Sunday, October 11, 2009

October 2009 Issue 109

Nicola's Editorial

SUDDENLY…

Quite suddenly it seems that autumn has descended upon us, bringing not only a nip in the air but also the imminent approach of Dry Rot on CD ROM, which will include the screenplay. I’m pretty excited about finally getting my writing together in a readable format. Particularly important to me is the fact that it’s going to include a beautiful cover, done by my dad. I’m in my element designing the cover and fancy lettering but it’s quite another thing to have to battle with my website to make the changes necessary to advertise Dry Rot. I think I’m going to enlist the help of my brother, Steve, who’s something of a computer expert. I suppose the good thing about this is that the CD ROM will be a bit of a family enterprise, not one but three Batty’s being involved. Andy has confidently given the date of publication, as December the first… so that’s when we’re aiming for. Although I’m a bit nervous about taking the plunge into self-publishing, I do feel that now is the time, otherwise people are never going to get a chance to read my stuff, and as that is the whole point of my writing novels, it’s unthinkable that they should simply disappear unread. After all, what do I have to lose by publishing them myself? So I’m going to go for it. Wish me luck.

MY PERSONAL FAVOURITE

By choosing to publish Dry Rot as the first of my novels on CD ROM, I wanted to do something quite different from The Ziggy Collection. Though I wrote Dry Rot so many years ago, it’s still definitely the favourite of my novels, it’s simultaneously funny, disturbing and contentious. I feel that it’s worked more successfully than some of my later novels, which are much more ambitious and complex – perhaps because it has such a simple structure and it’s very powerful and dramatic. Also on the CD ROM I decided to include my screenplay version of the novel, which was written some five years ago. Because Dry Rot is first and foremost a visual work, it was a natural progression to adapt it for the screen, although a local TV company hummed and harred over it for some time, they never accepted it in the end – so I’ve still got to wait until someone actually films it! But even so, the images of dry rot creeping up the stairs and contaminating the morality of Father Byrne are still strong in my mind.

ONCE A CATHOLIC…

Although one of the earliest ideas for Dry Rot involved Catholicism, it was with some hesitation that I decided not to use the anti-religious element to advertise the novel. I felt that it was beside the point and decided not to make it into the major issue of Dry Rot, though it is one of the big themes in the story. I remember originally writing the short story back in the early eighties, and having to do loads of research into the Stations of the Cross as each chapter is named after a different station. In this way Dry Rot is certainly about Catholicism.

ORIGINS OF DRY ROT

Like so many of my novels, Dry Rot began life as a short story. While I was still a teenager I was intrigued by my uncle’s descriptions of the dry rot he had seen attacking an old church – he was a DIY enthusiast – and that’s where the original idea of writing about dry rot came from. So then, the link between dry rot and Catholicism was born from conversations with an old friend who happened to be brought up a catholic and dry rot became a metaphor the decay of the priests soul. I suppose that I could say that there are similarities between the conception of Dry Rot and that of the Portrait of Mr WH, which came from conversation between Wilde and Robbie Ross. Anyway, that’s how the bones of the book came about, later it is was rewritten as a short novel with additional characters – notably the exotic Mary.

ART WORK

My dad’s been busy working on a cover design, which he’ll also use for the poster hopefully. We both talked much about this design, so that I feel involved with it… it’s very important to me to have a striking cover design – particularly for Dry Rot, as it is a visual story. Although I was thinking that Jack would help, he said he was too busy with school artwork, so I got my dad involved instead. Jack’s actually been accepted straight onto the A-level art course without his GCSE – the school were so impressed by his art portfolio. So Jack’s now started his A-levels at Parrs Wood, fifteen minutes away, and seems very involved with all his subjects. He is also doing music and media studies.

SILVER BEATLES

I just wrote a short story, which was based on an incident I read about in the Beatles book. I’m not quite sure what the title is going to be… perhaps Eleanor Rigby. The true incident of a bloke being kicked to death at a Silver Beatles gig was my inspiration for this story, much embroidered of course. By the way, the Silver Beatles was the original name of the band. My story is set in 1960. The Beatles are in my mind at the moment as I’ve just got tickets to see The Bootleg Beatles once again. I was so impressed with them last time, particularly by the ambitious, more complicated stuff, which they tackled fearlessly… I hope they do so again.

THE REVOLUTION CONTINUES

What better way to wind up this month’s Raw Meat than with the French Revolution? This book by Hillary Mantel (A Place of Greater Safety) is still going on, at the moment we’ve reached 1792 and amazingly, King Louis is still alive… he wasn’t actually guillotined until near the end of the revolution. It interests me that maybe his death signified that things had gone too far; everything went down hill from there. Robespierre was also guillotined as was Danton and Desmoulins. The book seems to concentrate on these three main characters as they form an intriguing triangle. The story also is embroidered with other minor characters, particularly women who you don’t usually hear anything about in history. I find it incredible that I still feel the same great amount of sympathy for Robespierre as I did when I wrote my short story about him, Robespierre’s Jaw, twenty years ago. I do think he was essentially a very good man… perhaps to good… corrupted by the power that saw the disintegration of his high ideals. Anyway, read the book yourself and see what you think.

RAW MATERIALS

It’s strange to think of how The Space Between has obsessed me for all these years… it’s kind of like another world that has been built inside my mind, and to leave it incomplete is absolutely unthinkable. No matter how much I get distracted by various short stories – which are much easer to write – I’ll always return to my novel, simply because it needs to be finished! Although I’m thinking about putting other bits in this chapter (1904) I’ve not quite decided… at the moment I’m sticking with developing tensions between Ross, Freddy, Jack and Harriet. I only decided recently to bring Harriet into the conversation – I just felt that it seemed natural that she should be particularly angry with Ross. Then I thought it was an exciting progression of things to put her job on the line. I still haven’t quite decided what exactly will happen to Harriet… but I’ve always liked open endings!

It’s always been a bit of a headache to keep on about this bloody box without the connotation becoming contrived; still, it was essential so that in the other books it should be obvious as a symbol of Jack and Freddie’s split. I’m still keeping on with a few more pieces set within the Ross household – I want to develop the tension and claustrophobia still further before moving on. I had an idea the other day of yet another piece to write following from this one, which I originally thought was going to be the last. However the novel has proved itself once again to be a truly living form… a sort of fungus, I suppose, rather like a dry rot. … see, I’m totally obsessed! But seriously, this tenacious nature of the novel is one of my favourite things about it – it can’t be left at this stage, no matter how distracted I’ve become by writing various short stories and trying to advertise Dry Rot. Such things are very important to me, but I’ll always return to finish The Space Between.

One thing I’ve been distracted by are short stories for my forthcoming, Still Lives. A collection of short stories that I’ve already got and others I’m yet to write - a couple of them are still in my head! I think that self publishing is definitely the way forward for me now, otherwise people aren’t going to be able to read my stuff until I’m dead and buried! And I have no intention of letting that happen.

THE STORY SO FAR…

It’s now 1904 and Wilde has been dead for a few years, and supposedly his manuscript has disappeared along with him. But recently the manuscript has been given to a friend of Wildes, Gustave who’s come over from Paris. Gustave has handed the manuscript onto Ricketts; and the Vale Press have printed one copy which is still in Rickets possession. Ross still has the original manuscript which he keeps in a locked box which has given to him by his boyfriend, Freddy. Freddy was up until now Jacks best friend but has split with him because of Ross. Harriet, Jacks mother is angry about this.

THE SPACE BETWEEN… CHAPTER 4

The two men kissed briefly, then Freddie spoke in a quiet voice, as if afraid to disturb the air that stretched magically between them.

“I suppose it must be extra special because it’s in Oscar’s handwriting… and so a part of him, a real memory.”

When Ross replied, his voice sounded slightly gruff, maybe trying to cover up his emotions.

“Yes, maybe you’re right, but you know… more important than that is that you gave it to me, that’s more important because it’s real. You and I are alive now, and so is our love.”

Ross and Freddie stared at each other steadily, feeling the entire world around them shrinking rapidly to enclose the two of them within it, drawing them closer and closer together to leave outside anything else. Suddenly Freddie scrambled to his feet, backing away from the sofa, his eyes fixed on the figure by the door. He didn’t speak, but no sound was necessary. Ross got to his feet calmly, as if resigned to the fact of her presence there, it seemed almost inevitable that she should be there, she should have heard the words just promised.

“Harriet… you entered like a ghost. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long,” she answered, setting her face into a grim mask which was hard as marble. “But long enough to hear your intentions… you’ve made it quite clear that you don’t care at all. You’re inhuman, you’ve got no feelings at all. I can’t believe how long I’ve known you… I’ve known both of you, and yet you could turn round and do this, do a thing like this, to Jack… because it’s Jack you’ve hurt so much that he’s going away. He’s leaving me, leaving everything… and who is there to blame but you? It’s your fault, your fault Robbie Ross…”

“Harriet, please… calm yourself.” Ross reached out his hand and tried to touch her shoulder reassuringly, but she stepped back to get beyond his reach. She allowed the tears of fury to flow over her face. She clutched the edges of her apron manically, as if trying to tear pieces from it. when she spoke again her voice was steady but still filled with venom.

“How could you do a thing like this to both me and Jack after all this time? I trusted you… I thought you were such a good man, but I was so wrong.”

Ross realised that it was no good to try and soothe her. He shrugged slightly as he turned away.

“I’m sorry this is how things have worked out Harriet, I really am. I didn’t intend to hurt anyone; least of all you or Jack, but all I can do is apologise.”

The silence that settled then was more terrible than the shouting had been a moment before. Then Freddie’s voice broke it.

“Harriet, you mustn’t blame Robbie completely… it’s partly my fault, it’s just the way things have happened, I’m afraid… like Robbie, I’m very sorry for Jack. He’s still very special to me. I never wanted to hurt him and I’m very upset that he’s going away like this. I never wanted any of this to happen, but you mustn’t blame Robbie.”

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s obviously the one to blame for all this, so don’t try and defend him, Freddie… there’s no point.” Her voice was now steady, tightly controlled; she stood still, aware of the heat of the small dying fire. Her hands were clenched at her sides and could hear her own voice rising slightly. “This is all a game to him – can’t you see that Freddie? I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt just the same way, because Robbie Ross doesn’t care who he hurts.”

“I think that’s quite enough, Harriet,” Ross interrupted, stepping forward as if to prevent Harriet’s words from touching his young friend. He held up his hand as if to strike Harriet but didn’t, his expression was rather filled with sadness than anger. “You can stop right there – I think you’ve said quite enough now… will you please leave us?”

“Oh don’t worry – I’m going.” Harriet stared at Ross icily, aware that a little way behind him, Freddie stood silently, his head bowed, as if trying to take refuge behind Ross’s body. Harriet looked wildly about her, wanting to cause Ross some actual physical pain; it was a feeling she had never had before and it frightened her so much that she quickly turned away and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Monday, September 07, 2009

September 2009 Issue 108

Nicola's Editorial
GOOD RIDANCE AUGUST
I was truly glad to see the end of the summer this year- it’s been a really bad August for me, full of things going wrong, general stress and worry. The last day of August was even worse than usual, being on the bank holiday… I’ve always hated bank holidays. This one was even worse than usual - I just hope September is going to be better! It seemed to rain continually throughout August, making me long to go away… which never happened, for one reason or another. To make it worse Jack was having a fun time in Canada where it was both hot and eventful. Added to this, bad things kept on happening… Ben, my Mum’s old dog finally died after it seemed that he was going to recover. The last thing I feel like doing now is celebrating my birthday.
A SCOTTISH FAILURE
We’ve just returned from a supposed holiday near Edinburgh, camping in a national park. Jack backed out at the last minute, which I was extremely pissed off about, because I thought it would be a good time for us to spend some time together as a family. But no, Jack had other ideas. So Andy and I went alone - but when we arrived at the campsite it was just getting dark and we were both so fed up with the travelling that we decided to look for a Travelodge instead. Andy couldn’t face battling with the awning at that point, which he’d never done before. The nearest Travelodge, which wasn’t full, was Gretna Green, and so we stayed there. I told Andy that we could get married in the morning… but he didn’t take me up on it. So the entire Scottish trip was a bit of a disaster - even as we drove home via the Lake District, the rain fell without ceasing. Really depressing.
THE ANGEL OF THE NORTH
It was actually quite a new experience to be heading north… I remarked that we were getting nearer the North Pole, and you could feel the temperature dropping! But on a more positive note, on the motorway we passed a giant metal statue of an angel, which Andy said was called the Angel of the North. He also described it as “looking rusty” … I found it extremely difficult to visualise, as I’ve never seen it. Apparently it was made by the same chap who did the statues in the sea on Crosby Beach, just outside Liverpool. These half submerged statues remind me of the inside cover of Pink Floyds Wish you were here, which shows a wonderful statue of a person diving into the sea where only their legs and bottom can be seen! The fact that the water surrounding the statue is motionless seems surreal… the captured moment frozen forever.
JACK’S SUCCESS
To make a change from my moaning on about summer, Jack has been having a more positive time. Not only has he been away to both Poland and Canada, but he returned to learn that he’d achieved some success with his GCSE’s. He didn’t fail any and even got some A’s… so it’s congratulations to him. He needs to stay on one more year at school to study for his Art… I think he’s looking forward to concentrating on just the one subject, which he’s pretty excellent at. Perhaps I’ll use his talents to illustrate the cover of Dry Rot when it comes out at Christmas. I feel rather spoilt for choice with this, as I also have my Dad’s talents at the ready…
THE SHORT SIDE
I apologise for this edition being a bit on the short side - but what can I do? I don’t want to keep on moaning, and I’m sure you don’t want to listen to it! I can’t even distract myself by going on about the French Revolution, as is my wont, as we haven’t been doing much reading of A Place of Greater Safety lately. It’s now seventeen-ninety and the Bastille has fallen; Hillary Mantel seems to focus on a few historical characters such as Robespierre, Desmoulins and Danton, but includes less known figures in the way of their wives, friends and even king Louis himself! I’d say it’s quite patchy… there are really exciting bits, but some of it quite tedious. But I have no doubt at all that we’ll finish it, even though it is a pretty hefty volume. And hopefully when I come to write the next issue, it will be slightly more positive than this one. Apologies again.
RAW MATERIALS
The good thing about the disappointing summer I’ve had, is that it meant I’ve had a lot of time to think about The Space Between and the direction in which it’s going. I still haven’t made any definite conclusion about the exact composition of the third novel, only that it’s not going to be set in the Antarctic and feature Scott because I don’t think this would fit in with the rest of the trilogy, it would make the whole thing look pretty silly. But I do want to take a step away from London and particularly Wilde, though exactly how I’m not sure. I’m just going to continue with The Space Between and see where my ideas lead me. I’m not even sure at this stage if the trilogy will in fact remain a trilogy; The Space Between itself is going so well that it may prove impossible to fit all the years into just one more novel. I suppose there’s nothing to stop me from making it a series of novels… for the moment I’m just going to keep writing and see what happens.
The extract I’m going to share with you this month, is similar to the last in that it’s also set in Ross’s house. This was a deliberate move to heighten the tension of the situation within the Ross household with Freddie, Ross and Jack. I wanted to keep the action focussed for these first few months of 1904, to get across that quite a few events happen to the same characters around this time, so I didn’t want to break off the action and pull back and get the reader distracted. I think it’s always a danger with this sort of story with different historical characters etc. I must admit that I’m quite upset with this Ross/Freddie/Jack story at the moment and just want to get it all down before I carry on with the other characters as well. It’s good to spend time with Jack, as I don’t seem to have done that much with him by himself, and the breakdown of his friendship with Freddie is such a major disruption to his life that I felt he should definitely be at the centre of these next few sections of the story. As well as Harriet, of course… as I was writing this piece, Harriet herself actually came into the story and I suddenly saw the way it was going to lead. I hadn’t intended this at all but it seems pretty obvious to me now that Harriet’s employment is going to be put on the line because of the situation between Ross and Jack.
I think the most difficult thing I’ve found about writing the Edwardian Jack was that I can’t imagine how a fourteen year old boy would react to such an emotionally stressful situation,.. Particularly if I must remember he’s a working chap and so almost grown up, but does that mean he wouldn’t think like a teenager? It’s difficult for me as he’s a boy which I have no experience of being!! So I’m writing these next few pieces at quite a rapid pace while I’ve got them in mind – I don’t want to lose any of the tension and claustrophobia I feel by setting all the extracts in the same place, I just want to get across all the emotions felt by all the characters and to build up the crisis within these few months. This year (1904) seems to be a good place in which to put the major focus of the entire trilogy, because when I think about it, that’s exactly what it is, I didn’t realise that it was going to come here, in 1904, but it has.

THE STORY SO FAR
As 1904 begins, the only known copy of Wilde’s manuscript has been given to Robbie Ross, following Wilde’s death. Ross has put the manuscript inside a box which his new friend Freddie has made him. The following scene take splace in Ross’s kitchen where Harriet works as a maid.
THE SPACE BETWEEN
Copyright Nicola Batty © 2009
CHAPTER 4
“Answer Mr Ross’s bell, would you, Harriet?” called Cook, raising her voice to be heard above the sound of the whistling kettle. Harriet looked up and stared at the jangling bell on the wall but made no other movement, for she had only just sat down. Mrs Ross had been taken by the idea of cleaning all the curtains in the drawing room. It was heavy work, lifting and scrubbing all those drapes, and Harriet’s legs and arms were aching. The last thing she needed at the moment was to face Mr Ross and Freddie once again. She glanced across the table at the other maid, the new girl who had only recently started.
“Jane, will you go? I’m exhausted.” Harriet smiled feebly as she watched the new maid get to her feet eagerly and turn to go. Harriet stared at the cup of coffee. She could feel Cook’s eyes upon her and she felt uncomfortable, for Cook knew the situation. But neither one of them spoke as the kitchen door closed, leaving them enclosed in the steam and warmth from the range which wrapped itself around them, smothering any further need for conversation. Harriet could feel her eyes closing as her mind drifted into obscurity, vague thoughts occurring to her, but totally disconnected, like dogs chasing their own tails. She was aware of the dark garden outside the window, and the iciness of it, but she couldn’t tell if it was actually snowing or not. Perhaps she slipped into a doze, for quite suddenly she realised that somebody was knocking on the back door. She got to her feet slowly, still feeling half removed from all this, and opened the back door. She stared blankly at the small figure on the doorstep, allowing the sharpness of the late afternoon air to bring her back to her senses.
“Jack!” She cried, flinging her arms around the boy. He seemed awkward, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“Yes, I know… did you get the money I sent for Christmas?”
“Yes, but I’m not interested in that. Come in, you must be frozen… where have you been all this time?”
The skinny young child she felt she had once known, now seemed almost unrecognisable, stepping out from the darkness into the bright kitchen in a fresh guise, that of a working young man. His face seemed to Harriet to have changed, not only a little older but also more serious and perhaps a little sad. It seemed a great effort for him to smile; he eased himself free of Harriet’s embrace and stepped back, glancing quickly over Cook, who smiled in greeting but said nothing.
“Yes… sorry about that,” he said awkwardly, without meeting Harriet’s eye. “Didn’t Freddie tell you? I sent him round.”
“Freddie didn’t say much – just that you’d left suddenly and had gone to America.” Harriet stared at her son, feeling exasperated. “Jack, what’s happened?”
Jack removed his coat and draped it carefully over the back of a chair. When he turned back to his mother, his smile had faded.
“Freddie was right, I had left suddenly, but not to America… I was still in London, in Whitechapel. I’ve been staying with Georges for the past few weeks.”
Harriet shook her head in confusion.
“But… why didn’t you come back here?”
“I couldn’t,” Jack said, “I just couldn’t, that’s all.”
Cook suddenly cleared her throat sharply, turning away from the range and taking her coat down from its peg.
“Harriet, will you watch these potatoes? I’m just going next door.”
Harriet nodded silently and watched her leave, wondering if tact had inspired her departure. As the door closed behind her, Harriet took Jack’s hand and pulled him closer to her.
“Jack, will you tell me what’s happened?”
“Oh… Freddie…. we’ve just fallen out, that’s all. I just don’t want to see him here, that’s why I haven’t been over.” The boy fell silent but Harriet waited patiently for him to elaborate. “Or Robbie Ross. I don’t want to see either of them.”
Harriet said nothing, for what could she say? She simply squeezed both Jack’s hands together, covering them completely with her own.
“I know,” was all she said.
“I thought… I thought he was my special friend!” Jack suddenly blurted out, his words tripping over each other as tears welled in his eyes. “And I was meant to be his! But no… I’m not as good as Robbie Ross. I’m not clever like he is… I don’t have such stuck up friends and I don’t have so much money. Who am I, after all? Just Jack, a nothing.”
“Don’t say that – that’s stupid.” Harriet hugged the boy, hoping to smother his words and thoughts out of existence. She held him tight, her own thoughts turning bitterly to Ross and Freddie… the intimacy between them filled her with sudden, sharp venom that was almost tangible. She held Jack there, saying nothing. He raised his face and heaved a great sigh, which seemed to wrack his entire body. His expression was troubled, rather than angry, though his fists were clenched tightly into balls. When he spoke again, it was through gritted teeth.
“I knew things had changed between us when I came back home at Christmas and saw him making a box. I knew then it was all changed. He spent so much time making it, all those little designs… everything especially for him, even his name, Robbie Ross on the front… obviously for him. That’s when I knew things had changed.” He fell quiet and Harriet made no effort to break the silence… she let it expand like sponge between them, cushioning the sharp edges of the situation. Eventually Jack raised his hand to his face and rubbed it vigorously, as if wiping away the sadness he felt. “So… I went to Whitechapel, and I’ve been there ever since. Georges has been a good friend to me. I’m going back to America with him soon. I don’t want to see Freddie or Robbie Ross again… not ever.”
Harriet gazed at the boy levelly.
“Well… won’t you just… wait a bit longer before making any decisions? Just wait… things might look a bit brighter in a few months.”
Jack shook his head slowly, smiling slightly, though there was no humour in it.
“I don’t think so… though the ship won’t be leaving just yet, so I’ll come here to see you again, don’t worry. It’s only Freddie and Ross I want to avoid… not you.”
He fell silent again as the door was opened by Cook, who nodded and returned at once to the stove. Jack took his jacket from over the chair and put it on, every movement slow and deliberate as Harriet watched him closely, she was aware she was losing her son. She reached out and gripped his wrist tightly.
“When will you come again?” She said quickly, her voice edged with panic. “You mustn’t leave without saying goodbye… promise me.”
Jack hugged his mother and then pushed her gently away.
“Alright, I promise.” Then he turned and left allowing the cold darkness outside to intrude.
More from The Space Between in October.
URBAN SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy’s bit!
Hi, sorry I missed last month, but I’m back now!
EDINBURGH
Our little trip up to Scotland had to be curtailed, rather sooner than we had hoped. First of all, Nic had a bit of the slippy cushion syndrome, and we had to keep on stopping the van every fifteen minutes or so to reseat her. So by the time we arrived at the campsite, in the grounds of a country house, we were both exhausted and I didn’t think it was possible for Nic to sleep in the van or in a tent, so we carried on driving, and after many more stops, we found a motel, that just happened to have a room left.
JACK
As many of you know, Jack has finished school now, but he’s going back in September, to the sixth form, to take an Art GCSE. We were very pleased with his GCSE results, as he got a couple of A* and some other A’s too. So, Congratulations Jack!
NAIROBIC’S
I shouldn’t think many of Nic’s readers would be interested in the antics of my alter ego, Doktir Nairobi, but I’ll tell you anyway, that I’ve started posting a new story on my Nairobic’s blog. You can have a butcher’s hook, by clinking this link.
MORE FROM Urban Scrawl Andy in October.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

August 2009 Issue 107

Nicola's Editorial

BRITISH SUMMER

Sorry to start on such a depressing note… but this weather is really beginning to piss me off. Somebody said that the lovely couple of weeks we had in June was all the summer we will be getting this year; at the time they said this I thought “good grief, that cannot be true!” however as each grey day follows another grey day with the sun only intermittently breaking through… I’m beginning to think they’re right. We’ve just booked to go camping in Scotland in a few weeks… now all we need is the weather to pull itself together. Perhaps even a bit of sunshine and some warmth would be nice, but I don’t want to get my hopes up too much as it will probably rain all the time. Who’d believe it was August, supposedly the hottest month of the year? And still the rain keeps on falling…

THAT SEASIDE RESORT

Ok, that’s quite enough of being so negative. I’ve just arrived back from a great few days in Worthing, that place made so famous by Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest. Although the guesthouse where Oscar penned his play has been demolished, there is a plaque to mark the spot I believe. Worthing itself is a lovely place, which I actually much prefer to the busier and livelier Brighton. There’s still a lovely Pier at Worthing and also a stony beach where we sat in the sunshine for a few hours. Yes - it was actually fairly sunny, even though there was a ridiculously strong wind for most of the days. Once again I fell in love with Worthing as I did last time I visited with Andy. My favourite spot is on the end of the pier where it’s so peaceful; all you can hear are the waves and (in this case) the wind.

THE ROMAN POPPY

Whilst in Worthing we met up with some friends, who took us to the near by Roman town of Chichester. It was a pretty windy day anyway, but on the coast it was even worse… but at the same time the wind wasn’t unpleasant or cold, and at least the sun was out. I was greatly impressed by the beautiful stone Norman Cathedral - complete with steeple and gargoyles all the way around. Even more impressive was the floor inside, where you could see through the glass covering to the ancient poppy mosaic from the original roman site. Beneath the glass was also the bottom of a stone pillar… I thought it a wonderful experience! Even though the Norman Cathedral had no glass in the windows and was quite plain, it also seemed to be full of great, sweeping arches and high ceilings… almost gothic in style. Outside the cathedral was the Bishops garden, which appeared very much like it sounded - that is, formal flowerbeds. Our friend Alison (who was acting as tour guide) told us that the Roman walls surrounding Chichester date from about 10 AD…, which is presumably, when the original Roman building was constructed.

BRIGHTON

The wind was even more excessive when we went to Brighton the next day, and so we dived into a café for fish and chips… much as any other person would have done. I remembered visiting Brighton about twenty years ago to see my sister, and the only place I remembered was the Brighton Pavilion… so we went back there because the wind was less strong as it was slightly inland. I was immediately taken by Brigitte’s description of the regency building, with all different shapes of windows and lots of towers and domes. Andy told me later that the Pavilion had been completely restored… which explains why I didn’t remember it being so beautiful! I liked also the gardens which I thought were particularly anarchic, the flowers and trees being mixed up together… also including a fish pond with lovely Lilly pads and strange grey fish with whiskers which Brigitte said were catfish. I believe George IV had the pavilion built for his mistress when he was a wayward regency prince.

STEVE’S PHOTOS

Back in Worthing, we went round to see my friends Steve and Alison once again. Steve is a photographer who I met originally in Woolwich some twenty-five years ago… he was sent round by the National Student to take a photo of me being a vampire! I had recently written an article for the magazine, on my trip to Transylvania. I must have been reading Peter Ackroyd’s Hawksmoor at the time and was going on to Steve about the novel; he was infected by my enthusiasm to such a degree that he went round London taking photographs of all seven Hawksmoor churches, which I still have on my wall. Steve and I were also talking about our mutual friend - Steven Fry, who Steve photographed some years ago. He gave me a copy of the photo, which shows Mr. Fry with a stuffed cat - this photo hangs in the National Portrait Gallery and is I suppose one of Steve’s claims to fame!

POLISH SALT MINES

While Brigitte and I were in Worthing, Andy, Jack and Jack’s friend Dan went to Poland… Which I don’t want to say too much about, I’ll leave that to Andy. However I was particularly intrigued by Andy’s description of the salt mines there, where the rocks were all white like ice. I think that must have looked pretty ghostly and surreal, rather like the mountain in Transylvania where everything was coated with snow so it resembled a wedding cake. According to Jack everyone in Poland is very good looking… though whether or not he means by this that they’re well dressed or fair of face I’m not sure. Jack and Dan are off again next week to Canada for more adventures. I’m going to try to get Jack to write something about them for Jacks page… any assistance you could give with this would help, as I think he’ll take more notice of you than me!

LAST WORD

Just before this issue goes online the sun seems to have made a sudden return into the sky… I just hope it’s going to stay there for our camping trip? It was good to have it around for a while, as it should be awesome by right. We’ve just been down to my mum’s yesterday, and she told me that she’s booked a flying lesson for next week, which she is quite nervous about but mostly excited! Do you remember, when this was mentioned six months ago… mum’s birthday present from all her kids including me!! I hope it all goes well though, I’m sure it will.
More News from Nicola in September...
RAW MATERIALS

As I’ve now reached the end of chapter 3 and also 1903, I’ve now got a clearer idea of the entire shape of The Space Between and which characters are taking the lead, so to speak. It seems clear that this whole novel will cover only a few years more, where as originally I intended it to go up to 1912 … but I don’t think it will. Which means that I need to focus on something other than the singing of the titanic. I don’t know if I mentioned the titanic sinking before… but it had always been the central focus of The Space Between, and to have it shifted to another novel is a bit of a major rethink! Notice that I didn’t say major disaster (because it’s not) – I’ll still include it in the trilogy somewhere. I think I’ve decided not to move the action of the third novel to the Antarctic, although that’s still tempting because of the coincidental link with Scott through Kathleen. But I’m too afraid of making he third novel too wacky and not in keeping with the rest of the trilogy. Also there are so many threads going strong in The Space Between that I want to develop – particularly with Freddy, Ross and even jack in America. And of course there’s also the wonderful stuff about opium and the Pissaro’s, and also Adrian Singleton. So I have easily enough material on my hands for another novel…. Which I don’t even know at this stage what to call or even where to base the action… shall I keep it in London or shift it to make a change? I’m always of wary of making things too surreal and crazy just for the hell of it … which I think will loose me readers and credibility.

Writing this novel without my sight is proving to be a totally new experience… simply dictating the material without being able to read it or see how much you’ve written makes an incredible difference to the way I used to type, which was such plain hard work that I was always very aware of how much I’d written. It’s totally thrown the years and intended shape of The Space Between. Where as I was thinking of using each chapter to cover a year I think this is going to be blown completely and I may now resort to including a couple of years in one chapter. The Space Between seems to be moving so slowly through the years that I‘m still wondering where exactly to end it … whether to bring Captain Scott and his marriage to Kathleen into it all.

Another major decision I’ve made recently about the trilogy is that I’m definitely going to publish it myself, or should say we’ll publish it ourselves… because of course this will be a joint effort between me and Andy, Rather similar to Charles Ricketts and Shannon’s bonfire!

THE SPACE BETWEEN

The story so far… As 1903 draws to a close, Wilde has been dead for three years and his manuscript has supposedly vanished with him, but back in London another copy has been found by Charles Rickets which he has published himself by The Vale press. In the following extract, which takes place in the printers forge, Charles has made the decision to end The Press. Now read on…

Moving the first couple of founts from the top of the tower, Charles paused only very briefly before throwing them on the fire. The pain he thought he would feel as he watched his hours of laborious industry dissolve away into a river of molten metal… this pain was only a dull ache within him, which could easily be overcome. He was only aware of the difference of these actions now as opposed to his childish burning of the wooden founts before… this was real, this was a thoughtful action, a shared action. This was not just the end of the Vale Press but also the end of his own fears that Shan would leave him. Charles took down a couple more founts from the sack truck and threw them on the fire again. He glanced across at Shan but couldn’t see his face at all, he was completely shrouded in blackness. Charles felt a vague sense of unease creep over him as the strange chemical smell filled his nostrils. Does he know, does he realise what his means? Surely he does… Moving slightly towards Shan, Charles gripped his hand compulsively; Shan didn’t draw it away, so they both stood there motionless for several moments, watching the fire consume their artistry. They worked together: Shan threw the next fount on the fire, and Charles the ones after. They worked silently, without saying a word to each other. When there were only a few founts remaining on the truck, Shan spoke to Charles in a quiet voice.

“You know Charles, we forgot to bring Oscar’s book to throw in the fire… that’s where it really belongs.”

Charles smiled, very slowly, shaking his head firmly, although he knew that Shan couldn’t see his movement.

“No… I’m glad we didn’t, because this has to be a joint agreement, something we both share. Don’t you see, I want the book to stay with me, for Oscar’s sake.”

Removing his hand very carefully from Charles’s, Shan threw the remaining few founts onto the fire with such a slow measure grace that they seemed to hang suspended impossibly in the air for several seconds before falling upon the coals. Standing back, he caught Charles’s eye for the first time and smiled widely. Throwing his arms suddenly around Charles, he hugged him so closely that Charles felt their two bodies become molten and flowing like the metal had been, and the river flowed away across the coals.

“Very well then, Charles… as you wish, so it shall be.”

The two of them stood, clasping each other’s hands, watching the fire as it died very slowly away.

Look out for another extract from Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy in September.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

July 2009 Issue 106

Nicola's Editorial

THE HOT SPELL

I won’t bother boring you with any lame excuses for the late arrival Online of this month’s issue, as by now you’ll be accustomed to my philosophy of making hay while the sun shines… which involves leaving the computer completely, and staying outside as much as possible. The only place to be when it’s warm is outside all the time, camping… but this was not to be, as Andy’s been searching for ages for an awning to go on the van, with no luck. Finally, we think we’ve found one – just as the hot spell seems to be over, or at least diminished. It did come as something of a relief though, to feel a little bit cooler, especially at night. It’s so difficult to sleep when it’s hot. Yet I think I could easily get used to living in a warm climate – no problem really, the advantages far outweigh the bad things. The warm evenings are one of the best times, where you can sit outside talking, drinking or just meditating and feeling peaceful… at those times I love being alive and being here in this life…

LAZY DAYS

I can understand why Cobweb practically disappears over the summer, only reappearing briefly to scoff a quick meal of cat food before she’s off again. I was seriously considering getting Andy to put the tent up in the back yard at one point, although I don’t think he would’ve been very keen! I haven’t actually been doing very much in the way of getting out recently… too much time has been spent simply sitting around and meditating… thinking how content I would be to live in climate that was like this all the time!

THE CREEPING YEARS

I think I must be beginning to feel my age, with my longing to leave all this behind for good becoming more urgent. I’m envious of people such as Andy’s brother, Stan, who left Britain years ago for a new life in Thailand. Stan’s just been here for a visit and has now returned to his banana plantation… apparently he lives on the edge of a lake, which is 50 miles long. The house he lives in sounds amazing, because it was all built by members of Stan’s partner’s family, who all live there… so it seems to be a communal house, much like the one I’ve been talking about living in. Both Andy and I would love to go over to Thailand and perhaps travel around in a hired camper van, maybe calling in on my friend in South Korea. Does this really have to remain such an impossible dream? I don’t think so.

COOK’S ISLAND

Still on the subject of travel: while researching for my failed bid for funding for a round the world trip, I discovered a remote island in the middle of the Pacific, half way between Tahiti and New Zealand. It was named after Captain Cook, so I presume that he had discovered it. But now I’m not so sure – perhaps he just charted a lot of the Pacific islands, while being discovered by someone else, nameless and forgotten. I’ve become quite fascinated by Captain Cook… he was killed by Hawaiian natives, did you know that? For quite a few weeks I’ve had a short story brewing in my head concerning Cook’s imaginary mysteries… perhaps I will have to go to Cook’s Islands to research. Apparently there is a Ziggy friendly cottage there, where we could stay. It’s a nice thought anyway…

SWEET SIXTEEN

But to return to reality with a great big bump, or more likely a crashing of drums. Jack’s just brought home his new drum kit; a more sophisticated set than his old starter kit. It seems that Jack has visions of becoming a professional drummer… I believe he has his first gig next week, which I hope to go to. Jack’s dreams are not so crazy – it’s obvious that he’s got an instinct for rhythm and the determination to go with it. I wish him every bit of luck in his music, which I’m sure he’ll develop quite naturally. His new drums are suitably coloured in red and black… that I probably don’t need to remind you are the colours of anarchy… need I say more?

DRY ROT

One of my most positive reactions to the realization of the passing of time is that I’ve decided, at last, to publish my very first novel myself on CD. This major event will probably not take place until much later in the year… perhaps even Christmas.

I’m still a little nervous of making such a drastic move; I think it’s high time to allow people to read my fiction, which they’re not going to be able to do otherwise. I consider my novels to be totally different from the Ziggy Collection, and I’m especially fond of Dry Rot, which is my personal favourite. In fact, I thought the novel was so visually strong that I edited it for the screen… whether or not we’ll publish this screen version alongside the novel, I don’t know yet, but keep watching this space for more information…

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, ABANDONDED?

Although the summertime should be a time for reading in the park, I’m afraid that I’ve not been doing much of that at all. This is very frustrating to me – particularly with the French Revolution book, which has been practically abandoned after only just being started. I’m in two minds about continuing with this book, simply because it’s such a massive volume, and I want to read other things… still waiting are the biographies of Kathleen Scott and Gauguin. Although A Place of Greater Safety will probably be resumed pretty soon, just to stop me from going mad until I can think of some other way of reading books, apart from having someone else read them aloud to me, which is time consuming. It’s becoming more and more of a problem to listen to books on tape with any degree of success… any ideas from anyone would be gratefully received as I’m absolutely stuck on this one!

CREATIVE PHD

Recently I had an interesting meeting with Malcolm, my old University lecturer who supervised my Wilde dissertation. By the way, on the subject of Wilde, I heard a few weeks ago from a chap in Belgium who was doing a PhD on Wilde and contemporary literature, and he wanted to see Reinventing Wilde as he thought this might be relevant to him. Of course I sent it – it’s lovely when someone takes an interest in your work and I hope it helps him with his thesis. Anyway, to return to Malcolm – he was asking me if I’d consider doing a PhD myself… I said of course I have, but wanted to concentrate on my novels. He pointed out that the two things shouldn’t work against each other… I was reminded of my sister, who wrote a stage play as part of her MA in creative writing. So Malcolm is going to send me more information about the combination of creativity and PhD studies, which should make interesting reading.

RAW MATERIALS

The extract I’m including, actually came as an unexpected surprise – I didn’t intent it to be here at all, but decided at the last moment it was necessary to emphasise how important the box was going to be. Also needed was more time spent on the relationship between Freddie and Ross. As I wrote this piece, it seemed natural to make their relationship slightly physical, which sounds very smutty but I don’t want it to be at all. But here was the opportunity to show the closeness of the two, while emphasising the importance of the box and the fact that it’s a secret, locked store-place.

Talking about The Space Between generally, I think I like it better than The Spark, because it’s more fictional, not so tied to historical fact. Though I’m not really sure if this is true, as the historical characters are still there, holding the fiction down to reality. Maybe it’s because of the fact that Wilde himself is dead in the second book, but I just feel I’ve got a freer reign to branch off with. As with the Pissaros – who really had nothing to do with Wilde – I’m not really sure where they’re leading the novel, but I hope it’s going to be cool. Perhaps I won’t pursue the Pissaros at all but instead develop the Scott link thorough Kathleen.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

As the end of 1903 approaches, Ricketts is still trying to publish Wilde’s manuscript as a final swansong of the Vale Press. Ross has the only other copy of the manuscript, which he wants to keep safe. Now read on..

FROM CHAPTER 3 - 1903

Ross folded the letter carefully and placed it near the back of his desk, behind the stack of more urgent business to be dealt with. He noticed that the paper was torn along the edge as if it had been ripped out from an exercise book of Ricketts’s doodles, which perhaps was true. Robbie smiled to himself, leaning back in his armchair and folding his arms behind his head; it was pleasant to sit here leisurely and do nothing, this was, after all, a holiday. Turning his head to gaze out over the white rooftops he thought once again how strange it was to actually see snow on Christmas day, perhaps this was the first time such a thing had occurred… and is that significant? He got to his feet slowly, wandering across the room towards the blazing fire, which he stood in front of, rubbing his hands to warm them and thinking of Charles’s suggestion. Of course Oscar deserved to be buried somewhere more fitting than the nameless little grave in which he lay… of course he deserved the best and obviously Charles thought the same way. It occurred to Ross that Charles had been thinking about Oscar’s final resting place since he had published the manuscript.

He turned quickly as he heard a quiet tapping on the door as it was pushed open. Ross’s face broke into a delighted smile as he recognised the blonde, good looking young man who stood there awkwardly in the doorway, clutching a large wooden box in both hands.

“Freddie! How lovely of you to come round on Christmas day… come over to the fire, you look freezing.”

Taking his overcoat off, Ross pulled him toward the fire, frowning and fussing; Freddie only laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t be silly… it’s just cold out there on the stairs, that’s all.” Freddie told his friend with a laugh; but never the less he allowed himself to be led over to the blazing fire without too much resistance. “It’s nice to get back to the fire, though… I’ve just come up from the kitchen, which was really warm… they had a fire and the range on as well, cooking the Turkey and all that. They let, me have a bit with some stuffing – very nice.” Freddie rubbed his hands briskly, scrapping his long hair out of his eyes with a quick movement of his hand “Actually it was Jack’s ma who gave me turkey… I had some coins to give her from Jack for a Christmas present, because he’s gone away again and so I said I’d bring them around.” He shrugged, catching Ross’s eye and grinning. “Of course, I don’t mind, because it will give me an excuse to see you.”

Ross smiled at him, moving towards the fire and stoking it up with the poker.

“How lovely of you to say such a thing! Of course the feeling is shared between us … you’re more than welcome, a sight for sore eyes. Besides, I think it’s important that you should see Harriett and offer her some words of comfort – I think she’s missing Jack very much.”

“Yes, I know.” The young man stared into the fire; frowning briefly as his expression became suddenly more serious. “I don’t think I gave her many words of comfort, I think she was even more upset than before. She didn’t want the coins - she wanted to see Jack before he went away to America again, but of course she is too late… he has already gone without coming to see her… I told him to come before he left, but he seemed to go in a bit of a hurry… he didn’t really say why. I’m not sure… if I might have said something to upset him.”

“Oh… surely not, Freddie,” said Ross quietly, placing his arm around Freddie’s shoulders very gently, almost tentatively. He shook his head slowly, sharing in Freddie’s expression of concern. “Perhaps he wanted simply to return to America or perhaps to the sea itself. Perhaps he’s just fed up with London.”

“Perhaps.” Freddie seemed suddenly to become aware of the box he was holding, and he raised it carefully so that the silver lock on the edge glinted in the firelight. The young man cleared his throat quickly, seeming a little embarrassed. “Anyway I wanted to give you something for Christmas, seeing as I missed your birthday. He pressed the box into Ross’s hands firmly. “Here you are, I made this for you, to keep your papers safe in. See, it’s got a lock. I hope you like it.”

“This is for me? Freddie, how wonderful…” Ross turned away, examining the box carefully, opening and closing it. “I don’t think anyone’s ever given me such a beautiful gift before… not a handmade work of art, anyway. This must have taken you an age to make.”

Turning back, Ross lifted Freddie’s chin and kissed him briefly. Perhaps it was the first time… for Freddie seemed startled and stood there staring at Ross for a while. Ross himself said nothing, but simply continued examining the box.

“I shall have to keep something rather special inside such a special box… and I have just the thing. Wait here.” Freddie took the box from Ross and watched him move across to his desk. The young man still looked slightly flushed and out of breath, as if he had difficulty believing what had just occurred – and yet he clearly didn’t object to such an action of Ross’s.

Meanwhile, Ross pulled out one of the drawers after unlocking it and removed several sheaves of paper from inside. “Ah! Here we are,” he said, examining the papers in his hand. “Oscar’s story, The Portrait of Mr WH. You should read this before we lock it away, Freddie… I think you’ll find it significant for the two of us, for the particular friendship that we share.”

Freddie took the manuscript from Ross, wordlessly; read a few lines before glancing up at Ross quizzically.

“Your friend wrote this story? Is it about you? About the two of you?” Ross laughed, shaking his head sadly. “Not really… but it is based on our conversations, our intimacy… I suppose you could call it our love, love between men, that’s something that’s not meant to exist, but it does, as we know.” Standing beside Freddie, Ross touched his cheek lightly and kissed him once again, this time more lingeringly. “Anyway, read the story and tell me what you think.”

Freddie gazed at Ross silently for a long time, before turning away and going over to the armchair by Ross’s desk and sitting down comfortably. There was a strange half smile on his face, almost of bewilderment, and yet quite without confusion, he realised exactly what was happening.

“And when I’ve read this story, we’ll lock it away in the box?” he asked with a small laugh. “I don’t understand that… why?” is it going to be our secret?”

Ross looked over at the young man curled up in the armchair; he clutched the words of the manuscript, and Oscar’s handwriting wandered across the page in solemn procession. Behind the armchair, the snow-covered Kensington rooftops lined the avenue… making this a Christmas day to remember.
URBAN SCRAWL
Welcome to Andy's bit!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACK
It's Jacks sixteenth birthday this week, and as Nicola mentioned above he's got a new drum kit. What she didn't say was that it is ten times louder than his old one!
More next month, thanks for reading Raw Meat!

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

June 2009 Issue 105

Nicola's Editorial

THE BIG BANG
Already it’s the sixth month… I’m very aware at the moment of the passing of time, though I’m not quite sure if this is a premonition of disaster or not. Maybe its simply recognition of the power of maniacs we have controlling the countries. I’m thinking particularly of the situation that has recently come to light in North Korea, where they were discovered to have been testing an atomic bomb by exploding it under ground… thus breaking an agreement made some years ago. I’m not sure whether they’re actually considering attacking or invading anyone else, but the threat is there. It’s all completely insane. I just wonder how much longer we can expect things to continue in such a state… in relation to all this, petty lives, with all their trivial worries and concerns, pale into virtual insignificance. I hope I’m not being too depressing – that’s not my intention at all! Just the opposite in fact… for if we realise our days are numbered, then we should live each day like it’s going to be our last. That’s the theory anyway…
THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE
Andy has passed on a piece of news to me, which has captured my interest completely… in fact; I think it’s become a virtual obsession. Apparently another plane has disappeared inside the Bermuda Triangle, (I think it was found 700 miles off the coast of Brazil, but if it had been flying for four hours before it disappeared, it could well have gone missing inside the Bermuda triangle. Andy) flying from Brazil to France with 200 odd people on board. It seems pretty obvious that the plane either crashed into another plane or into the sea for some reason, as the wreckage has been found around the area… so there seems to be no great mystery there. But even so, this doesn’t really explain why so many boats and planes have gone missing within this comparatively small area of the Caribbean. All right, the Caribbean may be a particularly unpredictable and dangerous area to travel in by sea or air, as regards to storms blowing up suddenly, but can it all be so rationalised and explained by statistics, which after all can be twisted to explain anything? Seeing as the Bahamas are located within the triangle, I wonder if there have occurred any mysterious disappearances on land there? The Bahamas are also in the triangle and I suppose the Beatles came back from there in their visit there in the 60’s , which is good news as I think my mum is going on a Caribbean cruise, which will probably sail through the triangle…
BERMUDA
I looked up the three points of the triangle to get some idea of the area, and found one point to be Bermuda itself, one to be Puerto Rico and the other in southern Florida, which could possibly be Key West! I can imagine that this could be true in such a place as the pier at Key West. Anyway besides all that about the triangle, I would love to go to Bermuda someday. It was going to be one of my stops on my round the world trip – we actually found a website about Ziggy friendly places to go in Bermuda! So maybe I should continue this research and … who knows?
MISSING
The idea of a person going missing for good is an intriguing one: it could mean they’d simply changed their name and identity and started again as someone else, rather like Reginald Perrin (from the 70s sitcom The Fall and Rise of…) or Rose in the film Titanic. The website about the Bermuda triangle annoyed me because it said statistics showed the number of disappearances to be not particularly high or mysterious. There must be some basis for a superb work of fiction here… something along the lines of a disappearance in the Caribbean and a reappearance of another identity in a different country and time. I will work on it. One more thing about missing identities… I was thinking about Shelly, our cat who disappeared around fifteen years ago. I had a theory at the time that Shelly had been put out, quite literally, by the sudden appearance of the screaming baby Jack. Also, we were having our lift installed then, which involved lots of noise and strange movement – so I really couldn’t blame Shelly for leaving. I suppose he might have been run over or something, but I’d like to think that he’s living somewhere other than Moss Side and with another name.
A BUDDHIST RETREAT
We’ve just returned from a little break – not in Bermuda this time, but London. We actually went down to stay with our friend Sheila for a few days, and during that time went for an amazing walk in Wimbledon! At the time, I didn’t know exactly where we were, except that it was a wooded area with a river… I felt it was extremely beautiful and shady, which was lovely on such a hot day. I’ve always loved woodland anyway, but this spot was particularly peaceful for some reason. I felt Ziggy go up some steps and I asked where we were… it turned out to be a temple, which Andy said afterwards was painted dark red and filled with pictures of Buddha. This explained the peacefulness of the place – I think Buddhism works excellently in encouraging a tranquil state of mind. In the city, it’s a particularly wonderful retreat and it’s a wonderful idea to have a Buddhist retreat in the middle of Wimbledon!
COLOUR VISION
I’ve been extremely pissed off recently when I became aware that practically all the light I could see was simply white, no colour. Maybe I’ve been losing the ability to see colour definitely and that my whole world was now black and white… it was like someone had turned the colour off on my television. Yet while we were sitting outside at a barbeque last week, I noticed the blue light from the sky was still almost visible to me around the edges of my vision… I wonder how much of the colours we see are a physical sensation or simply a psychological awareness? Although I may be losing the physical ability to see certain colours, they will still remain in my head, so it’s not such a depressing realisation.
ANOTHER JOB
Apart from making such amazing psychological discoveries, I’ve actually been hard at work on another editorial job for the Manchester Ataxia branch. I’ve called their Newsletter the MAB Mag and you can see my efforts, if you like. (e-mail me for details) I initially had misgivings about becoming fed up with repeating the same issues in RAW MEAT but I think RAW MEAT will always be different for me because it’s been going so long and I feel on much more intimate terms with it. The Chairperson of MAB, Sue, encouraged me to edit the Newsletter as she felt it would help me to feel more involved with the group – which I was concerned about. It seems to be working so far! Already I’ve spoken to, and met several members who I never knew existed, even though we’ve been sat together at meetings for the past year.
JACK’S BAND
They’ve not been having band practice in our front room for a while – though I’m not sure if this is because Jack’s been hard at work with his revising or just coincidence. Yet he does seem to be taking his exams quite seriously, which is quite nice… he told me that his year, finish school next week, though he’s still got a few more exams to do. We’re going to see his band this afternoon in a concert for part of his music exam. Soon they have a school prom (which sounds very American to me) where apparently formal dress is expected. So a shopping trip is called for… More News Next Month…

RAW MATERIALS

Although the novel seems to be developing very slowly at the moment, it’s definitely an ongoing process – I haven’t come to the end yet! In fact, the ideas need to be worked through separately so that the novel reaches its conclusion naturally. I’m still wondering what to do with the book – no definite conclusions yet, but I’m quite tempted to branch off completely into fiction, though I have to be careful not to push the boundaries of credibility too far! I’ve already mentioned my idea of taking the final book to the South Pole – or at least the Antarctic – but I want to keep it credible and not totally wacky, which I think would be a danger. Yet the presence in The Space Between of Kathleen (who later married Scott) makes the temptation to connect the two ideas, too tempting an opportunity to miss.

Anyway I’ll concentrate on The Space Between for the moment; it seems to be developing quite nicely, with quite a few different threads, which have still to reach conclusions. It is nice in this extract to be able to return to the crucial issue of The Space Between – of course, the manuscript of The Portrait of Mr WH itself. I thought it would be quite a tempting idea to have just the one copy printed by The Vale Press, which has never come to light… this leaves the ending of my novel quite open, because it’s credible that this single copy could have disappeared and yet could still exist somewhere.

Returning to Ricketts at his new studio apartment in Holland Park, it felt like breaking new ground with him in more ways than one – I think that he must have had a lot of misgivings about making such a move after living in big houses for so long. This may not seem important, but I think that to him it would have been, for he laid such an emphasis on his immediate surroundings being beautiful. Andy reminded me though, that the apartments would have been the height of luxury – not only massive and with huge windows, but maybe Ricketts and Shannon would have two floors – one each, I suppose. This is quite a tempting idea to develop, because it may have been almost a natural continuation in their relationship that they each became more independent of each other. This fits in quite well with Shannon’s relationship with Kathleen, which I wanted Ricketts to comment on for the first time. While I don’t think he would have been jealous at this point, from the bits I’ve read of his diaries he was obviously concerned about Shannon getting married to someone and I’ve chosen to make it Kathleen. The way the novel seems to be leading at the moment makes me wonder if the link with Scott should be developed, it seems too natural an opportunity to pass up. I’m still dithering…

More Raw Materials in RM#106

The Space Between

(Nicola's work~in~progress~trilogy)

The Story So Far:

It’s now 1903; Wilde has died in Paris a few years ago and his manuscript has supposedly disappeared with him. But really it turns out to have been taken to London by his friend, Gustave, who has now given it to Ricketts who wishes to publish it. As the Vale Press is closing, he thinks it will be a fitting swansong.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

CHAPTER 3

“So far it’s the only one I have… Robbie has one, the original, I think.” Charles gazed at the book in Shan’s hand and for a moment was tempted to snatch it back, so strong were his possessive feelings. He held his hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, staring into the open pages and imagining Oscar’s spirit rising amongst the twilight shadows. “But I could get more printed easily enough. I’m thinking of another five or ten for private circulation.”

For a while Shan said nothing, simply gazing at Charles with his clear blue eyes clouded with concern. After a time, he cleared his throat very softly, closing the covers of the book as if putting it to sleep.

“That’s too many… if I were you I should stop with this one. I still think it’s a dangerous book for us to be associated with.”

Charles stared at him silently, his fingernails driving deep into his own flesh and he relished the sensation.

“But how can you say that now that Oscar’s dead? Surely that changes things.”

Shannon gave a long sigh and shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes firmly on the frontispiece before him.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you, Charles? But all these years have changed nothing… the law remains the same as ever. Men like us can still be imprisoned for such things – I’m afraid Oscar’s spell in prison did no good. It changed nothing.” Raising his eyes suddenly to Charles, the directness of Shan’s gaze seemed to bore right through his friend so that Charles turned away uncomfortably, pretending that a painting hanging on the wall nearby needed straightening. Behind him, Shan cleared his throat loudly and laid the book back on the table. “So we must still tread very carefully… I don’t think you should get any more copies printed. They may fall into the wrong hands.”

Charles stared fiercely at the painting he had adjusted.

“Are you sure that’s all there is to these sudden doubts you’re having, Shan? Are you being quite honest with me?”

“Of course … what do you mean?”

“Well…” Charles shrugged awkwardly, trying to control his voice. “There isn’t any more personal reason why you don’t wish to be associated with Oscar?

For a moment Shan made no reply, simply shaking his head in bewilderment.

“No… I’m afraid I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Well… think about it, Shan. Isn’t it obvious.” Charles moved impulsively towards the painting, his hands twitching all the time. He swallowed, aware that his voice was trembling. “I’m talking about Kathleen, Shan… obviously I’m talking about her. That’s the real reason behind all this, isn’t it?” After a pause there was a long, awkward silence, followed by Shannon’s soft laughter.

Repeat

010609

Thursday, May 07, 2009

May 2009 Issue 104

Nicola's Editorial!

TAHITI- NO GO

So… another one bites the dust, as they say. I heard a few days ago that my wild travel proposal was not on… the Jerry Farr fellowship didn’t say who had won the award, which was a shame. It looks like Tahiti will just have to remain a distant dream for the moment. To try and make up for it a bit, we booked a days sailing in Falmouth which has been on the cards for a long time, one of those things I’ve wanted to do ever since Ruth told me about the existence of this totally Ziggy friendly boat she’d seen last year. She made enquiries and found out that half the boats crew are disabled in various ways, and the other half are able bodied and some of them are trained sailors even. Everyone is encouraged to do as much as they feel able, and so I feel confident that both Andy and I should have a fun time! It’s something neither of us have tried before… but I feel naturally friendly towards the sea having come from down near where were going in Cornwall. I’m especially excited because it’s something I can be involved with and feel the motion of the boat, as well as smell the sea salt and feel the wind… I get so pissed off with being left on the sidelines while everyone else does all the hard work!! So this time I hope to be able to take part in sailing.

WEATHER COLLAPSE

I don’t know what’s happened to May, which is normally so beautiful and warm. Judging from the last few days it looks like we are going to get a wee bit soaked sailing! Oh well, that’s half the fun I’m sure. While this climate might be okay for some people… for example it might encourage Jack to do some work for his exams which start next week - I’m pretty sick of it. If I could believe Andy we’ll be off to live somewhere warm in the next few years… I want us to keep moving from place to place to avoid getting bored!! We’ll start off going around Europe and then get some ferries to go to the Middle East and further… maybe we’ll even reach the South Seas one day. Who knows??

ROBESPIERRE REMEMBERED

While we were actually in Tenerife, a sudden memory occurred to me out of the blue - what ever happened to that huge book my dad gave me about the French Revolution?? It was a very strange thing to remember amidst such surroundings - normally such memories are triggered by something that’s happened. But not in this case, for I haven’t thought of the book since it was given to me in hospital following Jack’s birth… it seems totally incredible that the book could have been sitting on my shelf waiting to be read for 16 years!! Especially when I remember being so excited about the gift, because such people as Robespierre, Danton and Saint-Just at the time obsessed me - how could I possibly have forgotten about it?? When I think about the time at which it occurred, though… it becomes clear that I must have felt too daunted by my sight, which was beginning to give me real problems at this time. The book is such a massive one as well, I can understand not wishing to confront such a task!

A PLACE OF GREATER SAFTEY

This work of fiction by Hillary Manton is set during the French Revolution, and what we have read so far involves Robespierre’s mum dying following childbirth and the young Danton being gored by a bull! Gripping stuff… I’m keen to press on with it, even though it’s going to take quite some time… it’s even longer than Harry Potter, a real bible of a book. But there is a particularly interesting piece at the start about the mixing of historical fact and fiction, which must have influenced me in some way subconsciously, because this was quite a while before The Space Between. One of the reasons for my obsession in the early nineties was that I had just written a short story with the wonderful title Robespierre’s Jaw. I think the French Revolution in general was so full of incredible characters that it just has to be written about… I can only hope that Miss Manton does it justice. I have mixed feelings about Robespierre… although I think his ideals were admirable and even slightly anarchistic they went wrong and ended up going the other way - and so Robespierre and his sidekick Saint-Just were guillotined. There was a French film from the early nineties called Danton with Gerard Depardieu in the leading role I was obsessed to such a degree that I could follow the entire film without using the subtitles!! I must have watched it at least 30 times.

DARK MATERIALS

Another work of fiction, which greatly impressed me a couple of years back was Philip Pullman’s trilogy about different worlds, Dark Materials - you may remember me raving about him. So when Ruth and I saw that a play version of it was on, we decided instantly to go, even though I had misgivings about packing three books into two plays. Not only this, but also the sophisticated ideas for instance the demons perched on each characters shoulder or walking along beside them - and the Little People flying on dragonflies - such ideas as these demand a sophisticated form of animation or computer effects, to try and use glove puppets is just ridiculous. Anyway it was just as well that I couldn’t see how this was done because I would have wheeled out of the theatre I think! Added to this there were the usual problems with following each characters speech and knowing who was talking when and where. I still wonder if it will work visiting the theatre anymore…

ELVIS COSTELLO’S STRINGS

I had a bit more luck with the two music events I went to recently. As before, the Australian Pink Floyd were wonderful, even though I wouldn’t say The Wall which they were covering is my favourite album by any means. I wonder what they will do next? Will they perhaps return in time to cover Sid Barrett’s early stuff?? I hope so. I was intrigued by the sound of going to see Elvis Costello and the Brodski Quartet at Manchester’s Bridgewater Hall… I just couldn’t reconcile the image of Mr. Costello with such an established band! Even though I’d listened to his CD of string quartet stuff in an effort to become more familiar with the sounds of strings instead of electric guitars etc, I was still convinced that there were drums on stage! I just couldn’t imagine Elvis in a suit being politely clapped after each number. I just felt totally confused… I thought back longingly to the occasion when I had met Elvis after his show, only he’d been in such a bad mood that he wouldn’t talk to anyone!! These temperamental artistes…

RAW MATERIALS 104

I have major doubts about the wisdom of including such a controversial piece this month; I suppose because I was wondering if I might screw it up totally and so waste everybody’s time!! And even if I do scrap the idea I suppose it would demonstrate that The Space Between is a living working progress … not to mention a controversial one. Initially I wasn’t worried at all about giving Lucien Pissaro opium to smoke but it was Andy who warned me to be careful and watch what I said about such historical characters! I’m not sure if I totally agree with him on this one, for isn’t The Space Between a work of fiction? Anyway such worries seem to be a little irrelevant, for if the opium idea fits in with the story then history should bow before it. More to the point it seems to be my concern that this scene would seem out of place and exaggerated, not in keeping with the rest of the story so far. But … I think I’ve decided in the end that it should stay for the present, for I like the scene greatly! I don’t feel that in the circumstances it is out of place, two chaps smoking a bit of opium on a lazy Sunday afternoon with nothing else too pressing to get on with... I wanted to include opium in the novel for quite some time, ever since reading about Sherlock Holmes’s cocaine habit and also Lizzie Sidalls overdose of laudanum; both of these instance’s occurred during the Victorian period which seemed to be a time when opium was used in medicines, even being prescribed to children! So I’m touching my own whims a little… and I’m not totally confident that they’re going to work out at all, for I definitely don’t want the novel to suffer by sounding forced or contrived. So… I really don’t know if this opium idea is going to stay or not, and likewise the inclusion of Wilde’s character from Dorian Gray, Adrian Singleton. He is another idea from last year some time, when I suddenly thought that I’d like to involve another fictional character in the book – and as Wilde’s character has some knowledge of chemistry I thought well why not involve him with the opium thing? Once again, it’s all a bit foggy at this point, though I hope it will become more clear to me if not to you.

Gustave as a character, I like greatly and feel much more confident with rather than Lucien Pissaro. I don’t have to worry about casting aspersions on his character! Besides this, he is such a wonderfully enigmatic chap anyway – neither being one or the other in turns of sexual preference and also of course his belief in anarchism. For a while I was thinking about shifting the setting of The Space Between on this novel to France and using Gustave as a main character; there used to be in the Jura mountains an anarchist commune, but in the end I decided against doing this because it would involve such a lot of historical research I couldn’t face, also I’ve always shied away a bit from making The Space Between too closely tied to history; I want simply to use historical fact as a spring board for the imagination and not have to keep checking facts, days, places etc… all extremely tedious – this had to be firstly a work of fiction. I kept the novel based in London, and it seems to be working so far… though I’m still not at all convinced about the final novel, where there are also people involved like, Scott in the Antarctic, or is this stupid? I still can’t make my mind up.

MORE Raw Materials in RM#105

THE SPACE BETWEEN

The story so far… it’s 1903 and Wilde has died in Paris a few years ago, and supposedly his manuscript has disappeared with him. But actually the manuscript has turned up in London with Gustave, who knew Wilde in Paris; he has brought the manuscript over and has just given it to Ricketts, acting upon the advice of Esther Pissaro in whose house he lodges. It is generally thought that Ricketts will publish the manuscript as the final book by the Vale Press, which is soon to close. In the following scene set at the old house, which belongs to Lucien Pissaro and his wife, Gustave and Lucien are talking in the back garden.

Now read on…

Moving his hand with lazy, easy grace he drew a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt and took one for himself before offering one to Lucien. “Here … would you care for one of these? A friend of mine made them himself, I believe.”

Reaching out, Lucien took a cigarette, with a small smile. He nodded knowingly as Gustave lit both cigarettes and the two of them inhaled deeply, sharing the knowledge.

“Ahhh yes… your friend, you mean Adrian Singleton, who lives in … Blackfriars… or somewhere round there, anyway” said Lucien softly, his voice drifting as if completely free and unchained to reason. The cigarette smoke rose above their heads, mingling with the warm spring air beautifully. “He’s a doctor, isn’t he? He works at the London hospital?”

Gustave gave a slight shrug; the movement seemed to take a momentous effort of will.

I don’t know about that… Esther knows him better than I do”

“Of course.” For a while nothing more was said. Both men watched the clouds of smoke forming a seal between them, which could not be broken, could not be dissolved. Finally Lucien turned back towards the house, gazing up at the opposite windows as if to remind himself where he was. “Tell me Gustave,” he said at last, speaking with such ease and slowness that the words seemed to be stretched out like elastic, “tell me how you’re enjoying living here with us… you must think about it and take your time in replying… remember to give me an honest answer.”

“ye…es, of course I’ll be honest….. Lucien.” Gustave lay back on the grass and waved his hand slowly back and forth above his head; even though he wasn’t looking at Lucien directly, he was aware of his companions eyes floating not too far from him. He felt the silence between them stretch out like elastic, he reached out to catch the coils, twining them around his wrists and elbows. He felt his fingers clenching and unclothing, the muscles twitching and writhing like snakes… for a moment he was frightened and then instantly the opium dampened the sensation down. So that it formed almost a flat surface without bumps or any obstacles. He moved completely without any effort so that he lay quite still and watched himself moving. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound ensued from between his lips – only smoke. He could hear the words in his head but couldn’t connect them with language, which seemed far too rational an object to grasp at this time. Only his laughter emerged, followed by strange words… it didn’t seem to be in his voice and yet it was. “The time… I have spent here with you… has been so happy… I love to be here, I love both you and Esther, you are the best friends I have; now you see… I’m being quite honest…quite.”

Lucien laughed so that the sound of both their laughter formed a symphony which rose above their heads, binding them both together so tightly… so tightly. Raising his cigarette and holding it before his eyes, Lucien reached with his other arm toward Gustave and touched his shoulder lightly.

“I feel… I feel, you’re being wonderfully honest with me, my friend… thank you so much. Thank you so much.”

Gustave watched between half closed eyelids, the trails of coiling vapour disappear upon the air. He was aware of the sunshine behind the smoke, or perhaps was it in front of the smoke? For a moment the sunshine seemed to completely absorb everything, so that the smoke, the air, the anarchism, the talk of Oscar, everything was entwined completely. There was nothing he could do, so Gustave lay back on the grass and closed his eyes and fell asleep.

MORE FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN IN RM#105
URBAN
SCRAWL!!!
Welcome to Andy's bit!
THE AMERICAN SANDWICH
If you don't know what I'm talking about you'll just have to clink~this~link! and be transported through Cyberspace to my latest bloggage! The American Sandwich is my poetic version of flash fiction. The idea of the game (I say game, because that's what it is) is to write a piece of poetic flash fiction in just 51 syllables. The trick, is to use three Allen Ginsberg style, 17 syllable American Sentences, and as few words as possible. Anyway...
NICOLA'S BOOK
I'm sure Nic read the book she's been blogging on about. I remember it very well in fact. It is a totally dog eared paperback book that looks like it's been dragged around the house, and it most likely has. When Nic got this book, she could still see to read, and I'm quite confident that she read it!
MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN RM#105

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

April 2009 Issue 103

Nicola's Editorial!

HERE’S TO TAHITI!

Now that I have finally submitted my travel application to the memorial fund, I can turn my attention back to other essential matters… such as writing Raw Meat. I apologise for any delay in the appearance of this issue… it’s all due to having to have a major change to the travel application at the last minute, which had to be dealt with first, top priority. We discovered a couple of weeks ago that the round the world ticket was a bit of a swindle, because it didn’t include an airport tax at every stop, and also the destinations were limited. So I wouldn’t be able to stop at Tahiti, New Zealand or Africa… all of which were top priorities. So I decided instantly to go just to the major focus of the tour - of course Tahiti, and I adjusted the application accordingly. The closing date is today so it’s gone… and the best of luck to it! While I’m not totally confidant that I’ll get the award I think the ideas behind the Jerry Farr Memorial Fellowship are all wonderful… whoever wins the award will ensure that the memory of Jerry Farr will be kept alive by means of providing such a practical way of realising somebody’s dreams. So anyway, we should find out who’s been lucky in a just a few weeks… in fact I’ll be able to tell you in the next issue if I’m off to Tahiti or not… so watch this space.

INTERESTING FACTS

Whilst doing all this Tahiti research we came across several interesting facts, which I thought I’d share with you. For instance, did you know that Tahiti is one of the Society Islands, which are part of French Polynesia? I’m not quite sure why they were given to France, but apparently loads of countries were claiming all these Pacific islands so they were just distributed in the nineteenth century. Captain Cook discovered some of the Islands… I suppose that may have been around the same time he discovered New Zealand? Although we thought originally that the Cook Islands were close to the Society Islands, which they are, but still quite a long distance apart. Though all these Pacific Islands are in the same rough area on the globe, it’s extremely difficult for me to visualise the globe from memory… I need to get hold of a Touching Globe, where you can feel the shape of the various countries and also the temperature of them - they could give them various degrees of heat. I wonder if I should patent this idea?

IN SEARCH OF THE SUN

Still on the subject of warm places, we got back a few weeks ago from a holiday in Tenerife… with red, sunburnt faces and Andy’s head! The warmth of the place was definitely the best thing about it for me - oh, and the cocktails, and the seafood every night at the hotel. These were the best things… otherwise I wouldn’t go overboard about either the resort of Los Cristianos or the island of Tenerife itself. I missed the green trees, flowers, plants, things growing and living… animals like sheep, badgers, goats, and birds. Do you know, the whole time I was in Tenerife I never heard a seagull?? The whole island seemed to be made up of deserts and mountains in the interior, and then all commercialised resorts around the edge. So there’s no place for any wild animals to survive in.

CAMPING

Even in the interior it isn’t possible to camp, as I wished we had done instead of going in a hotel, but camping is generally discouraged because of the danger of forest fires. Also I think that one of the reasons for camping is discouraged by Tenerife or who is in charge of Tenerife authorities is obviously because of money. Without tourism Tenerife would be nothing, so people are not encouraged to go away from the resorts at all. Having said all this, I’m not so sure if I would like to go into the deserts and mountains… they all sound very dry and barren. However, next time Andy and I go to the island we are going to camp… we’ll bring the van over by ferry from southern Spain and spend the winter there where the sun will be. Sounds good doesn’t it??

So then, although it was lovely to be next to the sea and to be able to wander around outside and not be freezing, in conclusion I’d say Tenerife doesn’t seem to have that much going for it. I didn’t find it a particularly Ziggy friendly area despite its claims to be such a place. Should such a big thing be made out of having a few Ziggy toilets scattered around anyway?? I think not. Anyway what’s the good of having a Ziggy toilet if the bloody thing is locked all weekend? We tried to get a Ziggy friendly bus to the airport but it was not Ziggy friendly at all and Andy had to carry me onto the bus. There was a boardwalk on the beach but it stopped just before reaching the sea… I wanted to go and paddle so it was pretty frustrating. I’m sure they could treat the wood in some way to make it sea water resistant. But Andy and I didn’t find Tenerife to be particularly Ziggy friendly at all I’m afraid.

BACK TO MANCHESTER

So anyway, now we’ve returned from the bright colour of Tenerife and my Tahiti dreams to the old slog… which seems very crap and dismal in comparison! It’s difficult to adjust, especially because the Tahiti result comes out in just a few weeks - I think that the Jerry Farr Fellowship must have quite a few people going through the hundreds of applications they received!

DRUMS

Jack’s on his Easter holidays at the moment; so far the band haven’t had any practices in our front room, but doubtless they will! I believe that Jack’s hoping to get a more sophisticated set of drums - the one he’s got is just a starter set. I wonder how he’ll manage to fit a big set of drums into our tiny house?? I feel dubious, because I’m imagining a sophisticated set of drums to be like the one used by the Australian Pink Floyd… about twenty drums, and loads of cymbals, rattles etc. I don’t know if this is what Jack wants… I hope not.

SENSUAL BOOK

We’ve finally come to the end of Perfume by Patrick Suskin - and what a wonderful ending!! I don’t want to give it away at all, but it certainly lives up to the rest of the book, continuing on the level of the senses. Anyone who hasn’t read this book should do so as soon as possible. The conclusion of the story reminded me a lot of the Peaty Greenway film from the eighties, The cook, the thief, the wife and her lover, I don’t know if anyone remembers that? It was with Michel Gambon and Helen Mirron… it stuck in my memory because it was such a visual film, as well as a very traumatic and horrible one! Anyway I couldn’t stop thinking about that film while Ruth finished off reading the book. Someone told me afterwards that it had been made into a film… I was very sad because I wish I’d seen it!! Although I do think Perfume would be better on stage, and then the audience could actually smell the different smells - which are essential to the story. I suspect that these would have been lost on screen.

TRY STEVEN FRY

So after Perfume we started the book I’ve been meaning to read for ages - Steven Fry’s autobiographical Moab is my Washpot. To be quite honest I’m not that impressed with it so far - although it’s mildly amusing and interesting it hasn’t grabbed me!! Public schools and his experiences with the boys is not something I feel very interested in… I’m just unsure how much longer we will keep reading it, because I’m really keen to start on Gauguin’s biography as soon as possible! I don’t want to give up on Mr. Fry, so soon, because I do think he’s a very funny chap and deserves a fair hearing. So maybe Gauguin will have to wait.

THE SCOTISH PLAY

Tomorrow we are going to see Macbeth at the Royal Exchange, which I’m both looking forward to and quite nervous about! As I’ve said before I find plays extremely difficult to follow simply because it’s such a visual medium - you need to be able to see both the costumes and the set to be able to tell which time it’s set in. For this reason I often enjoy the play more afterwards, when someone else can describe it to me. Although with Shakespeare it’s a little different - hopefully I’ll recognise some of the speeches, and so get some idea of where exactly were up to!! It’s all a bit of a gamble. The thing I like best about the Royal Exchange is that it’s set in the round, with the audience sitting so close to the stage that nothing is lost. Luckily I remember the story of Macbeth quite well, so I should be able to get by!

RAW MATERIALS #103

It’s really good to be able to give some attention to The Space Between, which I feel has been sadly neglected for this Tahiti application. Of course the novel's been at the back of my mind all the time, and I’ve got quite a few ideas for what’s going to happen in this next chapter - 1903. As I said before, one of the major things I wanted to spend my time on was the relationship between Jack and Freddy, which has to be developed, and if the intervention of Ross was going to be credible. As Jack is a totally fictional character, I can almost fit his reaction in with the story… but they have to be believable of course. It’s very difficult for any one to understand exactly what it was that drew such an apparently mismatched pair together … yet I think that it was obviously because they both shared a common interest in theatre – or at least that’s how I’m taking it!

Jack's jealousy was pretty near impossible for me to get across convincingly – I didn’t want to make his relationship over the top and laughable at all, but it had to evident. His emotions are in a pretty fragile state, what with the sudden appearance after all this time of his father, and so I hope that his dramatic fit of temper is credible. I still haven’t decided exactly what to do with Ricketts… I’m tempted to write him out of the story because he has served his purpose, and nothing else relevant to my fiction seems to happen in his life, apart from Shannon’s fall, of course which is a wonderful story and deserves more attention elsewhere. I’m going to devote an entire short story to it in Still Life which if you remember will be a collection, my next book perhaps. I’ve already got several interesting stories about historical characters such as Swinburne and soon will have Ricketts. This is just an aside because I’ve said all I want to say about The Space between… more next time.

An additional note - back on the subject of The Space Between: I just surprised myself greatly by discovering that the word count of the novel is 26,000 words, much more than I thought!! This actually means that I’m about half way through, even though I’m only on chapter three… I can only conclude that The Space Between will in fact only cover a few years - there’s so many stories going on at the moment that I can’t imagine it spanning many more years. This is not really such a surprise I suppose, because I seem to have been working on this novel for over a year so far. My only anxiety is about the third novel… I don’t know whether to keep on with it based in London or whether to move it to the Antarctic! Your thoughts would be appreciated…
MORE IN RM#104
The Space Between
copyright Nicola Batty (c) 2009

The story so far …… The year is now 1903; Oscar died in Paris, and apparently his manuscript has vanished with him but it has been discovered in London found by a Parisian friend of Wildes who has given it to Ricketts to publish with the Vale Pres. Meanwhile Ross has taken Ricketts to visit Jack, who is Ricketts son by Harriet. Ross is keen to see Freddy who lives with jack in Spittalfield.

Jack stood in the doorway as Freddy’s voice rang out loud and clear.

“You are keen my lord you are keen you are keen!’”

“Oh… I see ,” spluttered Jack, as he caught sight of Ross standing by the window with an open book in his hand. Ross gave an awkward laugh as he walked across the room.

“Our rehearsal has come to an end. I was just helping Freddy with his lines, although I really don’t think he has any need to worry. I think he will make an absolutely charming Ophelia when he gets the part”

Without hesitation Jack strode across the room and snatched the copy of Hamlet from Ross’s hand glaring at him fiercely, Ross took a step backward surprised.

I thought I was being hamlet! Jack turned his eyes completely towards Freddy, only smiled faintly and looked away. Unnerved by Jacks uncharacteristic hostility towards him, Ross tried to calm down the situation in his usual manner.

“I’m sorry… I was only standing in for you to give Freddy some practice, he’s quite anxious that he wont be ready for the performance – that’s all, don’t get annoyed. Ross moved back across the room to retrieve his overcoat from the sofa.

“I don’t think that Freddy needs to be anxious he is already quite ready to take on his role next month – did you say it was next month, Freddy?

With a casual movement of his head Freddy flicked back his long fringe; his eyes were still fixed on Ross. Jack rolled his eyes to the book in his hand, and very carefully folded back the cover.

“Like I said, the performance is at the end of the month” Freddy said slowly his voice seemed almost unrecognisable to Jack, changed in some way.

Behind Jack he could feel the presence of his own father standing like an unwanted ghost in the doorway. “So do you truly think I’ll be ready to act? I want to be perfect.”

Despite Ross’s laughter the awkward silence and hostility remained in the air.

“Well, I would like to come and see you… if I may, Freddy?”

Jack continued to stare desperately at his book, feeling that he was slipping away beneath the water.

“I should like that very much, Robbie,” answered Freddy softly, his voice echoing through the icy blackness. Charles cleared his throat carefully.

“We should go, Robbie… I have an appointment elsewhere” He said flatly, avoiding meeting Jacks eye.

“Of course,” Ross answered at once, turning his sleeve as he passed Freddy he stroked his arm gently, and it was a promise. “ I shall see you again, Freddy.” The two boys stood there awkwardly for some moments, listening as the footsteps on the stairs died away slowly even though Freddy smiled at jack as he moved towards him, Jack knew that he was slipping away, down to the depths.

Raw Meat .. Nicola Batty's Newsletter.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

October 2009 Issue 109

Monday, September 07, 2009

September 2009 Issue 108

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

August 2009 Issue 107

Thursday, July 09, 2009

July 2009 Issue 106

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

June 2009 Issue 105

Repeat

010609

Thursday, May 07, 2009

May 2009 Issue 104

A PLACE OF GREATER SAFTEY

DARK MATERIALS

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

April 2009 Issue 103

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