RAW MART

November 2009 Issue 110

Nicola's Editorial

THE APPROACH OF DRY ROT

As the time for the publication of Dry Rot has been gradually getting nearer, I find myself becoming more and more excited – and also anxious - about publicising the event. As I told you in the last issue, my Dad has been working on an advert, based on my own idea, making it a completely joint effort. My brother has also been called on to help with his computer skills, as the advert was difficult to transfer to my website. But finally Steve managed to successfully put the advert on, so please do have a look yourself, and tell all your friends to do likewise! www.nicolabatty.co.uk. Also, a few words announcing Dry Rot will be appearing in the next issue of the Ataxian, and I also want to write a piece about the novel for the Manchester Ataxia Branch. I think they’d be very into it and keen to support my venture.

DECAYING WORDS

I’m quite happy with my dad’s illustration, the whole thing sounds rather cool, especially the decaying wood of the cross. I was very fussy about making it obvious that the cross was actually being attacked by dry rot. The addition of the decaying letters was a last minute brain wave of mine. I can see it in my head, and it works well, hopefully it does also on paper, or should I say on screen? My Dad’s next job is to work on a cover illustration for the CD-ROM, which will be based on this advert design, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Andy’s just told me that the advert should appear in this issue of RAW MEAT, so you can have look and judge for yourself.

CREATIVE OVERDRIVE

I seem to have started several new projects recently – perhaps too many, because I can only really concentrate on one thing at a time. Like Mr Wilde, I’ve been tempted to try my hand at a bit of playwriting – which is something I’ve not done for at least 20 years. Andy was so enthusiastic about the idea of adapting the final part of The Turn of the Century Party for the stage, that I reluctantly agreed to try it out and see what happened. I myself am at all sure the play will stand up by itself, without totally confusing people who haven’t read the novel. Well, we shall see… when I finish the play at some point.

ANOTHER NEW PROJECT

Another first for me is to try my hand at a spot of poetry. I’m still in two minds about the wisdom of tackling such a thing – perhaps I should leave the poetry to people like Suzanne, my sister, or even Andy, who has much more experience than I do. But I think that poetry does work well in communicating brief memories, which would otherwise become lost within the boundaries of a short story. Also a poem can be an extremely vivid and visual work, which interests me. I think the title is the best thing about my new poem: He Took Several Goes

HE TOOK SEVERAL GOES

That Halloween night was dark and still, of course.

We looked through the darkness, you and I

Screwing up our eyes until they ached –

Searching, searching for something.

We called out our goodbyes as the door slammed shut behind us

And we left, crossing the road towards the car.

As we drove off it was clear

Something was wrong.

Andy let out a shout – “the wheel!”

The car growled to a halt, and we sat there numbly watching

As a Halloween party, deposited several characters upon the road.

It took several goes to push our car over to the kerb side

While a friendly vampire rolled the wheel before him,

He stands in the black still pockets of his cloak,

We sing a jaunty tune.

That Halloween stands still in my mind

Frozen image, the characters moving gently against the orange and black

Of a pumpkin light,

Surreal.

READING MATERIAL

From poetry we move swiftly on to my reading material at the moment, which is still Hilary Mantel’s epic, set in the century of the French revolution, A Place of Greater Safety. Although King Louis remains alive in the year we’ve just reached – 1792 – there is an awful lot of anti-royalist feeling amongst revolutionary people, particularly followers of Danton, Desmoulins and Robespierre. It’s amazing to me to think of Robespierre and Danton being allies, because in the film Danton they are big enemies a couple of years later. Gerard Depardieu plays Danton as a completely amiable character, very popular amongst ordinary people, which is absolute truth, yet there was another side to him which the film didn’t accentuate as much as Ms Mantel’s book does. Obviously Danton was a fairly ruthless character who lived out his beliefs even when they involved massacring Royalist prisoners, an action that he certainly sanctioned if not directly gave the order for. The contradiction in Danton’s character is a fascinating one, which didn’t really come across fully in the film – perhaps too many people just love Mr Depardieu too much for him to play Danton in his true colours.

WOLF HALL

My dad was telling me the other day that Hilary Mantel has a new book just out, about Thomas Cromwell, the 16^th Century priest. I was confused about the identity of Mr Cromwell at first, I always thought he was Oliver’s dad! Apparently not though. I must admit that the sound of the book didn’t really attract me, but my dad said he thought I’d like it as it concentrates on various characters in the court of Henry the Eighth. It’s a mammoth book, which I don’t think I could face after spending so long reading this one.

RAIN

I remarked to Andy the other evening, on November 5^th, when he told me it was pouring with rain once again, “I bet Guy Fawkes never had this trouble – I wonder if all the fireworks will be rained off!” Maybe not – because after all, gunpowder may not be affected by rain – but surely all the people watching the display wouldn’t go if it meant getting soaked to the skin. But this weather we’ve been having recently is really horrible… in Manchester anyway, it’s pouring with rain all the time, cold and generally miserable. A bit of a change from October, which was really mild and beautiful.

JUST CRUISING

I’m quite jealous of my mum – she’s just gone off on a Caribbean cruise with her sister. Three weeks spent lazing in the sunshine on board the ship with the smell of the sea in your nostrils and the gentle sea breeze on your face, sounds not at all bad, though I’m not convinced that I wouldn’t get restless and want to explore inland a bit. Still, you can’t have everything I suppose. Anyway, it seems my mum’s been experiencing bad weather conditions so far, along the Spanish Coastline, apparently a lot of passengers have been sea sick, though not mum luckily! The ship is massive; half a mile long my mum says, so you don’t feel the motion of being in the sea at all. apart from being seasick I suppose. Apparently the ship stopped in Northern Spain and then set off again from further down – heading out into the Atlantic now, so it should be getting warmer, I’m sure. There are 2000 people on the ship and 800 crew. so it’s like a complete separate world and quite isolated, especially where the ship is now for five days. Even though my mum says there’s loads to do, I’d just like to be out on deck, so I could get some sense of the reality of being on the sea.

RAW MATERIALS

Although I had promised myself that this extract would be the last of the set, which has all been taking place within Ross’s house, because I felt it was becoming too much like a soap opera. But at the same time I’m finding it really difficult to just break off this piece of action still unfinished. So just one more piece before I move away from Kensington, don’t want to risk becoming boring. With concentrating so much on the Ross/Freddie/Jack thing, it’s quite a relief to bring Harriet onto the scene too and to get some of her emotions regarding the box, because I think they will figure largely in what’s to come. Now that she has stolen the box she has to get away from the house… and so where will she go? I think I know the answer, but we’ll just have to find out if it works by writing the scene. I’m being very careful of making Harriet run off to Jack with the box, as Jack now lives with Georges, the obvious thing that could happen is that Harriet and Georges will fall in love and sail off happily to America. Needless to say, I want to avoid this at all costs. I’ve always hated happy endings, all wrapped up nicely with a big bow. I want to leave it inconclusive, tragic.

I’m having difficulty leaving this piece of action but it needs to be broken, perhaps just for one extract, and then returned to. I still want to include in this chapter Shannon’s encounter with Kathleen, which will be necessary if I’m going to link in Kathleen’s eventual marriage to Scott, which I think I’ve finally decided to do after so much dithering. I want him to take the manuscript to the Antarctic – I’m not too sure of the intricate details of how exactly this is going to work – but I think the next novel needs a total change of scene. Perhaps I can juxtapose the Antarctic and London, side by side, I’m not yet certain.

I’m keen to try my hand at something relatively new in this novel, but at the same time I don’t want to leave London and risk losing the thread of the two previous novels but at the same time I’ve always dreamed of setting a novel in the Antarctic. There’s something about all those frozen wastes and glaciers… it seemed to be too much of a coincidence about Kathleen’s marriage to Scott for me to leave alone.

Meanwhile, I’ve become a little distracted once again, by writing a play script, which is another new form I’ve not tried for many years. About twenty years ago I remember writing a play about Lizzie Siddal, the Pre-Raphaelite model. I might have given this up half way through as I had great trouble writing for the stage… I found it so limiting compared with writing a screen play and I’m having the same trouble this time – the visual element is completely lost as there’s so much you can’t do on stage besides make the characters enter and leave. I was worried in the first place about tackling this play, which Andy convinced me would work on stage. It’s the last part of my novel The Turn of the Century Party, and I’m still not convinced it’ll stand up at all without the rest of the novel. Andy’s argument is that it’ll be intriguing and make audiences want to read the novel, but I think it might just totally confuse them. I suppose we’ll see how it goes, but at the moment I’m finding it quite difficult… it’s so unsettled and there’s so much that can’t be done. I just hope I can finish the bloody thing now that I’ve started it… I hate to leave things hanging.

THE SPACE BETWEEN:

THE STORY SO FAR…

Copyright Nicola Batty © 2009

It’s 1904 and several years have passed since Wilde dies in Paris, supposedly taking his manuscript with him. But the manuscript has turned up in London in the hands of Gustave, an acquaintance of Wilde’s. He’s given it to Rickets, who has printed a copy under the Vale Press. The original is meanwhile in the hands of Robbie Ross, who’s keeping it safe in a beautiful box given to him by his boyfriend Freddie. Freddie used to be Jack’s special friend, and Jack is very upset by the new attention Ross is giving to Freddie as his new boyfriend… Harriet is also aware of this situation, and has gone to Ross’s room secretly at night to steal the box. In the scene that follows, she’s hiding behind the sofa with the box when Ross and Charles Rickets return from a night out.

NOW READ ON…

“That young dancer was superb to watch… there was something very special about him, his presence. The colours he wore… all gold and black… echoed in the set around him. It was all so beautiful, Robbie, you can’t imagine… you must go and see them for yourself soon.”

“I think I will, the Russian Ballet, you say? Which theatre will they be at next?”

A gentle glow began to permeate the darkness and Harriet squeezed her eyes shut, imagining Ross lighting the lamp and setting it down on the table… just where the box had been. She could hear her own breathing, deafeningly loud inside her head; the voice of Ross’s companion became louder, clearer… he must be sitting right in front of her, inches away.

“I’m not sure… maybe Hampstead? Somewhere in the West End perhaps? … but you must see them. You won’t regret it. We should both go this month.”

“Very well, let’s make a date. How many times have you seen them?”

When the man laughed, Harriet recognised him. She felt herself filled with an icy coldness, so she seemed to be encased within a frozen block.

“I don’t know… six, seven? But I don’t know what draws me back.”

“Would you care for a snifter of brandy before you leave, Charles? I have a little here left over from Christmas.”

Harriet shifted her weight a little, trying to ease the discomfort from where the box was digging into her body. She listened to the clink of glasses, the spirits poured into each.

“So… tell me about the Vale Press, Charles. I understand you destroyed the fonts… that seems quite dramatic. I’ve read a piece in the paper about it. Tell me, did you print Oscar’s story before? I should think you did… how many copies did you make?” There was a long pause and Harriet lay as still as she could, stiller than she thought possible. Just the one single copy, I’m afraid. I wanted to make more but Shan was dead against it… you know how it is, Robbie, he has such a bee in his bonnet about Oscar’s story. He still thinks it’s a dangerous thing to have, a compromising document.”

“Well, I suppose he may be right… though you would think that it would change things, with Oscar being dead.”

This time Charles’s laughter was grim, squeezed out between lips clamped together. Harriet could visualise his expression, even after all these years.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But no… so you’ll have to be content with the single copy. You yourself have the original, still, don’t you? Safe?”

It burns me… the box burns against me. Don’t drop it, you mustn’t drop it.

“Oh yes, don’t worry… I have it safe. Let me show you the beautiful box young Freddie made for me… I keep the manuscript inside. Where is it?”

NO… please don’t let him find it’s gone… please, God… please...

Then she heard the sofa creak as Charles stood up.

“I’m sorry Robbie, you must show me another time. I really should be going now… it’s so late, and I have an early appointment tomorrow. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright… don’t let me keep you. We shall meet again soon for the Russian Ballet.”

Behind the sofa, Harriet lay curled up tight, so tight that the box seemed to become part of her own body… and yet it was still hard edged and wooden, still digging into her ribs. She felt the sofa move slightly as Ross stood up and knocked against it. The voices of the two men began to fade as they moved away towards the door, but still her fear didn’t melt; it refused to dissolve away long after the door had closed and the men had gone. Very slowly Harriet got to her feet, still clutching the box against her body. She wrapped her cloak over it so that it was concealed within. Then she turned and followed in the wake of the two men, defiantly down the front stairs and out into the darkness, into the cold night air and stinging rain.

MORE FROM Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy In our TENTH ANIVERSARY ISSUE - NEXT MONTH!
URBAN SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit...
FIRST UP
First of all I must say that Nic is really excited about publishing her novel Dry Rot, she pends a lot of time writing and researching her novels, and this one is a MUST read. We are selling it in a CD-ROM Format in a DVD case, so it's an E-book that you can read on your computer screen, and it will stand on your bookshelf too. We are also hoping to have a downloadable version that can be read on the increasingly popular hand held readers. Watch this space.
NEXT OFF
It was good to see Nic writing a bit of poetry, and I'm glad she decided to share it with you all. Her poem was about a little event that happened to us on Halloween in 1992. We had been visiting friends and on the way home the wheel fell off my car, fortunately some people in fancy dress helped me push the vehicle to the kerbside. We then ordered a taxi, and the following day I went back and fixed the car.
FANCY DRESS
Talking of fancy dress, reminds me that the stage play that Nic is writing right now, has the working title Fancy Dress. She is basing it on the final part of one of her novels - The Turn of The Century Party. It is set in Paris in 1900 and features Oscar Wilde and Robbie Ross and some other mysterious people of that era.
FINALLY
Here's a little poem that I wrote some time ago for my Salford Collection, I include it here as I didn't get to perform it on the titalised date again this year. Anyway...

NOVEMBER THE SIXTH

The firemen go past

here all the time.

Blue light flashing

siren sounding.

They reach their destination

drive round the block

radio in:

"It's another false alarm."

In the morning you walk

past an empty house.

The doors are charred

the glass in the window frames

has gone.

It smells like

November the sixth.

61190

PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COWARDY CUSTARDS LAST STAND IN SALFORD.

I pulled this one from the archives at StraightTalkingStreetTalkingSweet...TalkingGuy!
MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL andy in December.

October 2009 Issue 109

Nicola's Editorial

SUDDENLY…

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

MY PERSONAL FAVOURITE

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

ONCE A CATHOLIC…

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

ORIGINS OF DRY ROT

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

ART WORK

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

SILVER BEATLES

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

THE REVOLUTION CONTINUES

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

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

THE STORY SO FAR…

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN… CHAPTER 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 2009 Issue 108

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

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

August 2009 Issue 107

Nicola's Editorial

BRITISH SUMMER

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

THAT SEASIDE RESORT

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

THE ROMAN POPPY

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

BRIGHTON

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

STEVE’S PHOTOS

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

POLISH SALT MINES

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

LAST WORD

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

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

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

copyright Nicola Batty © 2009

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 2009 Issue 106

Nicola's Editorial

THE HOT SPELL

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

LAZY DAYS

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

THE CREEPING YEARS

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

COOK’S ISLAND

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

SWEET SIXTEEN

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

DRY ROT

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

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

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, ABANDONDED?

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

CREATIVE PHD

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

Copyright © Nicola Batty 2009

THE STORY SO FAR

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

FROM CHAPTER 3 - 1903

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 2009 Issue 105

Nicola's Editorial

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

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

More Raw Materials in RM#106

The Space Between

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

The Story So Far:

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

Copyright Nicola Batty © 2009

CHAPTER 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles stared fiercely at the painting he had adjusted.

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

“Of course … what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

More from The Space Between in RM#106

URBAN

SCRAWL !!

Welcome to Andy’s bit.

SONG FOR CLIFF

This month I’m going to share my song lyric for Cliff Richard with you.

GOODBYE NO NO

Goodbye no no, goodbye

I don’t think so

My love affair with you

ain’t over yet

It seems like yesterday

when we first said hello,

Goodbye no no, goodbye

I don’t think so

I sing this song for you

to let you know

that you are my number one

I won’t let you go

Goodbye no no, goodbye

I don’t think so

Never never, say

never ever, though

Cos who knows what

tomorrow may bring

don’t you know

Repeat

010609

Copyright Andy Sewina © 2009