Friday, March 09, 2012

March 2012 Issue 138

Nicola's Editorial
CONFUSION REMAINS
I was struggling to think of the reason why I was so reluctant to begin this issue here then the truth dawned upon me, I’ve been ill for the past few weeks which explains why I can’t think of what I’ve done over the past month… absolutely nothing. Well, perhaps that’s not quite true but it may explain why my feelings of confusion remain with me. I was struck down with the dreaded full scale British cold - congestion, sore throat, coughing, sneezing… the whole lot which only helped to confuse me further, even worse than in January. Sigh - is there no end in sight? It appears not sometimes.
SAFARI AGAIN
Something mildly interesting actually happened the other week… I’m talking about my sudden realisation that now was the time of year to begin making my annual application to the Jerry Farr fund with a travel idea. I’m going to apply once again for the touching safari after my application failed to make enough impression on the judges… whoever they may be, relatives and friends of Jerry Farr I believe… anyway, Andy shared my enthusiasm for going to South Africa even though this time we can’t fly - which means we’ll have to take the boat to South Africa. I don’t mind doing this at all - in fact it sounds much more fun than flying, I found plane travel so very tedious and you get all the usual hassle with the airport. The whole thing is a bit of a nightmare - so I’m perfectly happy to take a boat instead, even though this may take quite some time. So far we’ve reach a bit of a dead-end as the cruise to South Africa was too expensive with the safari as well. We’ve been searching on the internet for other ways of getting there by boat but have come up with absolutely nothing - so it looks like we have a choice… either to forget the safari and just go for the cruise, or to get a cheap safari or to give up the whole idea, which right now I’m tempted to do as the whole thing is becoming too difficult to organise. I suppose I could kick this idea in the head completely and go for a totally different travel plan but right now I’m too confused about the idea to even think about it.
TOTALLY EXCITING ARMCHAIR
I’ve recently decided to cheer myself up by treating myself to a comfy reclining armchair and last week I went to look at some in the Ziggy shop with Brigitte and my Mum. I had a definite idea in mind of the type of armchair I wanted… a classic Victorian one which I’m basing on a memory I have of an old film involving either Sherlock Holmes or one of the Alice books, it changes as this memory is such a confused one, I wouldn’t like to say that it was made up completely… something I’ve dreamt, maybe. The armchair I’m thinking of is of dark green fabric, and the sides of the armchair curve round so that it’s really difficult to see who’s actually sitting there. Does this sound at all familiar to any readers or am I just going totally insane? So anyway the armchairs we’ve tried so far haven’t been quite right so we’re going to make another trip this week. This shows how extremely tedious my life has been lately, that I’m down to having to write about such things as if they a great important event - armchairs eh? Whatever next… talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.
MANY HAPPY RETURNS DAD!
I’m going to dedicate this issue to my dad, who’s 75^th birthday is coming up on March 10^th… so by the time you read this it will probably be just past - but never mind. Andy and I held a birthday celebration for him here last night - Andy cooked salmon as part of the wonderful meal, that’s one of the best things about Andy - his cooking which is quite superb. My brother Steve was here as well as mum and dad - even Jack made an appearance, which was quite impressive. I gave my dad just a birthday card with the promise of a holiday - I’ve known his great desire of going up into the mountains, so I’ve hopefully found a bungalow near Snowdon for a few days soon, which I hope will be a bit like Switzerland, as the doctors have advised him not to go there… so this will have to do. My dad seemed perfectly happy with this which is the main thing. The card I’d found for him was from an exhibition of Ford Maddox Brown which is at the Manchester Art Gallery as I know my dad really likes good old Ford… one of the founders of the Pre-raphaelite brotherhood I believe along with Rossetti, Holman-Hunt and John Everett Millais. It was a really special evening - especially for my dad hopefully! This Issue is for you, Dad!
THE ART OF TOUCHING
One of the main reasons of being so out of touch with reality over the past few weeks has been because of my hearing which has been causing me much strife (panic) - for a long time I’ve been relying almost completely on touching sign language which I didn’t really know at all before. It was Brigitte who first taught herself quickly and easily (or at least it seems so!) I was feeling so frustrated and cut off totally from everything that was going on around me that she encouraged me to pick up her use of the sign language on hands - which is actually quite easy, though it may seem at first completely beyond everyone. But no - even Andy’s picked it up and uses it all the time as our chief way of communicating. I’ve encouraged all my family and friends to learn as there’s no definite way of telling how soon my hearing will come back to me… indeed, perhaps it may never be restored fully, there’s no way of telling at the moment. I’m so glad that Brigitte used her initiative and learned the language as that’s become the only way I’ve managed so far to remain sane - or at least as near as I was before. Many thanks to you Brigitte!
RAW MATERIALS
I’ve become totally out of touch with what is going on exactly as far as The Space Between is concerned, so that for this Issue I’m going to put here and extract from the short story I’ve recently been writing Fireworks, which is very loosely based on the gunpowder plot. Guy Fawkes himself is a giant, and his friend Robert Catesby is only slightly shorter… I tried to free myself as far as possible from the real events and culture which is an extremely complex situation, especially as I wanted to base the story on the three colours of the Irish flag - green, white and orange as this was my way of showing the Orange protestant culture and the Green Irish catholic culture and religion - where I could use the white as a go between area connecting the two. I also wanted to bring in angels for some reason which I can’t honestly remember! Anyway my White angel is going to be a woman and she’s also the most powerful one standing between the two extremes - the Orange angel who’s a friend of King James, who was on the throne at the time - and the Green angel who’s an Irishman, who talks with a hard but fast accent. Anyway, here’s my chapter The Green Tattoo - see what you think.
The story so far…
The gentle giant Guy Fawkes has left his fathers candle shop in York for London, which is the home of the Orange King James. The Orange Angel befriends King James, and sits at his breakfast table sharing orange marmalade spread on their toast meanwhile Guy has been visited by the Irish Green Angel who encourages him to follow the Green Flame wherever it may lead him. Now read on…
THE GREEN TATTOO
Copyright Nicola Batty © 2012
Robert Catesby was a big, handsome chap - in fact, when he stood beside Guy Fawkes he was the same height as Guy. He had powerful muscles in his arms, so that Guy wasn’t surprised to see his green tattoo when he removed his shirt one evening at the local tavern. Guy stared admiringly at the Green Flame tattooed upon the rippling muscles of Roberts shoulder.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” he asked Guy proudly, taking another large gulp of ale from his tankard. He gestured towards another man who was standing nearby chatting with another one of his friends. “Kit did it for me… you’ll have to get him to do a Green Flame for you, Guy - if you want to join our little group of followers of the Green Flame.”
Guy glanced over at Kit, who was also a very tall man but not quite as tall as Guy or Robert. He felt slightly nervous with all these people - they seemed to be much more sure of themselves than he was… he felt a bit of an outsider.
“I don’t know,” he told Robert, anxiously. “Do you really think it will suit me? My muscles aren’t quite as big as yours I’m afraid.”
Robert roared with laughter, clapping Guy on the back so that Guy almost fell over.
“You don’t need to worry about something like that, Guy… don’t be silly! You’re not ashamed of being a Green Flame follower are you?”

“No,” said Guy, “but I am a little afraid of needles.”

Once again Robert roared with laughter, as he often did.

“Well, you’ll have to close your eyes and think of England… think of the Green Flame, and how it’s going to come back to this country in place of the Orange one.” He stopped, thinking of something suddenly. “That reminds me about my brother Andrew, who is a Green Priest… or at least he used to be. His Green Church has just been closed - the royal soldiers came and made him convert it into an Orange Church. They made him replace the Green Flame by an Orange Flame and made him put on Orange robes. Poor Andrew… he was very upset as you can imagine, Guy. So now Andrew has to follow his Green Flame somewhere in secret.”

Guy shook his head sadly.

“That’s terrible… the Orange Flame is becoming even more powerful all over the country.”

It was warm inside the stable, the horses breathing and moving gently from side to side as they waited patiently for their next meal of carrots to arrive. Robert stroked the nose of the nearest horse and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the green flame tattoo.

“What do you think, Andrew? It’s great, isn’t it?”

The Orange Priest stared silently at the tattoo, frowning. Although Andrew Catesby resembled his brother in many ways – like him, he was also very tall, but he was thin with small spectacles that magnified his tiny, black eyes. He turned away, returning to his task of getting the horses’ food thankfully.

“I don’t know, Robert… it’s a bit too blatant for my liking. You’re playing with fire, I think. Mind you, you have always been a bit… unsubtle, shall we say.”

Robert gave a tut of impatience and covered up his tattoo.

“I should have known I’d get such a negative reaction from you… it’s those orange robes that are beginning to affect you. Can’t you get back on green territory?” Without further ado Andrew began to remove his orange robes and replace them with green ones. He dropped the orange ones to the floor and Robert lifted them in disgust, using the toe of his boot.

“Yuck… horrible things, these… I hate having to wear them every day at the Orange Church.” He removed his spectacles and began to clean them, sighing as he did so. “The whole thing is such a charade… it’s all a game I’m playing. I just hope the royal soldiers don’t realise that the orange flame we’re burning isn’t real, just a fake.” Robert rubbed the arm of his brother’s green robe reassuringly. He picked up the green lantern and lit the green flame which burst instantly to life, filling the entire stables with a sense of safety and strength. Even the horses seemed to quieten and become calm, even though they were getting hungry by now. Robert placed the lantern on a shelf beside the harnesses, which hung on the wall. The two things seemed to go together perfectly without any trouble.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Andrew… you’ve got no reason to concern yourself as long as you keep playing the game.” He began to help Andrew feed the horses. “Just keep on dressing as an orange priest for a while… it doesn’t have to mean anything at all to you, you’ll always be a green priest underneath. Like these horses… they’ll always remain green horses.”

More of Nicola's stories in April

URBAN SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

QUATERN

Last month it was The Haiku Challenge that was taking all my free time, we had to write twenty nine Haiku in twenty nine days. At the moment I’m busy writing and experimenting with a new form (to me) The Quatern. The rules are quite simple, there’s just four verses of four lines each, and each line has to have a syllable count of eight. The first line of the poem is repeated as the second line of the second verse, then as the third line of the third verse, and finally as the fourth line of the fourth verse. There are no other restrictions that I know of. If you want to have a look at my attempt you can check it here.

NURSERY RHYMES

As part of my Quatern writing I have been butchering Nursery Rhymes, I have done twenty so far, they are all old favourites, which I have re-read, re-researched and re-written in the Quatern style. See-saw Margery Daw, Ring a ring a rosies, Cock a doodle do, Ba ba black sheep, Jack and Jill, Mary Mary quite contrary, etc. and many many more. Have a look and see what you think, and feel free to leave a nasty comment.

More from U S Andy in April.

Thanks for reading Raw Meat!!

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

February 2012 Issue 137

Nicola's Editorial

SEEING THE LIGHT

I was really glad to see the back of January, which brought absolutely nothing but stress and illness… generally best left completely alone. But having said that February seems to be so far only slightly better… still I suppose the main thing is you can now see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not actually catch it. Talking of which I’ve just decided that Catching The Light is going to be the next book to serialise on my Weblog… following straight on from The Reluctant Vampire and it’s new alternative ending. By the way I’d welcome any comments anyone of my readers could make on this, as you must realise by now how essential it is to me to receive some sort of feedback from my readers following whatever I’ve been serialising on my Weblog. There’s a space at the end of each post where you can leave comments… so please do, I’d really appreciate anything you’d say.

DEATH OF THE VAMPIRE

I was delighted by the impact that The Reluctant Vampire made… it was so exciting to me to realise it was being read avidly by enthusiastic readers from such places as Russia, Australia and even good old Manchester. And the really nice thing was that as soon as I put a new chapter Online people began reading at once… it was almost as if they’d been waiting with enthusiasm. So such a response has spurred me on to follow the vampire with my little fairytale Catching the Light… and then to follow it with the more ambitious novel Killing Time. I’ll say more about this later on in Raw Meat… now, back to my stressful January.

WATER

This precious liquid turned out to lie at the heart a lot of my problems… as I said, January was extremely stressful in one way or another, best forgotten in fact. Having said that I’m going to tell you this incredible story about how I cleared up many of the problems I was having with sleeplessness and leg spasms by simply drinking water. A friend actually suggested to me that I had a water infection which was causing the dreadful spasms and many sleepless nights which were rapidly beginning to get to both me and Andy. Ever since I began drinking water all the time I began to sleep much better, and the spasms became controlled as they usually are.

WINTER COLD

It’s that extreme cold which is beginning to get to me now that February is here and although there’s a glimmer of light on the horizon, it’s still so dark. It’s that horrible feeling that you just can’t face going out at all that’s beginning to piss me off by now. I can’t see any way around the black - especially as there’s no way of escaping abroad in the foreseeable future for me… I just don’t know what to do. I’m trying my best to wait for spring, but it just seems so remote at the moment. I hoped that the end of January would mean a slight raise in temperature… but no such luck. I suppose this cold is nothing compared with the Antarctic, but that’s absolutely no comfort any more. You’d think that this weather would make it easier for me to remember and write Raw Meat, but I’m afraid I’d forgotten all about it because… I suppose I could blame my problems with sleeping, and the confusion which has remained long after the water infection has been cleared up. I’m not quite sure where the source of this confusion lies… sometimes I’m beginning to doubt my own sanity though not sure why. Let me elaborate…

SLEEP

That very special state of sanctuary which eluded me totally for so long during the last month, has at last come back to me. now it’s returned, it brings its own problems… at least as far as coming back to reality goes. Although I’ve always cherished my ability to lose myself in dreams, I now find it’s a struggle to disentangle them from reality so that I’m constantly in a state of confusion… did something really happen, or have I just dreamt it?? dreaming so vividly that it’s quite frightening sometimes when I wake up in the night, and Andy can’t understand what I’m trying to say, I’m quite incoherent… even on occasion in tears! I want to put this ability to dream so vividly to some constructive use by keeping a dream diary, which should make for some interesting reading, I hope.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAN

One of the most positive things that happened in January was my sister Jan’s 50th birthday… so I’m going to dedicate this issue to her, though I suppose it’s a bit late now. Her friend Jim is taking her to Sri Lanka next month, to see a cricket match, though I’m sure they’ll see a bit more of the country than the cricket field. It should be a damn sight warmer than here… which I’m extremely envious about.

THE ALICE EXHIBITION

Although I first heard about the exhibition in Liverpool of paintings related to Lewis Carroll’s best loved story right at the start of January, for reasons I’ve already explained, it was during the last few days of the month that we actually managed to make the train journey, still battling against the extreme cold. Although I was hoping that the exhibition would include paintings directly related to the Alice books, I was actually disappointed to find that they weren’t generally, most of them seemed to have nothing to do with the Alice books at all but were merely painted by vague friends of Carroll. I fount the most memorable pictures there were by Tenniel himself from both Alice books. While I remember vividly in great detail, as I myself copied this illustration from Through the Looking Glass some 20 years ago – The White Knight, which shows Alice walking alongside the white knight on his horse, which is hung with crazy objects, such as turnips, a telescope and a pair of bellows. I still have my copy of the illustration down stairs, and still remember every detail… I loved Tennille’s style, with its simple black ink lines, which seemed to capture that Victorian feel perfectly, I just hope I’ve done Mr Tennille’s illustration justice.

CATCHING THE LIGHT

I should make some effort to introduce my fairy tale here, as I’m going to put the first part Online tomorrow… though it’s a bit of a struggle to remember it clearly. I could blame this on the feelings of confusion and forgetfulness that I’ve been speaking of. Slowly it’s beginning to return to me… the setting is a remote Irish peat bog covered in mist all year round. Entering right through the mist, we come upon the palace beautiful on an island, and an assortment of strange characters such as a man made entirely of wood, an elf with green pointed ears and a character with a literally flaming orange beard – no prizes for guessing who those characters are based on! The island is ruled by King Oscar, the gentle giant, along with his beautiful wife, Queen Constance, who has a face like a deer. King Oscar and his friends Robbie the elf, and Charles of the flaming beard go into the nearby woodland and find a secret glade… I’ll leave the rest to you to discover! I was really pleased with this short story and found it really easy to write something which was so completely new to me, as it was so unlike anything I’ve usually written. Though it’s based very loosely on the life of Wilde and his circle, it also involves characters from Wilde’s own writing… and so the whole effect is an entanglement of historical characters, fictional ones and fantasy ones. I do hope I’ve whetted your appetite sufficiently to make you want to have a look at my Weblog. As always, I greatly welcome any comments you can make!

RAW MATERIALS

I found this piece quite exciting to write for two reasons – not only did it deal with first my old favourite Scott talking about his forthcoming trip to the Antarctic, but also because we finally meet with the real meaty heart of the novel, the Wilde short story The Portrait of Mr. W H. This was the first time for ages that the story itself was met head on… so to have the beautiful volume designed by Ricketts and Shannon actually in Kathleen’s hands filled me with the same sense of tingling excitement that I remember so vividly when I very first discovered by chance that Kathleen Bruce later became none other than Scott’s wife. This incredible coincidence suddenly had to be picked up on, as I’ve always wanted to set the final part of the trilogy in the Antarctic, though before I had no reason for doing so. So, all that needed to be done by me was to embroider upon the relationship between her and Shannon as there was only a good friendship between them… but whose to say exactly how far their involvement went? as passions always come and go so fleetingly. As a historical fact all that is known about Kathleen Bruce is that she first met Scott in a London hotel and that they were fairly passionately in love initially there could be no doubt. The South Pole expedition came after such a relatively short time and I was seized by such a bizarre conscience that I felt I had to put right then, even though I had and still have very little idea about the final part of the trilogy… I just hope it’s going to come as soon as I begin to write it. This is the most magical thing about writing it just means that you’ve got to act blindly and take a plunge into god knows what… which is really pretty hairy as you will be able to imagine. I’m relying on my imagination to a large degree because I don’t actually know so much about either of them, factually, but it seems obvious that they were drawn together pretty instantly by agreeing to get married the following year… so I’m assuming that they were both besotted with each other… or at least Scott was with Kathleen, judging by the amount of letters he sent her from the Antarctic. I still haven’t yet read Blake’s biography and I still remain undecided whether to do so, or to simply write in my novel trusting only on my imagination it was not so easy for me to see why Kathleen was so taken with the captain as a scientist – they don’t apparently seem to have anything in common… unless I could work on Scott’s obvious obsession with the Antarctic – I could use this single minded obsession as a resource the initial attraction between them. So I’ve used that in this piece, then there was the difficulty of making Scott interesting immediately in Wilde so that I could bring the book into the conversation without sounding too contrived, it had to sound quite natural. As I presumed Scott was obviously a man of some intelligence despite being a scientist!! I still have every intention of going down to Cambridge with my twin sister to visit the Scott museum.

The Space Between

The story so far:

There are just two copies of Wilde’s short story… one of these has been taken overseas to America by Georges, while the other has been made into a book by Ricketts and Shannon. A few years ago Shannon gave this volume to Kathleen as a seal of their commitment to each other – but since then the passion between them has cooled and Kathleen, keeps forgetting to return the book although he keeps asking. Finally she has found it and laid it aside to remember the next day… But then she receives an unexpected visitor… Now read on:

Chapter Seven 1907 cont.

That evening Kathleen was startled when she heard somebody knocking at the door and wondered if it could be Sarah, having forgotten her key once again. Putting down her cup of coffee, she went to open the door and opened it, allowing the frosty night air to intrude. She stood staring stupidly for some moments, without seeming to recognise the Captain, with his familiar Navy jacket and cap, which he lifted ceremoniously in greeting… but his smile was so very wide that Kathleen was filled instantly with delight at his obvious spontaneity.

“And may I say good evening to you, Miss Bruce? I do hope I’m calling at a convenient time.”

Her laughter bubbled to the surface and overflowed; she shook her head, stepping back and ushering him inside.

“Not at all, Robert – I’m really glad to see you… any time at all would be convenient for me. Do come in – you’ll have to excuse the mess of the place, I’m afraid, as I wasn’t expecting any callers and you can imagine how we artists live.”

Robert Scott followed her into the drawing room but didn’t take the seat, she offered.

“No, that’s alright, I’m afraid I can’t stay too long. I just called round as I’ll be in London for the next few days… I’m giving a series of lectures a the Geological Society, about our forthcoming trip to the Antarctic, which seems more definite now. I just want to publicise the event as much as I can, to try to raise both interest and finance. The trip is set for 1910.”

As he looked at her, his eyes were filled with excitement. She was infected by such great enthusiasm, how could she possibly not be?

“Don’t worry, it’s just lovely to see you again, Captain Scott. May I perhaps come to one of your talks? I’d very much like to.”

“Well, of course… but I thought you might prefer to go to the theatre, as I believe there’s a comedy on which you might find amusing and perhaps slightly more entertaining than one of my lectures.”

“Well, can’t we do both? I like the sound of the comedy… do you know anything more about it?” she asked, touching his hand lightly. “You should stop being so formal with me, please drop the Miss Bruce right away.”

He nodded enthusiastically, his smile returning with equal vigour.

“Of course, if you agree in return always to call me Con, as all my friends do. I’d like to take you to see The Importance of Being Ernest, by Oscar Wilde. I’m a great enthusiast of his.”

“Oh, I’d love to see anything by Wilde.” She stopped suddenly, remembering the book she had just laid so carefully down upon the bookshelf upstairs. “By a strange coincidence, I’m just reading a book of his, The Portrait of Mr WH, which you might be interested in if you’re a Wilde enthusiast. The friend that lent it to me used to know him personally and the story hasn’t been widely published. Would you like to see it?”

Scott’s face lit up.

“I’d be very grateful.”

Without further ado, Kathleen turned and ran out of the room and up the stairs. When she returned with the small red volume, she crossed the room and pressed it into his hand… she was almost overcome with relief at losing such a burden as it had become. She turned away, afraid that Scott might realise what a precious an rare book he held in his hands. She didn’t want him to know – she wanted him simply to take the story. Scott carefully examined the little book, turning each beautiful page with reverence. When he raised his eyes back to Kathleen, they were filled with confusion.

“Kathleen, it’s a beautiful book – you should take great care of it. though I’ll admit I’d love to read the story myself, I’ve read everything else by Wilde I should think. Such a work of art, I’m quite sure you don’t want to lend it to me.”

Kathleen nodded in determination.

“No, that’s quite alright… you should take it. Please, take your time.”

She reached out and took both of Scott’s hands, urging him to close the book – she didn’t want anything more to do with it. Scott closed the book reluctantly, but still seemed slightly hesitant as he placed it carefully inside his jacket.

“Well, if you’re absolutely certain. I’ll return it as soon as I can. Thank you.”

More from Nicola’s work in progress trilogy in March.

URBAN

SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

FEBRUARY HAIKU CHALLENGE

Twenty nine Haiku in twenty nine days is the target for the first of this years Online poetry challenges. I’ve been writing one each day and reading and commenting on the other contributors work as it comes in. When I say Haiku, they are not brilliant, they are more Haiku style, if the truth were told. But as ever, the whole idea of the project is to get people writing and communicating, and to that end it works. I of course have come up with some weird stuff and you can read them all here if you so desire on my SweetTalkingGuy bloggage.

Friday, January 06, 2012

January 2012 Issue 136

Fourteenth fantastic year!!!

Nicola’s Editorial

GREETINGS FROM BEYOND

Twenty-twelve began with me in a very confused state of mind, which has become quite the usual thing for me lately. I’ve been having great trouble sleeping of late, and so have been swinging dramatically in mood according to whether I’ve spent the entire night awake trying desperately to get to sleep, or whether I’ve had a really good night absolutely sound asleep, simply because I’ve been so exhausted! After sleeping so deeply, I find it really difficult to return properly into reality, and tend to get really confused about what’s real and what’s not! The state of becoming totally wrapped up in my own dreams fills me with panic… I’m scared of not being able to control my dreams and allowing myself to slip into the realms of total insanity! Having Andy as my constant helper doesn’t help at all, he sees this state of disconnection from reality as a perfectly natural one to encourage, and so I shouldn’t make any effort to control it. Well, perhaps he’s right… insanity is not such a bad state to be in, is it??

TIPTOE EFFECT

Andy’s idea of this ideal state of mind being somewhere hovering between waking and sleeping, reminds me very much of Keats, the wonderful romantic poet. I always adored Keats when we studied him twenty odd years ago at Polytechnic on my humanities course. I still remember his lovely ramblings about negative capability, which is much the same idea as Andy is talking about. Keats also used to go on about the tiptoe effect, which was actually that moment in between sleeping and waking, which Keats adored as the most exciting state of mind to be in, where your mind was open completely to inspiration and creativity. I think I’m right in saying his beautiful Ode to a Nightingale is on this subject, but do feel free to correct me if you’re an English teacher. Keats still is definitely my favourite poet, a true Romantic genius. I defy anyone to call me pretentious! But enough of these philosophical ramblings – let’s get back to reality.

FAMILY CHRISTMAS

I spent a really memorable few days over Christmas at my parent’s house, complete with Andy and even – this is absolutely incredible – our son, Jack!!! I only very rarely see Jack in passing these days, as he’s so often out with friends – so it was really special to be able to spend time with him and everyone else on Christmas Day. Boxing Day was even better as my sisters Jan and Suzanne arrived and my brother Steve turned up later, so that pretty much the entire Batty clan were there. It was lovely to be with all the family once again after all these years – I never thought it would be possible to go back to old times so successfully. It was quite sad to say goodbye to everyone at the end, and to return to Manchester and relative solitude…

YOU’VE GOT A POINT THERE!

On Boxing Day, I awoke following a really bad night and my Mum asked me if I’d like to get up. I just said, “There’s no point in doing anything.” She simply laughed and said, “You sound just like the Pointed Man…” Of course, I had to laugh as well… I don’t know how familiar Nilsson’s record The Point is to you, as it’s pretty old (about 1971, I believe) but I remember it very well and it’s associated with my childhood so closely that the two have knitted together so as to become inseparable. The Pointed Man was covered completely in loads of points, I was trying to remember some more details from the book of the story which came with the record. My Mum said “I think we’ve still got the record upstairs… let me have a look…” and she returned with the record and the book. It was amazing to be able to sort of see all of those old pictures from long ago. Even though I couldn’t actually physically see them, they were still there in my head, all I needed was to have my memory jogged on the names etc. Oblio was born without a point, although everybody else in the land of Points had one on the top of their head… Oblio was banished to the Pointless Forest, with his dog Arrow, where he met such memorable characters as The Pointless Man.

THE LITTLE PRINCE

You might remember me talking about this book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery in the last issue… well, my Mum gave me a copy of the book for Christmas, one of those very special presents which bring back such memories of childhood. In fact I rather think this book has become quite a significant one for people of my generation… a friend was telling me the other day about both her mother and step-father being given the book for Christmas… yet another amazing coincidence!! I still have vivid memories of the prince standing alone on his tiny planet, which he eventually had to leave for some reason I can’t remember. I’ll have to re-read the book as soon as possible to find out the details.

THE VAMPIRE CONTINUES…

My Reluctant one is still being serialised on my Weblog if anyone would like to have a look for themselves. It’s been creating quite a stir, I believe… particularly well received in Germany, Russia, and America. I’ve been really surprised by such an enthusiastic reception particularly because it’s one of my very earliest works, even written before Dry Rot and totally different from the stuff I’m writing nowadays… which makes me wonder if maybe there isn’t something to be said for that extremely light-hearted, direct freshness. I’m wondering about following The Reluctant Vampire with Dry Rot in the same format, chapter by chapter. I’d also like to put up my fairy tale Catching The Light… and also Fireworks which isn’t yet finished. These are ideas… I would appreciate any comments you could make about this. It’s the direct communication that keeps my imagination alive. Particularly exciting is the fact that many people have been looking right back to early chapters… so please remember that it’s not too late to catch up on anything you missed – and then read on as far as you like!

RAW MATERIALS

Although nothing much actually seems to happen in this piece, I particularly wanted to include it in RAW MEAT to get some feedback on it because I’m not at all satisfied with it as it stands. I’ve written several more pieces since this about Kathleen and wanted to spend some time leading up to the introduction of Scott into the story and making him aware of Shannon’s existence. I wanted to use the idea of Shannon taking photographs for the portrait he’s going to paint of Kathleen, but was also quite nervous about it. I have memories of photographs being taken in the film of The Railway Children but as that came out forty odd years ago I’m not sure I can trust my memories, and as I don’t know exactly when it’s meant to be set, I don’t know if photography equipment would be the same in 1907, the time I’m writing about in The Space Between. Would Shannon take the picture by holding up a flash light and putting a cloth over his head, as I remember in the film? I’d welcome any comments from readers of this issue on any of the technical details in the extract in order to help me feel happier with it. I’d greatly appreciate any help you can give me, as I feel quite literally in the dark about this one. Many thanks.

But all that aside, I’m really happy with the way the novel is going at the moment. It’s really nice being able to spend time with Kathleen as a character. I will remember how totally amazed I was to discover that she later married Captain Scott of the Antarctic, as I’d become interested in her initially in relation to Shannon, and therefore always knew her as Kathleen Bruce. I decided then and there to incorporate her in to the story as a means of introducing Scott and developing naturally into my version of setting the last part of The Space Between in the Antarctic… the whole thing seems so completely spontaneous and natural, I felt I must pick up on such a coincidence and use it as the final setting to The Space Between.

I haven’t yet read Kathleen’s biography properly and I’m still undecided whether to do so, for it seems clear already that the contrast between her and Scott’s Navy background and Kathleen’s artistic, fascinates me – but they must have shared something for they are obviously pretty passionately in love. She travelled with him to New Zealand when they set off to the Antarctic for his final expedition. And even though it was only four years since their wedding there was obviously some intimacy between them. It’s easy to imagine that the Scott family were quite shocked by the idea that their son wanted to marry such a character as Kathleen Bruce – the story about her brother who was a vicar who rode around London on a motorbike with a walrus in his sidecar in an effort to raise money for his church must have been known to them. But none the less, it’s this contrast between Robert Falcon and Kathleen that fascinates me.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

The story so far…

By 1907, there are only two copies of Wilde’s original manuscript remaining. T he original one has been taken by Georges over to America; the other copy has been made into a book by Ricketts, his partner Shannon has given it to Kathleen Bruce with whom he had a close relationship. Shannon has been asking Kathleen to return the book to him for sometime, but she keeps forgetting. The following scene takes place in Kathleen’s studio in Chelsea in the spring of 1907. Now read on…

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

“Please continue with what you’re doing, Kathleen, I’d hate to disturb you,”

Shannon said as he snapped another leg of his camera tripod into place. And patiently carrying his huge, cumbersome camera over to it. He gave Kathleen a brief, encouraging smile, although his air remained strictly professional and detached, this was all part of a job he was doing, he had to remember. “This shouldn’t take long. I’m sorry, I know how artists hate being disturbed.”

“That’s alright, please don’t worry about it.”

Kathleen turned back to her work but could only hold the tiny clay figure she was making uselessly while her thoughts remained far away from here and now…. in fact they were back at that time in Shannon’s studio all those years ago, the passion still intense between them. She watched Shannon from the corner of her eye, aware of every movement he made to capture this present moment and fix it within the camera. It seemed to Kathleen a pointless task, though at the same time she knew it was essential for the background for them to move against. “So anyway, Charles, when would you like me to come and sit for you? Would next month be any good? I’ve not got too much planned then, I should be able to come over.”

“Just a minute.”

Shannon held up the flashlight above his head and the bulb exploded in his hand, much brighter than the intermittent sunshine that poured in from time to time through the tall windows. Shannon reappeared from beneath the dark cloth at the back of the camera, blinking as he came back into reality. “I think that one should be fine. I’ll check my diary and send you a date if that’s all right. I want to get the background painted first… something for you to move against, that’s the way I like to work.”

Kathleen said nothing, but she felt her smile was slightly sad. It seemed so useless now, so empty, now that all their promises had come to nothing, shrivelled up pieces of paper, decomposing dreams. No matter how many times that flash light exploded, the time had already slipped away and could never be resurrected. Still silence fell between them as Shannon continued to take as many photographs as he could, allowing himself plenty of room in case his pictures failed.

“I’ve just remembered someone I have to see in Chelsea while I’m here.” Shannon raised up his finger as he emerged once again from beneath the dark cloth, frowning slightly as a thought struck him. “Would you mind if I left my camera here for a few days? Will it be safe?”

“Yes, please don’t worry… it’ll be quite safe here.” She smiled brightly, quite relieved that she could repay Charles, if only in a small way, for everything lost between them. With great care and deliberation Shannon replaced the canvas cover around his camera and carried it to a table at the back of the studio.

“I’ll leave it here, out the way, then. I’ll come and collect it as soon as I can, it may be a couple of weeks.” Turning back towards Kathleen, Shannon put his bowler hat on and glanced out of the long windows to make sure that it had stopped raining. Looking back at Kathleen suddenly, he added, “Actually, I’ve just remembered something… could you give me Oscar’s story then? When I see you? That should keep Rick quiet… he keeps on and on about it.” Kathleen nodded mutely and watched his movements as he turned to go, and in that moment she felt a crumbling sense of realisation about the space that had arisen between the two of them – yet she felt quite removed from the realisation, as if it had all passed by long ago and she was simply regretting the decay of their love. She even managed to smile at him as he stepped out of the studio, watching silently… there was nothing more either of them could say now to each other. She heard the studio door bang finally, and picked up the model she was working on at once.

More from Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy in February.

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Happy New Year to all of Nicola’s readers!!! This is the fourteenth year that we’ve been producing Raw Meat, first as a single sheet of paper in 1999, which we mailed to people for the price of a postage stamp. Then as the content grew we started to print it up on an A3 printer in three colours and sometimes on different coloured paper. We had readers in Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, France, Germany, Poland, Canada, and South Korea. As well as many people in England, and a few in Wales and Scotland. In September 2006 we put RM#72 Online, it was a bit disjointed and ended up as two separate posts, we kept the paper copy for subscribers for a further three months and in January 2007 Raw Meat became an Online only publication. Which means we’ve just completed five years full time Online too!

WHAT WE SAID IN RM#76

BUSINESS
Back to the business of Raw Meat, as you know by now, we published the final paper version of Nicola's Newsletter in December and this issue RM#76 IS THE VERY FIRST Online only Raw Meat. So, if (and you are) you're reading these words please can you do one little thing for me? SUBSCRIBE to the mailing list! Please! Why? I hear you scream! Because, if you join our mailing list we can inform you when Raw Meat comes Online! Thank you.
FAILED
Some people have told me that they tried to sign up for the Online Raw Meat but failed. If you're one of these people, please try again. You simply have to insert your name and your e-mail address then press GO! A computer generated e-mail will be sent to you from Properjoes@aol.com and you then need to click the confirmation button and BINGO! You're subscribed for FREE. To avoid the newsletter being interpreted by your server as junk mail I advise you to add the properjoes address to your contact list.

FINALLY

Here’s the link to my corny comedy script.

And the link to my corny poem, Batman and Alice…

More from Urban Scrawl Andy in February.

Thanks for reading Raw Meat!!!!!

Thursday, December 08, 2011

December 2011 Issue 135

Nicola's Editorial

STRAIGHT FROM THE NORTH POLE

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

TITUS OATES’ FINAL GOODBYE

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

STILL DREAMING…

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

THE LITTLE PRINCE

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

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

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

SEASONS GREETINGS

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

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

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ross tapped his teeth thoughtfully.

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, November 06, 2011

November 2011 Issue 134

Nicola's Editorial

DARK WINTER

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

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

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

VAMPIRE COUNTRY

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

REUNION

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

DISTRACTED

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

INKSPELL

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

HOMEOPATHY

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

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

NOW READ ON:

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ross shook his head suspiciously.

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

Jack thought quickly.

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

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

Sunday, October 09, 2011

October 2011 Issue 133

Nicola's Editorial

WELSH ANIMALS

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

ACROSS THE IRISH SEA

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

WILDE WIND

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

JAMES JOYCE

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

BRITTA’S BAY

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

FROM DUBLIN

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

WHEELIE WOBBLY WALK

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

ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN

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

THE RELUCTANT VAMPIRE

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

TAKE A WALK ON MERSEY SIDE

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

THE RAW MEAT NOVEL

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

BMB RE-UNION

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

ZIGGY-FRIENDLY

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

RAW MATERIALS

THE SPACE BETWEEN – THE STORY SO FAR

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

NOW READ ON…

CHAPTER 7 - 1907

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gustave shrugged, laughing uncomfortably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MORE FROM The Space Between trilogy in November.

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy’s bit…

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

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

IRELAND

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

MANCHESTER SHIP CANAL

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

More from Urban Scrawl Andy in November.

Thanks for reading Raw Meat!!!

Raw Meat .. Nicola Batty's Newsletter.

Friday, March 09, 2012

March 2012 Issue 138

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

February 2012 Issue 137

CATCHING THE LIGHT

Friday, January 06, 2012

January 2012 Issue 136

Thursday, December 08, 2011

December 2011 Issue 135

Sunday, November 06, 2011

November 2011 Issue 134

INKSPELL

Sunday, October 09, 2011

October 2011 Issue 133

Contributors

Links

Previous Posts

Archives