stories

Schedule? What schedule?

I blame the heat. Or hayfever. Or insomnia caused by both of the above. Anyway it’s Tuesday and I’m late with this blog post. Think of it as letting the anticipation build, if you like.

Excitement abounds for National Writing Day tomorrow, for which Ilkley Writers are reading new stories about summer and light (it being the longest day) then hosting our first prose open mic.

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I was quite pleased with the flyer I designed

This being us, several of us have eschewed the sunshine and ice cream vision of summer and gone darker. My story, Summer of 96, begins I wore a babydoll dress that night because it was summer, and you know pretty soon it’s not going to end well for someone.

The title of my summer story is of course a nod to the Bryan Adams song Summer of 69, while also referring to the summer I was 17, the age my narrator is, and I wanted the characters not to have mobile phones, and to have to re-tune Radio 1 periodically on a long journey so it all kind of fit. Often, I have great trouble with titles (see title of blog post for further evidence) and seeing the range of titles on the Bath Flash Fiction longlist this morning I realised (again) that this is an area I need to work on.

However, poor title or not, I have (3rd year running!) got a story in the FlashFlood on Saturday for National Flash Fiction Day. You should be able to read mine at about 1.40pm (BST), it’s called She gets it from your side. This one was written as a response to the oft-recited Ernest Hemingway 6-word story about the unworn baby shoes, and is either fantasy or magic realism depending on your views on these things.

Things of mine you can now read

I have new flash fiction over at Visual Verse, where each month’s submissions are prompted by a picture. Mine is called A Splash of Unexpected Brightness, in which a depressed young artist does a nice thing for his friend and she doesn’t quite see it that way.

I also reviewed a book called Last Night at the Lobster by Stewart O’Nan, over at The Bookbag. It’s quite short and not much happens but it’s nice on atmosphere and detail and a snapshot of criss-crossing lives in a restaurant that’s about to close down. Remember, you can see all the books I’ve reviewed there by going to the reviewed by JY Saville page, so if you’ve got overlapping taste in books with me, you might find something there that interests you.

New flash fiction and a review

My just missed the long-list entry to Reflex Fiction’s first flash fiction contest is now up on their site. It’s less than 500 words long, it’ll take you a couple of minutes to read so what are you waiting for? It’s called The Invisible Woman, and I wrote it after going to a literary event with a writing chum – we were both introduced to someone, and a while later they could remember my name but not hers. Why does no-one ever remember my name she complained when we were out of earshot, and a story idea was born. She is not called Catherine, or Emma, or Diane (or Sue, Caroline or Jo, for that matter) and I have no idea if she has a sister.

While you’re in a reading mood, I’ve got a new review up at the Bookbag, for a historical crime novel called None So Blind by Alis Hawkins. It’s set in West Wales in 1850 in the aftermath of the Rebecca Riots, and is pretty tense and nicely done. I’ve written a few stories now with Luddite themes, and I keep toying with the idea of using some of my family history research to write a novel set around Drighlington amid the Chartist riots (I was thinking of making it a detective novel too) so this has given me some further inspiration. Don’t hold your breath though, I’ve got a few other novels to finish/redraft yet (I’m struggling through a major edit of the sci-fi noir one at the moment).

New story, new author photo

It’s been a while since I had a new short story (as opposed to flash fiction) available, but Letters From the Past is now on HeadStuff in their Fortnightly Fiction slot. It’s primarily about a woman who’s been looking for her ‘real’ father, by which she means the one she shares genes with. It’s also about how genes don’t necessarily make a family, how time passes by quicker than you think, how it’s easy to put things off till it’s too late, and how you can spend all your time searching for something that you had all along. I urge you to go read it. And you can always leave a comment to let me know what you think of it (politely…).

When the story was accepted, they asked me for a square photo. I thought it would be nice to use something a bit more up to date than my familiar Twitter picture, which is from summer 2015 as I recall. I trawled through our photos and realised the ones of me basically fall into two camps: leaning my head on someone (usually OneMonkey but occasionally a sister or friend) or wearing a paper hat at Christmas (possibly also whilst leaning my head on someone). There were two on northern beaches with my hair clearly showing which way the wind was gusting, and one of me surveying the damage when the moor had been on fire (which I wrote about here). I decided to use that, it’s out of date too but it’s nearly a year more recent than the Twitter one.

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York. Women. Stories. Songs.

What a brilliant night we all had at the Black Swan in York yesterday. In a wood-panelled room with a massive fireplace and uneven floor I joined Alice Courvoisier, Cath Heinemeyer and friends to tell stories new and old, interspersed with a capella songs from the Barbarellas. It was properly packed, barely a spare seat, so I’d like to thank all those brave strangers who laid out their four quid with no real idea what they’d be getting. I hope we gave you an entertaining couple of hours (with a bit of sneaky education in the middle).

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Could I look more pompous?

OneMonkey, official documenter of these things, took a few photos but it was dimly lit and the lampshades made the light a weird orange-pink so they work better in black and white – I could just have said he was being artistic, I guess. One thing the dim lighting taught me is that I need to print my stories in a bigger font. Nobody needed that bit at the beginning where I shuffled around under the light fitting till I could see my page properly, apologising for being middle-aged.

Alice of course circumvents these problems by memorising her myths and folktales (likewise Cath) so she can pace and pause and gesture, and generally create a suitable atmosphere.

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Alice kicking the whole thing off with a myth

We had folk songs, pop songs, tales from Russia, Japan, Egypt and West Yorkshire, and I even slipped in a bit of non-fiction, with a slightly (only slightly) more audience-friendly version of my Dangerous Women essay.

The black and white photos don’t allow you to appreciate the book of stories I resurrected from a couple of years ago (new stories, blu-tacked over the old ones which I’d glued to the boards. Little glimpse behind the curtain for you there), so I’ll leave you with a picture of that and the marvellous flyers Alice had printed, artwork courtesy of Jess Wallace.

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Award-winning Twitter fiction

It’s only Tuesday, and I’ve already won first place in a writing competition this week.

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The competition was part of the launch of a new creative writing magazine run by students at Edinburgh University and you can read the first issue (including all three winning tweets on the theme of ink and tattoos) at http://www.50gs.uk/mobile/magazine.html

If you feel like checking out some of my non-award-winning Twitter fiction, you can go right back to 2009 at PicFic with Destination Unknown, English Breakfast and Letting Go or come forward a few years to Nailpolish Stories which at a 25-word limit may sometimes stray beyond 140 characters. All of them and more are listed on my About page under ultra short and microfiction. Enjoy.

The gate to storyland

Some objects are full of stories. Take this small wooden gate:

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Earlier this year I spotted it on a shelf in a local charity shop and couldn’t resist. Not unreasonably, OneMonkey asked why on earth I wanted it and what I was going to do with it. I just do, I said, and I’m going to put it somewhere and look at it – what else?

The truth is, it was the story behind the wooden gate that appealed to me. It’s the sort of thing my dad might make as trackside scenery for a model train (he builds the kind that actually run on coal, outdoors) but it’s an odd scale, the base-board is about a foot long. There was nothing similar on nearby shelves, it was in good condition and the gate opens, so: what did it get made for, and why did someone get rid of it? There’s the mundane explanation that it could have been a test piece for learning a particular woodwork technique, and once made it was just taking up valuable house room. That’s a bit boring though, and I’ve thought of lots of better ones in idle moments, but I assumed it was only me who was interested in it.

Sister Number One noticed at Christmas that I’d added the hedgehog and the mouse which have lived on my bookcase for many years. Big Brother then suggested I get a suitably sized rucksack and sit it on the stile, perhaps with a walking stick propped against it. And a pair of boots, he added. Boots? Yes, then we’ll wonder where the walker’s gone and what’s through the gate. And we all sat and looked at a second-hand model gate, and wondered.