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Writing Context

Yeah I just posted Sleeping and Blue Night/Mirror both things I wrote for my uni portfolio last year. My writing develops in bursts. I write rarely and when I do I would like to consider what comes out as the finished product is pretty good. I know you are supposed to write ALLLL the time, but I just don’t, thats not how I roll and I’m doing well with my degree and don’t intend on being a writer so if its working I think its ok to stick with it (if it ain’t broke don’t fix it).

I can’t give you much context for these pieces except parts are real, some fantasy, some of what I wish could have been and some just a wild imagination.

Something I can say about Blue Night / Mirror is that I wrote the story then went ‘hey that song from spring awakening really fits this’. The song Bewitched was genuinely involved in the events that inspired this. I like to have a song in mind when I write. I really work in music.

1

Sleeping Flash Fiction

sleeping

 

“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” Ernest Hemingway

 

I fell asleep in class today. They turned down the lights and stuck on a bright projector, which I had no chance of escape from. Gone were the days when you had to cart out a great whale of a TV on wheels and spend half an hour setting it up. The film was playing without fuss or issue. Everyone else seemed to be keen. It was to late for a class, normally the time I would be having a nap. It didn’t help that I had earlier lost my daily battle to alcoholism, drinking three pints and a desperado. The documentary droned on, periodically disturbing me with images of dead children or groups of men with machine guns.

 

It reminded me of the time I watched Trainspotting pissed and how the quick flashes of brain-fucking imagery left me feeling like I had been on a drug trip. This was like that, only all the stuff I was seeing through my flickering eyelids was real. Slowly I was drifting, I could feel myself rocking forward and my head drooping to my chest like my father’s does after half a bottle of red. I propped myself up on a nearby piano, in retrospect it was odd that the film was being shown in a music practice room. Sleep took over though, and the next thing I knew I was being woken up. I didn’t fall asleep out of boredom (although I was pretty bored).  I had fallen asleep in a film I paid to see the week before.

Everyone else in the class was appropriately alert. The self righteous, pretentious, festival wristband wearing, sudo-boheimian, arseholes. I hated them at that moment. I hated everyone who could be fully awake.

 

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Blue Night and The Mirror Short Stories

He’s a fool and don’t I know it,

But a fool can have his charms.

I’m in love and don’t I show it,

Like a babe in arms.

– Bewitched, Lorenz Hart

Blue Night

He is a loser if you compare him to normal standards of success. He works in a piano shop where the walls are covered in sheet music and everything else is layered with saw dust. He is a virtuoso, a player, he speaks French, he gives me drugs. He walks through the market yelling ‘I’m an idiot’ in his thick accent, regularly to my embarrassment. We both sit upstairs with nothing but a blue light from the computer to see by.

‘I want to try something’ Adi says in his thick Eastern European accent. ‘I want to try to talk with out speaking’.

‘Your mental’ I say.

‘No more speaking’.

He puts his hands on the side of my face and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. Then he lets go, now he is sure he is my only focus. I look at him, in his dark eyes and think ‘you’re a pervert’. I can hear what he’s saying to me, he’s being suggestive.

After a while we stop.

We walk carefully down the narrow stairs and work our way around to the front of the shop, weaving through pianos and many going through complicated alterations by Trevor, the owner. We sit and the front of the shop and open a massive fake book I keep at the shop. I know what number the song is I want with out looking I sing it so often. I dump the book onto the piano’s music stand and wait for Adi to give me his full attention impatiently. The two of us look odd together, a nineteen year old with badly dyed blonde hair and tall late-twenties Romanian who wears tweed suits. Eventually he sits down, a small crowd gathers as usual and I sing.

‘I’ve Seen a lot

I mean I lot

But now I’m like sweet seventeen a lot

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

I’ll sing to him

Each spring to him

And worship the trousers that cling to him

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I’

Afterwards the spectators applaud and few people compliment me. Many shoppers crowd around Adi. ‘Play Chopin’ they demand, ‘Play Mozart’. He responds in his normal way by playing ‘Doe, a deer’ and augmenting most of the chords to make a hideous off key noise that still resembles the song. For someone so arrogant in his personality, he is humble when his playing is concerned. After the shoppers disperse Adi is given permission to go home and he helps shut up the shop.

We go to the little area between where the stables end and the rest of the market begins and I give him one of my cigarettes. The market has been closed for a while, I’m normally around after closing. It’s like being in an oversized shop after hours. The giant robot that fronts Cyber Dog shines in the moonlight and we hear noise from inside The Cuban Bar, the only place that stays open this late. It’s expensive, we don’t drink there.

Adi lays a tissue on the top of a bin, then rolls the cigarette between his fingers so all the tobacco falls out on to the tissue. He then does his usual ‘look left, look right’ and when he is satisfied no one is around he produces a small bag and mixes the green in with the tobacco. He then fills the cigarette back up with the mixture.

We head to the park, and stop of at ‘Camden News’ to get two cans of K Cider each. A really dirty drink, at 8.4 percent alcohol.

Adi sits on a bench and I join him. We light the joint and smoke it very fast as the paper burns quickly. Nothing happens for a while. He puts his arm around me and tells me about the politics in Romania. After a while the lights on the houses surrounding the park shine brighter.

‘Those lights look happy’. I say.

He responds by trying to convince me the moon landing isn’t real. He finally stops to say ‘Can I kiss you?’

‘No’ I laugh.

***

Flip on a switch, and everything’s fine – 
No more lips, no more tongue, no more ears, no more eyes
The naked blue angel, who peers through the blinds
Disappears in the gloom of the mirror-blue night

‘Mirror-Blue Night’ From Spring Awakening

***

The Mirror

After sitting in the park for a while Adi and I get cold and decided to walk up to Loving Hut. Max and David are meeting us there. They disappeared about three months later and I never saw them again. My feet feel numb and free as I walk along the pavement. It’s dark and the windows of shops near the market shine and look like they are sleeping. After a few minutes of walking, as we get nearer to the restaurant, all the shops are like any others in London, chains that you can find anywhere. We pass the Argos where I saw an old Muslim lady get pushed out of a car and left outside the front of the shop to beg. There is the Waterstones I sat down in to call the NSPCC after I saw a man coercing along a young girl with long dark hair and a pink puffer jacket who looked drugged. My feet feel like they are folding in on themselves.

We turn into Loving hut.

On the wall Supreme Master TV is playing its footage. ‘The leader’ in a pink dress is talking about aliens who want to takeover the planet and how we should all be vegan. We always ignore the propaganda, or watch it to laugh at it.

The food is good, and you can pay as much as you like for it, so we go there often. The inside of the shop is a glare of white and metal.

I cannot move the way I want to, so I am grateful that the room is small and easy to navigate. We sit at a table near the door where Max and David are waiting. They are gay, and in love with each other, but not partners.

We wave to the man behind the counter who’s name I never knew and asked for tap water. From the look of us it was obvious we wanted tap water.

My feet buzz. My body feels like it is moving when it is not. It is hard to move my fingers apart and I constantly have the sensation that my nose is running even when, after asking for a mirror I know it is not. David provides me with a mirrored tile, the kind you use in bathrooms.

‘I didn’t expect you to have a mirror on you’ I say.

‘You don’t know want to know why I do’ David says and then starts to laugh.

David is skinny and badly shaven, Max is a little bigger with bordering on ginger hair. Neither have a specific aesthetic of dress sense.

Being stoned we all decide to get the vegan Chinese buffet. What would normally be simply pleasant food, now becomes an attainable dream. Fulfillment can be achieved by stuffing my face with people who were to preoccupied to care. Sleeping with Adi could also bring fulfillment, but I am too distant from internal thoughts to work him out.

My plate was pilled with rice and bean curd made to taste like moist beef. I only eat with a fork. I have a few mouthfuls and then feel hot, and claustrophobic, and needed to smoke more. That happens sometimes.

‘I’m going for a quick fag’. They laugh at my use of the word.

‘Hurry back’ I don’t know who said it, the voice was English, so not Adi.

0

When I met Neil Gaiman and A bit about J.k Rowling

I’ve been a fan of Neil Gaiman for a while, I also have a woefully understocked CV.

English writer Neil Gaiman. Taken at the 2007 ...

These two facts met when Toppings in Bath were looking for people to help out with a book event, which he would be reading from ‘The Ocean at The End Of The Lane’ and copies would be available a week or so before the official publishing date.

I jumped at the chance to volunteer, and was asked to go to the book shop, was asked a vague question about why I wanted to volunteer for the event and was told I could do it. I also cheekily asked if I could help out with the David Sedaris event, which I’m so glad that I did as it was one of the best evenings of my life.

I turned up in pretty good time to The Forum, which is the size of a West End theatre. I was selling books, which I found (if I do say so myself) I had a natural flare for. I loved handling them, I loved talking to people (although quickly) about them, and I loved how fast everything moved. We might as well have been throwing them at people how quickly they sold. Because I wasn’t being paid I felt no pressure to be fast, even though I wanted to and enjoyed being efficient. So when someone bought over £50 worth of books I could take my time and check the figures twice, just to be sure I didn’t over charge them. Seriously £50 for 4 books. Well The Ocean at The End Of The Lane did fetch a handsome £16.99, I was later pretty annoyed  to find some of the other volunteers got there’s reduced, but I think that was down to poor communication and they were really thankful and was offered to go to an event for free (I haven’t claimed that yet, and they probably don’t remember who I am).

So I was enjoying the rush, and it was nice to see others excited about the event. I felt happy. Useful. Valued.

We took our seats and I found it hard to be present at the reading. I was still buzzing

I had never seen so many copies of the same book in one place ….

from running round, going to the other volunteers inside the hall and saying ‘We need some more books ….. bit more than that ….. like 30’ and then running back fifteen minutes later to get more. There were other reasons. It was so important to me to meet Neil Gaiman. Just to say hi and be in front of his face. To give him verbal thanks as my money didn’t really seem enough. I started to worry a lot about what I was going to say.

This stems from another event a few months before, that also took place at a book signing at the forum. This time it was J.K Rowling talking about The Casual Vacancy. I have loved Harry Potter for most of my adult life, and it’s only in recent years it’s died down a little. I used to read and write HP fan fiction, check mugglenet daily, know all the fan theories, dress up as Tonks, had posters on my wall, special editions of the books. I was hardcore. Even though it’s really more of a passing interest now, Rowling was still a very important person to me, who I had dreamed of meeting since I was 12. And at 21 it was happening. And I had NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY. I know I had to prepare something. If I left it to just ‘whatever felt right’ I would just stand there like a knob. And I had to say something, you can’t just smile and say ‘thank you’ to someone you had dreamed of meeting. This anxiety was also filled by the immense cock up that was the time I met Stephen Fry (but thats another story), so just before I went up to get my book signed I decided what to say. It was simply the truth. ‘I really enjoyed this evening, it was great’. That couldn’t be taken the wrong way, and if I was in her shoes it would be nice to hear. Not to fan girly, not bland. She was really nice smiled and look tired. It was all fine.

Until I heard three things a few days later –

1. My friend Shake said to her ‘Your much prettier than I expected’ and she replied ‘thats refreshing, I’m getting sick of people appreciating me for my brain all the time’.

2. Someone else I knew told her that her books helped her learned to read as she was dyslexic. JK took her hands and said how pleased she was to hear that.

3. I told my friend Jen what I had said. Her response was ‘she’s heard it all before’.

I felt like shit. Sure, I had got in and out unscathed. But I had held back from saying anything meaningful to avoid embarrassment. I might as well get it out there, in a less cryptic way than my last blog posts, I have depression, I have had it for a long time. I can honestly remember a time when the thought of the next Harry Potter book was all that was keeping me going. I don’t want to play a game of ‘my story’s better than yours’ but come on, thats a big deal. And I didn’t want to break some unwritten barrier between author and reader and mention anything about this. But someone I knew did, and she got that tender personal moment I had dreamed of, and I got ‘she’s heard it all before’.

So when Neil Gaiman came around I was bit stressed. He was less of a glowing, surreal like figure to me and I thought I should try and say something proper to him. Something honest.

I was holding my book in the queue and felt awkward before I got there.

Now I want to make it clear in what follows I am NOT SLAGGING OF NEIL GAIMAN.

I opened my book, he got his pen out to sign, I said

‘There was a time when I was really low and couldn’t read and American Gods got me reading again’. Which is true (and you should see the size of American Gods).

He replied ‘That’s good to hear’. And then I smiled and buggerd off.

It was all very underwhelming. On paper it all seems fine. But there was something in his tone that suggested I had done what I feared, over shared, been a fan girl, been a knob. Now I appreciate it’s easy to read into a tone of a tired, rushed, over worked man, and thats pretty much exactly what I’m doing. I’m sure he was being  genuine, polite. But it left me with that feeling, that I was just another tosser, and that he had ‘heard it all before.’

After I got my book signed I was told I could go to the green room and get some wine if I wanted. There were enough bottles in there to stock a pub, most were still sealed. I poured myself a glass and drank it as I looked round. Bags on the floor, empty sushi boxes, I remember at that point I became aware I was hungry and wondered if yo-sushi was still open. And then I felt happy because I was having the same wine as Neil Gaiman. I finished it, poured myself another one, and then more for others I had promised to bring back. A few weeks later I stumbled on a blog listing facts about Neil Gaiman, saying his favourite comfort food was sushi and it made me smile.

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Why I shouldn’t drink red wine and stuff

So. The joys of booze. I’m not going to lie, it’s been a problem for me in the past. I’m much better now (the last picture of  this blog is staged ….. just incase you saw it and though I was really drinking wine out the bottle). Liking alcohol is lovely. It’s a great thing in life. Liking it too much is not. I aim to never have to give it up, not because I would miss it, but having to give it up because you had so much of a problem with it is an extreme measure. I’d prefer just to be able to drink a healthy amount. Not judging those who have, you gotta of what you gotta do.

So here abounds a list of shit that happened when I drink Red Wine, one of the few drinks I actually like that gets me slayed. Luckily I can’t drink that much of it.

So here are 5 reasons why I shouldn’t drink Red Wine

wine1

It makes me want to smoke …. a lot. I think thats because of Black Books…

wine2

EVERYTHING else tastes of red wine.

wine3

I start to feel sick.

wine4

I have been sick off Red Wine on one occasion after drinking a really awful bottle of weatherspoons finest (called ‘Private Bin’ for a reason). It came out pink. Only been able  to have a few glasses in one evening after that.

wine5

Despite the above I drink it anyway.

Some times that lovely stuff is just the only answer. You get home after ‘whatever’ has happened and like drinks go with a meal it’s like ‘This brand of heart break calls for a fruity white’ or ‘todays stress, mixed with overwhelming heat call for a lager’. They are simply the logical conclusion.

Is that sad?

I don’t know.

I’m going to finish my drink in the garden with a fag … looking up at the stars.

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‘In the business’ and stuff

English: David Sedaris at WBUR studios in June...

English: David Sedaris at WBUR studios in June 2008. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘In the business’ and stuff

David Sedaris is a cracking writer. I discovered him through the BBC series ‘Meet David Sedaris’ which is currently on BBC iplayer. I was listening to the end of ‘Another case of Milton Jones’ very late at night, to help me sleep. Much to the annoyance of anyone sharing a bed/room with me this is a must to sleep at night. When it finished and ran into the next program (iplayer rarely edit what you are listening to properly) I found I really couldn’t sleep, because I kept hearing this odd American accent saying really funny shit, which was making me laugh out loud, which makes it hard to sleep.

His books cover stories from his childhood to present day, about him, his family and his boyfriend. He’s lived a life I can identify with and I like hearing him read (he reads his audiobooks himself) as there is no tone of shame for things he has done that I myself have done similar things to and am still coming to terms with. He’s proud, I can be to.

I recommend you listen to his audiobooks so you get his tone, but reading the physical books will bring you joy as well.

One of my favorite stories of his is from ‘Me Talk Pretty One Day’ about his friend who is trying to work out if another guy he knows fancies him. He asks David and his boyfriend because he knows they are ‘in the business’.

Also check this out, the story of how David learnt the Netherlands version of the Christmas story.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NYdpte1W0vk

Many of David’s readings can be found on youtube. I recommend you buy them, but I guess youtube is better than not hearing his work at all!

I like that David Sedaris is ‘In the business’. His writing doesn’t really make a big deal of him being gay, his sexuality comes up with the same weight as i’d say it would in anyone’s memoirs. What I mean is he isn’t writing them as a GAY man, he’s just being him. And I think that makes the whole thing even more awesome.