime tourists with their silly hats and ice reams?? Andy suggested moving to Blackpool and opening a B&B… to which I made no comment!

DEVASTATION

We’ve almost finished Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? – in fact, we’re on the last chapter. More than with the actual story, I’m impressed with the sinister atmosphere of the city following and atomic explosion… whether or not there was a war I’m not sure, but anyway San Francisco is totally unrecognisable. Of course there’s very few people actually left – most have emigrated to Mars, which must surely be overpopulated as a planet! Anyway there seem to be more androids than people… which makes Rick’s job as an android hunter seems pretty risky, not to mention pointless. The book concentrates on the relationships between androids and humans, and also between androids and other androids but still, it’s the background I find so haunting… the sinister constant rainfall, which I still remember from Blade Runner, the film version of the book.

A BIRMINGHAM JUNGLE

We made a hastily arranged rendezvous with Sheila in the depths of Birmingham, you can imagine my surprise at finding myself surrounded by trailing vines and banana trees… only afterwards did I discover that we were in fact in the botanical gardens, which I’ve heard my sister Lesley (who lives in Birmingham) talk about. I formed a new theory about the smell of brightly coloured, exotic flowers – they don’t seem to smell as much as you’d expect. It’s as if they think looking striking is enough. Outside the greenhouse there were several cages filled with a strange variety of birds, including some weird fowl, like peacocks only they had no tail. But the bodies of these monals were so striking that they didn’t really need a tail – a mixture of emerald, different shades of blue, topped with a beautiful golden crown. I’d never heard of these creatures before. They may have looked great but when they opened their beaks, a hideous squawking came out, completely shattering the illusion of beauty!

RAW MATERIALS

Despite my best intentions, I’ve not yet come up with the goods… so this issue won’t include a piece about Harriet as I hoped it would. Once again I’ve been busy writing other things, so more Writers’ Island pieces are here instead for you to feast your eyes on. Let’s hope you find them as fascinating as do other readers… the amount of comments I’ve received about them so far have amazed me. several people have urged me to go on with the Alice story so that’s just what I am doing. It’s very addictive to write, very much like a soap opera I suppose, only with much more scope for the imagination, as it involves magic and time travel! It’s great fun to write, very easy… Andy called the idea behind Writers’ Island, “an exercise in creative writing,” which sums it up exactly.

For the Reunion piece, I decided to name the beautiful young witch from a film I saw many years ago, which I was so impressed by that I still remember it in great detail. It was a Swedish film and the main character, Elvira, fell in love with a young soldier and they ran away together. The last few scenes in the film were wonderful… the couple are starving and they search around for mushrooms in the grass. In the end the young soldier shoots Elvira in the head and then himself. If that wasn’t enough, Andy told me that it’s a true story! I don’t think I’ll ever forget those scenes… but anyway, Elvira had to be resurrected in my story, although it’s nothing like as tragic. I don’t know where the story’s going to lead to, as I just write according to the theme each week – if something else inspires me in some other direction, then I’ll leave Alice for a while. It’s really nice having no boundaries for once, a bit of a change from novel writing.

Actually, something else has been distracting me from The Space Between, and that’s Catching The Light. I’ve been continuing with my children’s story, as I said I would, I couldn’t possibly leave it at the first chapter, especially as I had the rough outline in my head. Although it’s based on Wilde’s life, it also involves his writing, such as The Picture of Dorian Gray. I was fascinated by something that Oscar said in a letter to a friend, about Dorian Gray being autobiographical in so far that he himself appeared split in two, the artist, and Dorian Gray himself. The Portrait of Dorian Gray can also be seen in Wilde’s relationship with Bosie (Lord Alfred Douglas). Dorian actually physically resembles Bosie almost exactly, even though Oscar wrote the novel before they actually met. So I wanted to interweave all these ideas and this was the perfect opportunity, with a fairy tale involving plenty of imagination. I’m a bit worried that I’ve made it too complicated and involved… but my hope is that it’s also quite easy to read and enjoy without having to know all the Wilde background. I can see it all in my head – I think it would make a fantastic animated film.

HERE’S A COUPLE OF MY WRITER’S ISLAND PIECES

REUNION

Without another word Bartholomew led Alice over the fender and stepped into the ashes which covered the grate. He hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes tightly, a look of intense concentration furrowing his brow.

“I’m not at all sure this’ll work when there’s no fire,” he told Alice quickly, “but it’s worth a try anyway. I’m going to try and go back to my old school, Hogwart’s… I left it a couple of years ago.”

Alice glanced up at the young wizard uncertainly.

“What do I do?” she asked, “How can I help with the magic?”

Bartholomew shook his head, concentrating hard and clutching Alice’s hand close to him.

“You can’t do anything, I just have to lead the way and think of wherever I want to go. You just follow.”

“Alright,” stepping into the grate and being instantly enclosed by darkness, falling down… and seeing around her head spinning shreds of energy, places, people she had never met and did not recognise… still she kept falling, unaware of the young wizard clutching her hand.

Eventually she realised that her surroundings had become still. She gazed around back over her shoulder and thought at first that the room was her father’s study back in Victorian Oxford – for she was sure she could smell both the chalk dust and the age of academic books. Alice turned, eyeing curiously the bent and beautiful head of a young woman sat behind the huge dark wood desk in the centre of the room; beside her she felt Bartholomew’s grip on her arm suddenly tighten. The young woman behind the desk unwound herself slowly as she rose to her feet, her dark hair falling almost to her waist. She had the most beautiful emerald eyes Alice had ever seen in her life. the young woman’s face broke into a wide smile as she caught sight of the two figures in the grate. She moved towards them with her arms outstretched.

“Bartholomew… Bartholomew Dross? Where have you been? Come here” she exclaimed breathlessly, her arms enclosing the wizard and pulling him to her with a strength that unnerved Alice. “Come here, you errant young wizard, you! I thought you’d left me for good!”

Bartholomew shifted uncomfortably in the room he was obviously enjoying himself. “I told you I’d be back… Professor Madigan,” the young wizard said so warmly. “I couldn’t just leave you, could I?”

The beautiful witch screamed with laughter throwing back her head so that her long black hair swung out behind her.

“I’ve told you before not to call me Professor… it keeps us at such a distance, Bart… and we know each other fairly well now don’t we?” so saying, she stroked the young wizard’s cheek gently with her fingernails which Alice noticed were filed to sharp points. Alice gave a little cough; she felt distinctly uneasy. As Professor Madigan switched her gaze onto the little girl.

“I’m glad to see you once again – I couldn’t believe I’d lost you within the labyrinth of time and dimension, I knew you’d come back to me. she took a step backwards, looking at Alice coldly. “But I see you’re not alone, my dear boy. Who’s your travelling companion?”

Alice squirmed beneath the intensity of the witches green eyes – but she could say nothing.

TITLES

The beautiful young witch narrowed her emerald eyes as she looked at the little girl standing before her.

“Wait a minute… I’m sure I recognise you from a book when I used to teach English literature” she said thoughtfully, “Through The Looking Glass And What Alice Found There… I believe that’s the full title. I used to teach it before I turned to the realms of magic, and moved on to become a teacher of Necromancy at Hogwart’s several years ago. Where Bart and I know each other from… isn’t that right, Bart?”

Breaking off, she slipped out surreptitiously into Bart’s robes; the young wizard glanced towards Alice uneasily.

“Professor Madigan… don’t,” he muttered in a low voice as he shifted from one point to the other, fidgeting with the hem of his robe. “You’re embarrassing me… not to mention Alice. Remember, she’s a well brought up Victorian girl.”

“Come along now Bart – I’ve told you before that we’re on first name terms now, surely?” The witch sidled up closer to Bart, wrapping her arms around her. “I’m Elvira to you now… don’t you remember that evening in my office?” she glanced dismissively at Alice, giving an impatient tut as she turned back to Bart. “As for you my Victorian friend… I don’t know what you think you’re doing here. You don’t belong here at all do you? How did you manage to step over the boundaries of time? Is it something in the floo powder do you think Bart?”

“I don’t think so,” objected Bart quickly, “ we haven’t used the floo powder yet – have we Alice?”

The little black and white figure glanced up shyly, twisting her apron strings rubbing one grey stockinged leg with the other foots black shoe.

“Mister Dross is right, Professor Madigan I’ve not done any time travelling at all… just look around the room. What do you see?”

The witch gazed slowly all around, swivelling her bright green eyes as she took in the monotone surroundings. The vivid blue shades on her robe stood out starkly against the background.

“I see what you mean… everything is straight out of the Tenniel illustration for the book. Which means that…” she paused, tapping her teeth with one pointed scarlet fingernail. “We’re the ones who’ve done the time travelling, me and young Bart not you, Alice… we’re still in your age, aren’t we? That’s the first time I’ve ever travelled in time with floo powder, I must admit – that’s quite impressive. How do you think we managed to do that going backwards?”

Bart gave a shrug, looking away.

“It’s my first time as well Elvira. I don’t know how we managed it… something in the mind control, maybe.”

MORE RAW MATERIALS IN SEPTEMBER

URBAN SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

BLOGGING

I don’t seem to have done much in the Blogisphere lately, in fact I think the last post I made was on this very page a month ago. I haven’t put anything new on any of my blogs for six weeks or more, and I haven’t checked my e-mails. The e-mails are the thing I’m dreading dealing with as I usually get around seventy a day when I’m blogging. Fortunately most of them are comments, or more correctly, notifications of comments on my blog posts. Anyway…

BIG CHILL

Jack’s gone off to The Big Chill festival in Herefordshire this weekend, he’s taken Wellington boots with him and if the weather’s anything like it is here in Manchester, I think he’s going to need them. Although it’s not actually raining at the minute, the general outlook looks more like winter than summer, in fact it’s been like this non-stop since we returned from Worthing a few weeks ago.

CAMPING

Nic still wants to go camping in Normandy and to visit Paris in September, and we’ve just been invited to a wedding in Poland. I really don’t know how we can fit all these things in and go to Holland and Denmark to look at Ziggy bikes and to Southampton for a days sailing on a tall ship. Then there’s the Wibberley Wobbly Walk on the 25^th of September, and the Manchester Ataxia Branch meeting and the 2^nd annual knees up to look forward to and all in September. As for August we’ve still got the bank holiday weekend, the start of the football season and a hatful of birthdays to look forward to.

SMOKING

On the 13^th of August, it will not only be Nic’s sister Lesley’s birthday or my old mate Cid Maher’s birthday, but it will also be the fifth anniversary of me giving up smoking!

MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN SEPTEMBER
Thanks for reading!!!!

July 2010 Issue 118

2010-07-07T15:57:00.009+01:00

Nic on the Ziggy Trike with Brigitte.

Nicola's Editorial

THAT SEA-SIDE RESORT AGAIN

We’ve just arrived back from a fun-packed few days camping near Worthing, that’s why this issue is somewhat late. I’m not too sure if we were particularly lucky with the weather… at the campsite the sun was shining all the time which makes a rather nice change from grey Manchester. By coincidence, we had just been to see Oscar’s play The Importance of Being Earnest the night before, which put me in the correct frame of mind for our trip to the resort where Wilde actually wrote it. As always, I had difficulty keeping up with the play… my memory of it has faded as it’s been many years since I’ve seen it… but I remember seeing some cracking performances which were really funny, so maybe it’ll be worth reading the play all the way through later. Lady Bracknell was played by a man in drag apparently, and I heard the audience laughing all the way through – so I presume it was a pretty funny version… even though it was a very traditional Victorian one, with no great surprises.

SUNSHINE AND BATS

So, with my head still full of Oscar’s play, I travelled down to the campsite with Brigitte and Andy, to find it wonderfully sunny even though it was by then evening. Though the campsite was pretty basic - just a field really - as long as you have warmth and sunshine, what else do you need for a holiday? Andy didn’t find it to much hassle setting up the awning on the van, which initially he was pretty nervous about. I took a real liking to the campsite, particularly when it got to the weekend and more and more tents joined in. I found the field very atmospheric, particularly after Brigitte saw a bat just outside our tent! It was really exciting just being outside all the time, and being able to smell all the different flowers, plants, barbeques etc. It was so warm we didn’t seem to be in England at all – as if in fact we’d been magically transported abroad. We went to Brighton and did all the usual touristy things like eating ice cream and fish and chips. I managed to visit my friends in their beautiful seafront art house in Worthing and even went paddling in the sea. We searched all around the surrounding area for a Ziggy bike, but had to give up - Ziggy bikes seem to be pretty few and far between. Still, we walked through some beautiful woodland past a lake - so it wasn’t a totally wasted day at all. And of course the sunshine remained over the weekend, right up until we had to reluctantly leave the campsite. It had been a wonderful few days away from horrible grey Manchester… I wish we could move down there, but…

LAVENDER FIELD

On our final day in Worthing we travelled up to Sutton, to visit my friend Sheila who took us to the most amazing smelly field I’ve ever experienced!! Apparently near the town are a few fields, one of which is filled with the most beautiful smelling lavender – and I suppose it must look quite amazing as well. But the smell made me think that it must be a wonderful place for insomniacs to come, for that feeling of peacefulness and tranquillity completely soaked the air all around. It was the sort of place I don’t think I’ll forget easily.

STUNTS?

I mentioned Ziggy bikes, which had been on all of our minds ever since we tried one out several weeks ago. I thought you might like to hear more about this amazing experience, so I’m including an article I wrote for MAB (the Manchester Ataxia Branch Newsletter). There’s also some photos I believe, to give you some idea of the Ziggy bike.

ZIGGY CYCLING

To tell the truth, I was getting a bit fed up with Andy going on and on about Ziggy trikes… especially after trying out one at a Cycling Club and being totally unimpressed with it. I can’t understand what all the fuss was about - the Ziggy trike actually went only slightly faster than a normal person walking and pushing. I had expected something slightly more exciting than this - I was really disappointed, simply because the idea of travelling completely on three wheels sounded as if it should be slightly thrilling, if not dangerous. But at the club, the trike was simply peddled round and round a small cycle track… not at all exciting, even remotely.

NATIONAL PARK

But still, I decided to try another Ziggy trike at the Peak District National Park, which sounded vaguely more promising. Both my helper Brigitte and Andy came with me, so that they could both take turns in doing the peddling. This Ziggy trike was a real cycling trike… the Ziggy part of it was designed so that it was tipped on the back wheels (although you could put the front wheels down normally if you wanted to), which were big cycling wheels and then there was another big wheel on the back with a seat on which either Andy or Brigitte sat and peddled. Because they gripped onto Ziggy’s handles just as if they were pushing normally, it gave them a feeling of stability as we were all joined together like a tricycle! I also didn’t feel in the least bit unstable… but still, there was always that thrilling element of risk and speed! It was great just to be shown the Ziggy trike and given basic instructions, and then told to take it away, see you later! Not to have the usual people fussing around, saying “You can’t do this, you can’t do that - we’re not insured…” There was none of that. So Brigitte and I just got on the trike, and took it away… with Andy cycling his own bike next to us.

REAL ZIGGY CYCLING

Now this was real Ziggy cycling!! Even though I couldn’t actually see the beautiful scenery passing, I could still feel the wind on my face as we cycled at quite some speed for a long time… I felt perfectly safe and secure though I suppose there was always that element of risk - but that’s what I love! It was well worth it, and if other people can take risks why shouldn’t I? The complete freedom I experienced for those few hours was unforgettable.

It was a wonderful sensation of speed for me… and being outside all the time increased the excitement of the whole thing. Cycling is one thing that I’d never managed to do in my life and I really regret it; I always thought that it was something I would never be able to experience but I was wrong… I’d urge anyone else to have a go as it’s not that dangerous… certainly worth taking the risk anyway!

DISUSED RAILWAY

Neither Brigitte or Andy found it at all difficult to use and it was very comfortable for me - only very slightly bumpy, in fact a lot smoother than a usual person pushing along the pavement would be. The feeling of being totally involved with the trike was great… not just something being pushed around separately like a piece of luggage! Andy told me that the track along which we cycled through the national park was a disused railway line, and there were other bikes being cycled along it - but no cars, so we had perfect freedom to go as far and as fast as we liked! We actually covered quite a few miles this time, and I have every intention of repeating the experience again as soon as possible.

CELEBRATIONS

Back from Worthing to the usual grey Manchester, everything seems to be quite busy at the moment with lots of people celebrating for various reasons this month. Not only does Jack celebrate his birthday, but also my mum and dad celebrate their golden wedding anniversary… amazing to think they’ve been together for fifty years, half a century, I suppose. They’ve gone away on a cruise ship to celebrate the event, not a Caribbean cruise, which wouldn’t suit my dad - he’s more a land lover, I think. Their cruise this time just goes to Norway, or maybe Denmark as well… round about those Scandinavian places anyway. Though it’s not a specific geological cruise, mum and dad will of course make many visits to the historical and geological museums, checking out the various fossils no doubt! Mum also told me that there’s a bunch of islands which are very ancient… I don’t know if they’re actually Viking settlements, no doubt she’ll tell me more when she gets back. In a few weeks time they will be having a family celebration, which promises to be a rare occurrence indeed, getting all my family together in the same spot at the same time!! Also I think my mum’s sister is going to be there, as well as… Jack!! I still remember seeing black and white photos of my parents wedding… I was impressed by the fact that my mum wore a frock which just reached below her knee - not a traditional long white thing at all. My dad looked really cool with his quiff and black and white suit - strange to think those were the days before such things as the Beatles!

ONCE AN ARTIST…

As you’ll no doubt have realised by now, I used to be something of an artist - in fact Andy says I still am, in my mind I suppose. I still think in visual terms, and it’s quite true to say I create pictures in words. I was delighted to be asked by a young friend on the internet if he could see some of my old pictures… so Andy went all round the house taking photos with his digital camera. Some of these we’ve put on the internet so maybe you’d like to have a look too. It’s sometimes quite a struggle for me to remember exact details about where the originals came from, as I’ve been writing a piece to accompany each picture. Quite a few of these paintings are copied from the Pre-Raphaelites, but others are simple pencil sketches, usually portraits of various dead heroes of mine! I feel seeing them once again has made me almost inspired enough to take up the paint brush once again… though I still feel very nervous about doing that. Andy tells me reassuringly that there’s a whole school of blind artists out there… but I’m still really nervous. Maybe in time…

RAW MATERIALS

Despite the best intentions of returning to The Space Between and having a fresh piece ready, I’m afraid I’ve not… I wanted very much to get back into Victorian things as Harriet’s state of mind is never too far away and it deserves to have some time devoted to it, so I don’t want to just rush it to have it ready, it’ll be done next month. As always, at this time of year, everything seems to have become quite hectic, what with various people doing crazy things like going camping and having birthdays etc. I was saying to Andy that I had no time to do RAW MEAT properly, and he said, “Rubbish, you’ve got loads of things you can put in, what about all the stuff for Writer’s Island?” So here it is.

Andy told me about the Writer’s Island website quite a few weeks ago, and ever since then I’ve been writing a little piece each week on a different theme. My pieces have all been prose so far, I suppose you could call it an adventure story… sort of a children’s story but it could just as well be for adults. It’s based on Alice Through The Looking Glass with a bit of Harry Potter thrown in so far. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen, as there are no set rules. Because I’ve enjoyed writing the children’s story Catching the Light so much, I thought I’d try my hand at more truly creative ventures and see if they worked. I’ve had several comments from readers, some of whom seem to be following my web log, which is encouraging. I’ve looked at other people’s pieces for Writers Island; there seemed to be lots of poetry, but also short autobiographical stuff, but very little in the way of fiction, so I thought I’d redress the balance. See what you think and do send in your comments.

ALICE STORIES

THE STORY SO FAR…

Alice has come through the looking glass and finds everything very much changed. She is startled by the appearance through the fireplace of a student wizard called Bartholomew.

CHANGE.

Taking some floo powder from the pocket of his wizard’s cloak, Bartholomew hesitated for a moment.

“What’s the matter?” asked Alice, curiously.

Bartholomew gave a little laugh, kicking the empty grate with his foot.

“I don’t think this floo powder’s going to work here. This fire’s meant to be alight, you see. Oh, don’t worry. The flames won’t burn us if we’re using magic.” He added quickly, seeing Alice’s look of alarm.

“Well… why don’t you give the powder a try?” she suggested. The young wizard did so, but the floo powder simply lay where it fell, scattered uselessly over the grate. Both travellers looked on helplessly.

I can’t understand why it won’t work,” complained Bartholomew. “It’s never let me down before, but things seemed to have changed in this place. Where did you say we are?”

“I don’t believe I did say,” said Alice. “But we’re in the looking glass house… and so you’re right, things may be different now – everything seems changed since I passed through the mirror. Even me – I’ve changed several times since my adventures in Wonderland.”

Bartholomew stared at her for a long time, still clinging onto her hand. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was? Or should I ask, who are you? The caterpillar, was it? I failed my literature GCSE last year.”

Alice frowned and shook her head impatiently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who I am any more I’m afraid. I used to be Alice in Wonderland, then Alice Through the Looking Glass… but there’s been quite a few changes since then. I’ve no idea who I am any more.”

IMAGE

The young wizard stared at Alice for quite sometime, a frown slowly creasing his brow.

“Alice in Wonderland… I’m sure I’ve seen a photo of you somewhere. Can we get back to your world through the mirror? Let’s have a look.” With this he took a step backwards out of the fireplace and examined the mirror above, which didn’t seem to be a mirror at all. It looked just like the back of the mirror – there was obviously no way through.

“I told you everything had changed in the looking glass house,” said Alice apologetically.

“Wait a minute…” Bartholomew began to rummage inside his cloak, finally drawing out a very small camera. “I don’t know if this’ll work, but it’s worth a try. A good way to capture your image and fix your identity I suppose.”

Alice watched him with great curiosity as he raised the camera to his face and pointed it in her direction. There was a flash of light and Alice froze.

“What was that? Have you cast some sort of spell on me?” she asked, remembering that he had called himself a wizard.

Lowering the camera Bartholomew shook his head and smiled.

“You’ve just got to wait a few minutes for the photo to come out, then we’ll have you captured.”

Alice gave a nervous little laugh, stepping over the fender to stand beside him.

“Do you really think so? Your camera might not work in the looking glass house. Look what happened with the floo powder… maybe the camera will be affected.” For Alice was a great believer in everything being logical.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he reassured her as he pulled the photograph out of the camera and showed her the image proudly – Alice’s image appeared to look almost as shocked as she did now. She stared at the picture, shaking her head in confusion.

“But I thought this would fix me, that’s what you said, didn’t you? Look – my image is beginning to fade.”

“So it is. You’re becoming just like a ghost. Ah well.” Bartholomew threw the photo in the empty fireplace and turned away. “You’re right, something else that doesn’t work in the looking glass house. Is the whole place like this, do you think? Maybe we can try the floo powder in another fireplace?”

Alice hesitated for a moment then her curiosity to see beyond overcame her fear.

“Alright then but you go first, she said, as she gripped on to the edge of his robes. “And I’ll follow.” So saying, the two adventurers opened the door and stepped out into whatever lay beyond.

URBAN SCRAWL !!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

CAMPING

Don’t you just love camping? I do, when the weather’s fine! We’ve just returned from a few days on the sunny south coast and we didn’t see a single drop of rain. We camped in a field just north of Worthing, and the wonderful weather made it a perfect time. It’s funny because we’ve done loads of camping over the years and we always had a couple of dodgy days. But this time it was sunshine from four in the morning ‘til ten at night.

THE TORQUAY MUD

A few years ago we went camping about this time of year in Devon, and we got flooded out. Everything was soaked, and a strange red sand covered and stuck to all of our possessions. I dubbed it The Torquay Mud! The same thing happened in Norfolk, we had taken Jack and one of his friends, and the heavens opened in the middle of the first night, forcing us to spend the following day in the local launderette washing and drying all the sleeping bags and soggy clothes.

ZIGGY TRIKES

Yikes! As you can see from the pictures on these pages Nic has finally been out on a Ziggy Trike! Yes, after being let down so many times she finally found one, and now she’s hooked. So, with the memory of The Peak District National Park in her head, she went in search of hiring another one in the proposed South Downs National Park, and also in Brighton and in Worthing. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find one this trip, but we’ve just heard word from Steve and Alison in Worthing, that a new cycle hire business has started up on the sea front, and they intend to get some Ziggy Trikes in the near future. So that’s good news!

CHANGNOI

Nic mentioned her 'young friend on the internet', but what she didn't say was that he is my nephew, Changnoi. Changnoi is an artist too, and he has his own blog where you can read his comic-strip creation Yes-Man!

June 2010 Issue 117

2010-06-07T23:53:00.003+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

SUMMER?

As it’s now the beginning of June, surely summer should have officially started… which brings us back to the eternal question: when does summer actually begin? If we go by the ancient Druids who said mid summer was the 21^st of June, then the season should have started six weeks before - mid May. But then the schools must have it wrong by calling the Whit half term, Late Spring half term… though at the same time, there’s still plenty of blossom on the trees and no roses, it’s too early to be summer. So shall we strike a compromise and say summer must be here, at the beginning of June. Mind you look at the weather…

YELLOW AZALEA

Yesterday we went to a garden centre and had a great time smelling all the different flowers. Although there were no roses (my favourite) I made a great discovery… yellow azaleas have a wonderful smell, very distinctive, that I’ve never been aware of before. Another lovely smell is wisteria, which has a beautiful name as well – it always makes me think of Tiffany, because I used to have a design by him called Wisteria in a book about Art Nouveau. Apparently wisteria are one of the flowers associated with Art Nouveau along with sunflowers and lilies, though I’m not quite sure why. Another great new smell was irises, even though I can’t remember what they look like… no matter, they smell lovely!

SWEET SEVENTEEN

Occasionally it suddenly strikes me how fast time is passing… soon Jack will be seventeen, which sounds absolutely unbelievable. He seems to have changed his ideas slightly since he began work on his A levels – his main focus then was on art, if you remember last autumn’s Raw Meat. But he seems to have found art not as good as he expected for some reason, and so he’s developed his interest in music. He’s thinking of doing an apprenticeship in music production, which is something he’s done at school already and wants to do more of. He’s obviously decided to develop his creative talent in a different direction to the old paint brush and easel… perhaps he feels it’s a more modern direction? I’m not too sure of this myself…

HORRIFIC ORDEAL

A few weeks ago I actually parted company with my rotten half-a-tooth, and I don’t think I’ll forget the experience in a hurry. It was a truly horrific one, involving pliers – or something very much like that – and plenty of blood of course, which goes without saying. Despite having an injection before hand to numb the jaw, I was still totally aware of the hideous crack as the tooth actually said good-bye. The whole thing was so horrible I was too shocked to remember to ask if I could take the piece of tooth home as a souvenir. Still, the memory will haunt me for the rest of my days, I think.

THE BLIND SIDE

Earlier I was talking about smelling flowers… I’m still working on the art of being able to tell the colour of the flower by its smell. I recently wrote a little piece called The Blind Side for the Writers Island web site, and this piece is on my website if you’d like to see for your self. Although it’s nothing to do with American football, which is what the film The Blind Side is about apparently, I’d like to think it’s a bit more interesting!! Andy called it a sort of prose poem… well, what ever. It’s great to be able to get feedback on my web site, instead of feeling like I’m talking to a brick wall… which is the case sometimes, I must admit. So please do keep looking and commenting!

DITHERING

I still can’t make my mind up about whether to bring out another novel on CD to follow Dry Rot – which is still available, may I just remind you. The next novel I’ve got in mind would be Killing Time, which is basically a story set in both the Victorian age and the contemporary one… it travels between the two times and plays with them. Jack the Ripper’s in there, and so is Oscar Wilde – not to mention Harriet, the east end prostitute. I suppose I’d call this novel very roughly speaking, science fiction-ish. It was a good deal more ambitious than was Dry Rot, and I worked perhaps too long on it, trying to get it right. But nonetheless, it is well worth the read. Indeed, a friend has called it “sensational,” so, we probably will publish it later this year.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

I’ve become totally distracted from The Space Between this past month by a competition which some friends in Worthing told me about. It’s asking for a children’s story based on either the life or writing of Oscar Wilde, or perhaps a mixture of both. They seem to encourage as much imagination as possible, which makes the whole thing extremely tempting for me! Although writing for children is not something I’ve tried very much before, I feel quite confidant about it, in fact it’s a really welcome relief from having to do all this historical research and stuff for the usual things I write. The only other children’s story I’ve written was more than ten years ago and was a fantastic tale called Israel and the Caves of Light, something about Israel’s subterranean escapades with fighting a dragon, all for the love of a very disdainful heroine called Natasha. This story was accompanied by my own drawings of the characters… I wish I still had this, but I think it’s probably buried somewhere deep amongst the debris of my life. I’ve changed my mind several times already about the title of my new story… but I think I’m going to stick with this one, as I really like it. Writing this story makes me think of different colours, and sparkling jewels, everything very visual… which is a lovely feeling! For more about Catching the Light, please see Raw Materials in this issue.

BLADE RUNNER REMEMBERED

The thing which continues to strike me about the book I’m reading, Phillip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? is how much it differs from the film Blade Runner, how much of it has been left out completely. Though I can quite understand the reason’s for this – the story is quite complicated, and so I think the director or producer of the film – whoever it is who decides such things – made the right choice in steering away from any thing to do with the androids, and the fake animals… even though all this is a lovely idea, it deserves it’s own space, perhaps an animated film in the Wallace and Gromit vein. But one of the similarities between the film and the book is the whole atmosphere and feel of the post-atomic deserted city, which is both sinister and disturbing. In fact it’s this bleakness about the film which stays with me even now… those giant adverts on the tops of the buildings in flashing lights, and the continual rain falling. Although you don’t get so much of this sense of atmosphere with the book, it’s still pretty interesting – although it can’t really be compared to Blade Runner, as I think they’re quite distinct.

RAW MATERIALS

It’ll be interesting to hear your comments on this bit of the first chapter… I’d actually like to continue with the rest of Catching The Light, especially because I don’t think it’s going to be that long. I really enjoyed writing it and find it all such a visual experience – I can see the whole thing happening in my head so clearly. I can understand why I illustrated Israel and the Caves of Light… it seems to be a natural partnership between children’s stories and pictures. I was a bit worried that the competition only asked for the first chapter, I wanted to get across an idea of what was going to happen in the story… still, I suppose it should make the judges want to read the rest.

Many ideas came to me as I’m writing – the inhabitants of the island being a human/creature hybrid to differing degrees… I was initially concerned about explaining this idea, but I don’t think this would be necessary when writing for children as they’re so much more accepting of anything out of the ordinary without demanding a rational explanation, though I have to be careful not to make my story too crazy. You can stretch the boundaries of credibility too far, and this is true for children as well as adults. I’m confident about mixing ideas from Dorian Gray with bits of Wilde’s life, as the competition seems to encourage this – I remember reading about Wilde writing Dorian Gray, and that he saw himself as appearing in all three of the main characters – the artist, Dorian and Lord Henry. So in my story I had no hesitation in making the character of the artist one legged, I’m only disappointed that he won’t appear in the first chapter! But I suppose the idea is that the judges will read the entire story off their own back because they’ll be so taken with it! That’s the hope anyway…

Before we became distracted by Catching the Light I was already distracted by one of my Still Lives. It’s called Tinned Sardines. This was a totally different kettle of fish from Catching the Light. So much so that it’ll be quite difficult to return to and finish off… although I’ve got to do that, I can’t leave it hanging. I’ve had this story in my head for about 18 months now, and knew that it had to be written, although I knew it wouldn’t be an easy or enjoyable experience, given the tragic nature of the story. It’s about the last few days of the lives of both the artist Modigliani and his partner, Jeanne in Paris. As soon as I read about his last days in his studio, I felt I had to share the story… don’t ask me why, I just had to. And I was right, it wasn’t at all an easy tale to tell. However I wanted to try to get some understanding of how Jeanne could possibly have been driven to kill herself when she was pregnant and already had a daughter by Modigliani. It seems completely unnatural to me to want to destroy Modigliani’s babies, which were surely the only remaining part of him. but as I wrote, Jeanne’s state of mind became clearer. I was originally going to call this story Love, Death and Tinned Sardines, but didn’t like this so much… I thought it sounded facetious, like I was taking the piss a bit, so it became just Tinned Sardines. This story will be included in my new collection of Still Lives.

So distracted have I been from The Space Between this month that I’ve not really given it a thought, but I’ve no doubt at all that it’ll be back by the next RAW MEAT. By the way, Derrick, thanks for your suggestion, Charles’s beard is going to be compared with a scouring brush instead of a piece of wire netting. Nice one!

So I hope you enjoy this first bit of the first chapter of Catching the Light. As it’s for a competition I would appreciate your comments and suggestions even more than usual.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

In a land not so far away, there is an island in the middle of a massive peat bog that is said to be enchanted, because it is completely shrouded in mist and can only be reached by a small boat, and only sometimes. Most of the time the island isn’t there, and even the slim boats that are moored on the mainland to take you both there and back can not be seen. The peat bog itself is too treacherous to walk across – many people have missed their footing and been swallowed by the water – so the only way to reach the island itself is by the slim boats that are steered carefully across the bog by strange creatures, who are partly human and partly frog. They resemble frogs to differing degrees – some of the boatmen simply had a reptilian quality and colour to their skin, while others were almost completely frog like, with wide mouths set into huge, flat faces, never speaking, but just croaking from time to time.

If you’re lucky enough to be taken across the bog to the island, and actually feel the island’s solid ground beneath your feet, then you might be able to meet a few more of these strange creatures who inhabit the island, along with many children. The children are held by enchantment so that they are willing captives. They are controlled by the magician, who is also a giant – but a very friendly one, who’s name is Oscar. Everybody, all the people on the island, are quite willing captives, they come and listen to the magician’s stories, which is a truly magical experience, you can never forget it. As the children on the island grow up, they develop into different animals, though some of these changes are only very slight. Some of the changes overtake the child completely, so that there is little human left.

Although Oscar knew that he had magical powers, he didn’t want to be in control of the island, and so when the other inhabitants, the children and the animals, asked him to be their king he refused.

“No,” he told them, “you don’t need anyone to be in control. That would only lead to bad things happening.”

“But Oscar, we want you to be our king!” cried out a child who looked somewhat similar to a hyena. “You don’t need to control us, we just want you to look like a king, all covered in jewels and golden embroidery!”

“Well…. let me think about it,” said Oscar, turning away from the group of friendly creatures. As he did so he noticed a beautiful woman – she resembled a lovely young doe with great brown eyes and soft muzzle.

“Hello,” Oscar said to her, gathering up the hem of his magician’s robe so that he didn’t trip over it. “I don’t believe that we’ve met… what’s your name?”

The doe-woman blinked her long eyelashes demurely.

“ My name is Constance, I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said. “Will you really become our king?”

Oscar smiled slowly, taking Constance’s hand in both of his.

“Only if you’ll become my queen,” he said firmly.

A great cheer rose gradually from the inhabitants of the island, who were all assembled nearby waiting for Oscar to be begin telling his enchanted stories.

“Long live king Oscar and queen Constance!” they shouted, and burst into spontaneous applause.

MORE RAW MATERIALS IN RM#118

URBAN

SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

ROSES

I don’t know what Nic is talking about when she says summer hasn’t started yet, yes there’s been a lot of rain, but we’ve also had some beautiful days too. Nic’s herbs, that we grow in the back yard, are blooming! (thanks Sheila) In fact they’re doing so well that we’ve planted a few more this year and also some spinach. In the front garden, which gets slightly different weather than the back yard, we have four rose bushes, three of which have flowered and the forth, a yellow variety, has a few buds on it.

WITHOUT BOUNDARIES

Nic has a new Weblog called Without Boundaries, and she has started posting some of her artwork there. This week she has put a Pre-Raphaelite picture which she copied in the early nineteen eighties from a Sidney Harold Meteyard painting I’m half sick of shadows. Also, as she mentioned above she has written a short prose poem called The Blind side for The Writer’s Island theme site. Another thing Nic is showcasing on Without Boundaries is her novel The Spark which is the prequel to The Space Between. She’s got half a dozen people reading it at the moment, but she would dearly like some feedback in the way of comments, and she is very open to critique.

ZIGGY BIKES

As many of you know, we are interested in buying a Ziggy bike, so that Nic can go cycling. But it's a frusterating business trying to find one that we can trial. I actually managed to see one last Sunday at a local cycling club and we're going again next weekend to see if we can have a go on it, but I'm not too hopeful, because we've been let down before. We found one at Tatton Park a few years ago, but they wouldn't let us ride it, they made some excuse about insurance, and that was the end of that. Then a couple of years ago we found one in Battersea Park that was meant to be for hire, but they were too busy that day. Then there was a place at Dulwich that we saw advertised but when we got there they were closed. And on the story goes... Today we followed another lead to a company in Liverpool, but they didn't have any built up for us to see. They told us about another place in Manchester, but the building was deserted. I saw one on the internet in Florida and I e-mailed the guy and he told me that they hadn't sold any in Europe but he gave me the adress of a German company who made a similar machine, but when I found them they were bankrupt. Phew! maybe you can help?