Raw Meat .. Nicola Batty's Newsletter.

December 2009 Issue 111

2009-12-05T12:36:00.008Z

Nicola's Editorial

CELEBRATION ISSUE

This December issue is rather special in a couple ways… not only does it see the publication of Dry Rot but also Andy’s just reminded me that it’s the 10^th anniversary of RAW MEAT!! I can’t believe that ten years ago I was sitting at my word processor nervously dictating the very first issue to Andy… it’s quite a different ballgame now. Strange that even at that point in 1999 I had every intention of making Dry Rot our first publication with Rawprintz. This was before any of the Ziggy stories had even been thought of… The Ziggy Collection actually became a bit of a test, because I always wanted Dry Rot to be the first novel we would publish. So Dry Rot is now available to order, (as a Digital Book) so we’re just awaiting response and we’ll post out as many CD’s as are requested. Please don’t hesitate.

You can contact us at: nicbat3963@aol.com

WORKING TOGETHER

One of the best things about Dry Rot’s publication has been that several people have been involved at the same time, which has meant that there’s been a real team spirit here. Different people helping out when needed, and this is especially vital for me, because obviously I can’t do everything… and so it’s a great feeling to know that others are willing to do what’s necessary to produce the goods! I must give a special thank you to Andy who’s put so much time into checking all the proofs right through. The thing is, that he’s really enjoyed doing the editing of the proofs… so this has been an important way of showing him that this is definitely an experience he wants to repeat with more of my work. It’s something he’s been talking about for years - working from home where he can achieve a real sense of satisfaction whilst remaining on hand to give practical help to me. Now he’s actually tried the situation out and we’ve both been quite happy with it… so we’ll take it from here!

SCREENPLAY STRENGTH

Andy was particularly impressed with the screenplay of Dry Rot, perhaps because he’s never read it before!! It’s debatable whether it’s stronger than the novel, because Dry Rot is such a visual idea that perhaps a novel can’t possibly do it justice. Special effects are necessary to conjure up the dramatic impact of decay. I’m wondering if I just find it easier to write for the screen… having found so many difficulties with writing for the stage. Of course I’m talking about my stage play Fancy Dress, which I’m still struggling along with. It just seems so natural to me to think in terms of overlapping images, making one image turn into something else, complicated visual effects… just to have simple stage conventions is too limiting. I don’t know whether to give up on the stage play altogether and just write another screenplay! But would this be chickening out??

CREATIVE DARKNESS

That creative urge I spoke of in the last issue is still upon me – though perhaps slightly less urgent. I haven’t written any more poetry… in fact I don’t know if I ever will again – I definitely don’t think poetry is my strong point! But besides that… I’m wondering again how far this creativity is linked with the winter darkness, or even night time. When I was a student in London twenty years ago. I used to stay up most of the night and write, both creative writing and essays. I formed a theory about the close link between the correct state of mind to receive inspiration and the darkness of the evening or nights. The truth of this idea is still undeniable, even though my lifestyle now makes it extremely difficult to create at night! Yet I’m still fascinated by this idea of darkness, hence perhaps my obsession with the South Pole. Six months of total darkness must have some effect on the mind – I’m thinking of the stories I’ve read about Cherry-Gerrard who apparently suffered from depression ever since returning from the South Pole. He was a member of Scott’s team, by the way… and I would recommend that you read his book, The Worst Journey In The World, if you get a chance.

MAB MAG

It’s also time to turn my attention onto yet another different style of writing – although I’m reluctant to call it less creative, because I just see it as different, that’s all. Anyway, the Newsletter for the Manchester Ataxia Branch has to be put together this month and I have several articles in mind that I want to write. Need I say that my main piece will be on Dry Rot, as I hope that quite a few members of the group will be interested in the novel. I’ve also got an idea for another piece on natural remedies for health, which I’ve had in mind since the summer, but have not yet actually written. I was toying with the idea of putting in some of my poems, but I don’t think I will, considering how feeble my attempts are! Sue, the chairperson of the group, hopes that there is going to be more that 2 issues next year, so that perhaps in time it will be competing with Raw Meat every month!!

XMAS LUNCH

Though it seemed to be rather early to be celebrating Xmas, both Andy and I turned up readily for the MAB Xmas lunch at the end of November – as did most of the rest of the group. In fact the long tables were all pretty much full, so it was easy to overlook the lack of crackers or other Xmas things decorating the table. As always, it was difficult for me to feel part of the conversation as I didn’t really know anyone who was there until I actually spoke to both Sue and Olga – who I haven’t managed to speak to since this time last year! Even though I feel much more involved with MAB now through the Newsletter, I still haven’t actually met or spoken to most of them, just Sue really, who is my constant friend.

A HEADLESS KING

King Louis has just been guillotined in our French Revolution book. If you remember, I’m still ploughing my way through Hillary Mantel’s epic, A Place of Greater Safety. The year 1793 begins with the death of the king, which is surprisingly underplayed seeing as it was such a dramatic event. Perhaps Ms Mantel felt that the king’s death had been too much covered so she didn’t need to do the same… however, it seemed a little strange to barely mention his guillotining when it effected so many people directly. Maybe Ms Mantel thought there were too many deaths around the same time, for in the February Danton’s wife died really suddenly, which came as a total shock, because I never even knew that she had died! It becomes clear to me now why Gerard Depardieu doesn’t mention her at all in the film Danton, which is set in 1794. The way the two deaths are handled is admirable: Gabrielle Danton’s sudden death in childbirth is by far more touching, a human loss, which contrasts with the dramatic guillotining of the king. The conflict between Danton and Robespierre is just beginning… I’m glad that Ms Mantel is playing such close attention to this fascinating clash of personalities and ideals… it’s unbelievable that they were driven so far apart within such a short space of time. Reading the book is making me long to watch the film once again.

THE SPREADING OF DECAY

Last word of this December issue goes of course to Dry Rot. Andy’s been busy putting together the first few CDs and covers and I imagine they look pretty darned impressive!! We both had fun last week taking a photo of me for the back page; I specified that I wanted it to be creepy, by candlelight. You can judge Andy’s effort for yourselves, Dry Rot in Digital Book format on a CD ROM is now available to order, so just send me an e-mail. The CD’s are only £3.95, and this includes postage for UK orders, but for our overseas readers the cost will be a little more, which we’ll work out when you contact us. Please state how many you would like to order and do spread the word amongst relatives and friends.

RAW MATERIALS

The disadvantage to having so many different projects on the go at once, is it’s a bit more difficult to keep my mind fixed on The Space Between, of course. But this isn’t a major worry, because I’ll always return to concentrate on finishing this novel. I’ve come this far with it and I can’t possibly get distracted now. However, I have come to the end of this little piece of the story with Jack, Freddie and Ross… oh and now there’s Harriet come into it. But here I must leave this piece of action in Kensington, for I feel the novel needs a little change of scene before the chapter ends.

I must leave this particular piece before it becomes too obviously corny. I’d absolutely no intention of developing a romance between Harriet and Georges… it has just happened, and I’m not even sure whether to take it any further or to simply let it die a natural death and fizzle out, as it so often does in real life. On the one hand, I thought that it would create a rather nice coincidence within the novel, to have Harriet eventually find some sort of happiness with the man she had originally met in very different circumstances… I don’t know if you’ll remember when Harriet was a prostitute in White Chapel, and Georges was one of her clients. That’s really going back a bit, to the beginning of The Spark, I think. I thought it would create some sort of continuity to link the novels. On the other hand, I’m extremely reluctant to make this relationship sound soap-opera-ish… I’d rather just leave things unsaid, as is so often the way. I’m not convinced how this relationship will develop anyway, but it certainly won’t have a happy ending. I think it’s pretty obviously doomed from the start but it could come as a bit of a temporary relief for Harriet, and perhaps for Georges also.

I still haven’t really reached any conclusion about what to do with the rest of The Space Between series. I’m not too concerned about this, in fact I see it as quite an advantage, having no definite way ahead. I remain certain that the next novel will be at least partly set in the Antarctic, though I’m not sure whether to have two different stories going on at the same time – one in London also – or whether this will just become plain silly. As I said, I can’t feel that much concern about the on going process of the novel as I’m just concentrating on one little area at a time – I can’t really cope with thinking about the whole massive spectrum of The Space Between… I’ll just take it a step at a time.

THE SPACE BETWEEN: THE STORY SO FAR

It’s 1904. Wilde’s been dead for four years. The manuscript was thought to have disappeared with him in Paris, but in fact he gave the original copy to his friend Robbie Ross before he died. Back in Kensington at the Ross house where Harriet works as a maid, Ross has given Wilde’s manuscript to Freddie to keep safe in a box that Freddie has made for him. Meanwhile, Harriet’s son Jack has found out about the relationship between Ross and Freddie, and is very jealous and upset, so Harriet steals the box from Ross’s office and runs away from her job to Whitechapel, where she hopes to find Jack. For the past few months, Jack has been living with his sailor friend, Georges. NOW READ ON…

CHAPTER FOUR: 1904

“Thank you.”

Harriet took the steaming cup of tea gratefully, relishing the burning feeling as she wrapped her numb fingers around it. the tall, black-bearded figure took her wet cloak from her and gestured to her to take a seat upon the rocking chair nearby that she pulled up closer to the fire. Slowly she felt the heat from the flames and the tea begin to spread through her; she was very aware of the box sitting on her lap, it seemed like an extra part of her body, an extension. The man sat down, removing his sailor’s jacket before he did so. “You are very kind,” Harriet added.

Georges laughed softly beneath his breath. The weak morning light fell through the window, directly onto the table where he laid down a small stack of Freedom newspapers. He looked over at Harriet for the first time, frowning thoughtfully.

“Not at all. I’m acting how anyone would when faced with a cold, wet young lady who turns up on the doorstep in the early morning.” Reaching out, he touched Harriet’s knee lightly. “Besides, I think I recognise you anyway from that posh house where Jack was sometime ago. I have a very good memory for faces. Once seen, never forgotten.”

It was Harriet’s turn to smile, though hers was a very slight one, not at all sure if it should be there.

“Well I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re Georges, aren’t you? I know you’ve been a good friend to Jack for a long time.”

“Yes, Jack’s a fine boy… you’re his mother, aren’t you?” He took her hand in his massive paw. “It’s good to see you again.” The warmth of his hand covering hers felt so welcoming after all those hours spent out in the pouring rain on the icy streets of Whitechapel, that she found the relief quite overwhelming. She could hardly believe the events that had taken place that night, it seemed like nothing but a bad dream now, despite the wooden box in her lap.

“I’m Harriet – you’re right, Jack’s ma. Is he here?”

“Ah… I’m afraid not, you’ve missed him. He’s gone to sea… to Dunkirk. A cabin boy has jumped ship suddenly so Jack said he’d go. He seemed quite glad to get away from London, to be honest with you.” As he gazed at Harriet, she noticed how beautiful his deep brown eyes were, how gentle and kind. He stroked his beard as he watched her expression. “There’s nothing wrong with Jack, is there? Nothing’s happened?”

For a moment, Harriet was tempted to tell him everything, but something held her back, told her to cover up the truth.

“No… I just wanted to see him, that’s all. I have something here for him which is quite important – do you know when he’s going to be back?”

Georges gave a shrug, shaking his head.

“Perhaps next week? I don’t know.” He sat forward, nodding towards the box. “This is what you wanted to give him? It looks quite intriguing. May I see?”

“Oh… I suppose so.” She swallowed, watching as Georges took the box and examined it curiously. Looking away, she was filled with a guilty feeling of embarrassment which caused her heart to quicken and her palms to sweat. She felt she had to give him some explanation, so she added in a wavering voice, “It’s… it’s not mine.”

“So I see,” Georges replied evenly, frowning slightly. “Who’s Robert Ross? Oh…” He caught Harriet’s eye and held it, though his look remained interested rather than probing. “Is that the man at the house in Kensington?”

Harriet made no reply but her silence made the answer plain. Georges ran his fingers over the carving on the front of the box. “I don’t understand… why have you got it? What’s inside?”

Harriet sighed, overcome suddenly with a great tiredness, as if all the events of the night had become gradually more real and were now awakening her senses once again. A heaviness washed over her as she thought of Ross and Freddie together on their sofa, it was a great feeling of sadness. She looked up at Georges slowly, shaking her head. “I don’t know exactly what it is, I took it for Jack, that’s all. I’m afraid it’s a very long story, one I don’t want to talk about at the moment. I’m sorry…”

MORE FROM Nicola’s work-in-progress-trilogy in January.
URBAN
SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit...
TENTH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL
Just to let you know, that we have been producing RAW MEAT for ten years now. The first issue in December 1999 was on a single side of paper and we asked readers to send a postage stamp if they wanted to read the next issue.
ANYWAY HERE'S A VERSE FOR YOU!
I'M FIGHTING BACK
I've got a diagnostic army in my head
feels like soldiers made of plastic, tin and lead.
They are marching up and down to find my brain
and a chemical brigade invades my vein.
Ack-ack-ack, Ack-ack-attack! I'm fighting back!

Of course, when the diagnosis didn't work
they sent for the Neuro-Surgeon Doctor Burke.
Who wanted to drill a hole into my head
It's a simple operation, so he said.
Ack-ack-ack, Ack-ack-attack! I'm fighting back!

So I took my head to see another Quack
all he did was stick a needle in my back.
But hey, even if and when, they find my brain
I'll hide my mind, my soul, my memory lane.
Ack-ack-ack, Ack-ack- attack! I'm fighting back!

Next time they're going to scan me, front and back
but please, don't send me to that Quack 'Flat-tyre Jack!'
Ack-ack-ack, Ack-ack-attack! I won't come back!
120208
AND FINALLY...
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to all our readers from Nic, Jack, Andy, Ruth, Brigitte and Angela.
STOP
PRESS
Dry Rot HOTLINE please E-Mail me at: nicbat3963@aol.com

RAW MART

2009-11-11T00:13:00.002Z

November 2009 Issue 110

2009-11-10T01:04:00.008Z

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…

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

2009-10-11T01:05:00.002+01:00

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

2009-09-07T23:58:00.001+01:00

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

2009-08-11T00:30:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

BRITISH SUMMER

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

THAT SEASIDE RESORT

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

THE ROMAN POPPY

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

BRIGHTON

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

STEVE’S PHOTOS

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

POLISH SALT MINES

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

LAST WORD

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

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

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 2009 Issue 106

2009-07-09T23:44:00.005+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

THE HOT SPELL

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

LAZY DAYS

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

THE CREEPING YEARS

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

COOK’S ISLAND

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

SWEET SIXTEEN

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

DRY ROT

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

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

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, ABANDONDED?

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

CREATIVE PHD

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

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

FROM CHAPTER 3 - 1903

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 2009 Issue 105

2009-06-09T00:14:00.003+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

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

RAW MATERIALS

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

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

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

More Raw Materials in RM#106

The Space Between

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

The Story So Far:

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

THE SPACE BETWEEN

CHAPTER 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles stared fiercely at the painting he had adjusted.

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

“Of course … what do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

Repeat

010609

May 2009 Issue 104

2009-05-07T01:05:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial!

TAHITI- NO GO

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

WEATHER COLLAPSE

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

ROBESPIERRE REMEMBERED

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

A PLACE OF GREATER SAFTEY

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

DARK MATERIALS

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

ELVIS COSTELLO’S STRINGS

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

RAW MATERIALS 104

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

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

MORE Raw Materials in RM#105

THE SPACE BETWEEN

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

Now read on…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 2009 Issue 103

2009-04-07T16:49:00.005+01:00

Nicola's Editorial!

HERE’S TO TAHITI!

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

INTERESTING FACTS

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

IN SEARCH OF THE SUN

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

CAMPING

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

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

BACK TO MANCHESTER

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

DRUMS

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

SENSUAL BOOK

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

TRY STEVEN FRY

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

THE SCOTISH PLAY

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

RAW MATERIALS #103

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 2009 Issue 102

2009-03-06T22:37:00.003Z

Nicola's Editorial!

SPRING FORWARD

A miracle has occurred… Andy’s actually got his act together and booked for us to go away to Tenerife next week!! It’s a long over due promise - ever since last September he’s been putting it off. But now… maybe the advent of spring has infected him to such a degree to actually take action. I don’t doubt that the long, cold winter days have got something to do with it- the winter seems to go on far to long in this country. So we’re off to get some sunshine and actual warmth, which will be unbelievable after England. No crazy plans - probably we’ll just take it easy and wander round the resort which we’re staying in - Los Christianos. Apparently this place is supposed to be very Ziggy friendly with lots of accessible walks along the promenade which I feel a bit dubious about… I hope it’s not too much like Blackpool!! I suppose the main thing is, it will be a good deal warmer than Blackpool…

95^TH BIRTHDAY

We’ve just returned form spending a weekend down in Plymouth for my Granddad’s 95^th birthday celebration. Hardly surprisingly, he’s getting a wee bit frail now so it was a fairly quiet do, but none the less it was lovely to see all my cousins and my mum’s sister once again. It was also lovely to be by the sea, very nostalgic - that salty sea air smell always brings back such memories. In a way I’d love to move back to Plymouth - or at least to be by the sea after all these years away from it in Manchester. I suppose I’ve never really felt settled here - I wonder if at heart I’m simply a Devonshire lass?? I would never have believed it… yet walking along the sea front with Andy was great. As for Granddads age, I can’t imagine being that old… he was born on the year the first world war broke out; of course he has no memory of that, but his tales of growing up in the twenties in Plymouth and going out in the cart with his dad to catch fish to sell are wonderful.

THAT FALLING SENSATION

At the moment I’m considering doing a parachute jump with my friend Sue from Manchester Ataxia. I stress the word “considering” because I’m absolutely in two minds - that falling sensation must be an incredible one, but on the other hand it’s a really scary experience. Perhaps especially for someone without their sight; although I tend to think my lack of sight is nothing but an advantage in such situations. If I had my sight there’s no way I’d ever consider jumping out of a plane - and yet without it, makes you rely on the sensation of falling, which must be an incredible one. The very last thing that concerns me is the landing… apparently Sue says you have some sort of special harness to keep your legs out of the way so they don’t get broken!! But it’s the actual moment of jumping out the plane that scares me… I can’t really just close my eyes and think of England because it won’t be any different! So I’ve yet to make a decision.

JUNGLE TREK

Still working on my round the world travel plan… the latest thing is a stop in Brazil for a trek through the rainforest - including catching alligators and fishing for piranhas! Sounds pretty cool. I’ve always fancied a trek through the jungle but have thought it would be impossible in Ziggy unless Ziggy had special tires or something to avoid running over snakes etc. In Brazil, we would stay in a hotel actually in the rainforest, which sounds incredible. I think the hotel is reached by boat, which only adds to its remote, surreal quality. As the travel application has to be completed by the end of the month it’s all beginning to come together now - I just have one more place to work out - Tahiti, which is the main focus of the trip for me. So I definitely want to experience Tahiti in the best way I can, probably by camping and simply walking around which shouldn’t be too expensive! Of course I am going to keep a travel diary of my round the world experiences - if I get it! I believe most people with FA are applying, so… we’ll see.

HIVA OA

Before leaving the subjects of the round the world trip, I’ve just found out some interesting information concerning the highlight of my tour - of course Tahiti, in the South Seas. I’ve been longing to visit this particular island for years, long before discovering that the artist Gauguin is buried there, which only adds to its fascination for me. I was very pissed off when I discovered it wasn’t going to be as easy as I hoped to camp there; this seemed a natural thing to do in such a place - only the campsites seemed inaccessible to Ziggy. I couldn’t even think about staying at a hotel or anything - I was imagining the western idea of a hotel - Andy said the buildings would in fact be more like grass huts. Of course they would be, how stupid of me! I wouldn’t mind at all staying in a grass hut - it would be perfectly suitable in such a place as Tahiti. My next problem was how to get to the smaller island where Gauguin’s grave is, because I’d hoped to get a boat there but that looked very dodgy. However I can get a small plane there, which sounds great fun… I imagine it would be quite different from the planes I’m used to! I’d like to be able to stay in Hiva Oa for as long as possible… in fact I don’t think I want to come back! Maybe I’ll stay in the South Seas and be buried along side Gauguin… sigh, what a way to go.

JACK’S MENTOR

But to return to Manchester, life seems to be quiet at ours… that is unless Jack’s having a band practice as he does during the holidays. I haven’t told you much about Jacks band - there’s just three of them, Jack plays drums and the others play guitars and sing. Apparently they all write some of the stuff, I suspect Jack writes mostly lyrics but maybe has a hand in the music as well. He’s very into the band these days… he has a mentor called Dave who is also a drummer and so gives Jack advice, as well as having useful contacts in the studios. His mentor is one of the best ideas the Arts Council has recently come up with - and I’m sure Jack would agree. It’s essential for him to have somebody who knows about the business to talk to. Jack’s band have been doing some recording at a studio, so far they’ve done two songs but Jack says it would cost too much to make a complete album. Hopefully they’ll be doing their first gig presently… so look out for the band called I’m Sophie’s whore - a terrible name, I think but there you go.

PERFUME

We’re continuing with this book by Patrick Suskind, which is set in eighteenth century France. Out of curiosity I recently looked up the exact whereabouts of Grasse which seems to be the main perfume city or town. Anyway it turned out not to be where I thought - in the Ardeshe Mountains, but in fact next to Nice on the French Riviera. If the main character, Grenouille has just walked from Paris to Grasse, then the mountains he describes are most probably the Alps - maybe even stopped in the Jura Mountains, where we once camped! I’m particularly fascinated by this part of the book; Grenouille discovers a tunnel inside one of the mountains, and he goes inside and stays there for seven years!! Whether or not this is realistic- surely he would have gone blind if there was no light? But that doesn’t matter… the idea of living in total isolation with only your own thoughts for company is an intriguing idea, and when he eventually emerged he scared everyone with his appearance - his shaggy hair and beard, which had grown so long. And this entire part of the novel contains hardly and dialogue; its mostly just Grenouille impressions and so seems completely detached from reality.

STEVEN FRY

When we go to Tenerife we are going to take with us Steven Fry’s autobiography “Moab is my washpot”. Both Andy and I want to read it so this seemed an ideal opportunity… though I’m still not totally confident that Andy will have the patience to do so!! Oh well, we shall see… the book concentrates on the first twenty years of Mr. Fry’s life, dealing with his various relationships; he gets his intriguing title from Mr. Fry’s Jewish origins - Moab being a biblical place. More about this, later.
The Space Between
copyright Nicola Batty (c) 2009

The story so far…. It is 1902, two years after Wilde’s death in Paris. Although he is believed to have had the manuscript with him at his death in fact it has turned up in London in the hands of Gustave, who has taken it to Ricketts to publish at the Vale Press. Meanwhile in Kensington Harriet is still working as a maid for Robbie Ross , who is helping Ricketts with the publication of the manuscript.

“May I have my muffler Harriett I think winter is on it’s way… thank you.” Charles took the striped muffler, which Harriet handed to him and he wound it around his neck, careful not to trap his bushy red beard within it. Harriet watched him buttoning up his overcoat and began to turn away.

“Wait.” it was a command; there was no way of ignoring it. Slowly, reluctantly, she dropped her hand even as it reached toward the door handle as she turned around she raised her eyes to his and felt them once again pierce through her, searching for something, she didn’t know what. His expression was a strange one she didn’t recognise – half smiling without a trace of humour. Harriet stood there awkwardly with her hands clasped in front of her and waited; the room seemed an unfamiliar and threatening place. Harriett stood there, watching his nervous fingers still fumbling with the buttons of his overcoat, again she began to turn away towards the door. Then Charles spoke

“I suspect you will be relieved to hear that I wont have to come here anymore, Harriett… I have my own studio to go to,” Charles told her this with hardly a trace of emotion in his voice. “So we wont need to come here to work. I’m sorry …” he gave a little short laugh as he pulled on his gloves, “this has not been an easy situation for either of us”

Harriett kept her eyes lowered staring intently through her lashes at a small area of gold in the carpet, which was slightly faded. She allowed a very vague smile to wonder across her face without it becoming settled there.

“Yes,” she said simply.

Charles pulled on his gloves very slowly; it seemed to her that he was measuring the time, counting the seconds as they passed. Prolonging her agony, maybe… that’s how it seemed, anyway. She wondered if she dared to make a dash out of the room, but he reached towards her and touched her wrist lightly, stopping her making any further movements.

“Actually Harriett, I’ll take this opportunity to ask you something,” Said Charles, speaking quickly as if afraid of being overheard. She glanced at him and saw that his eyes were fleeting around the room restlessly. He cleared his throat several times before continuing trying to create an easy passage for them. “I wondered if it was possible for me to see Jack before I leave… I would like to do so very much. It has been quite some time since we last saw each other… I’m sure you understand”

The gold colour in the carpet turned red around the edges… the scarlet crept over the gold edges until they disappeared. Harriet didn’t answer for several minutes but allowed some control to come back into her voice before she dared open her mouth. She couldn’t explain her anger; where had it come from?

“I doubt very much that Jack will want to speak to you… he has nothing to say to you anymore.” Charles was clearly taken aback with her reaction. He shrugged and seemed bewildered.

“I hope that’s not true, Harriett… we have a lot to talk about, you know we do. You should let me see him.”

Raising her eyes to meet his, a note of defiance came into her voice.

“That’s not possible. Jack’s gone to Spittal Field… he’s got a job at the dogs.”

“The dogs!” Charles stood there aghast. “but…what happened to all his ideas of becoming an artist? What changed his mind?”

“Well Charles, I think you had a lot to do with it” – she broke off as Ross appeared in the doorway rubbing his hands. She said nothing further but pushed passed him and disappeared along the hallway; Ross looked questioningly at Charles, closing the door after her.

February 2009 Issue 101

2009-02-06T14:57:00.006Z

Nicola's Editorial!

SNOW AND ICE

I don’t know about Scott of the Antarctic, but I’m heartily sick of such freezing temperatures! While the snow might look quite pretty when it’s fresh and untouched, in the city it rapidly degenerates into a yucky slushy mess, which is not at all aesthetic. In fact, the whole of January has been made more bearable to me by an application making to a trust fund, which is inviting wild travel ideas, well not really too wild. They all have to be carefully budgeted and researched but as the limit is £5000 which includes a helper as well. The idea opens up a lot of wild destinations and gives dreams a possibility of turning into reality.

JERRY FAR

I wish I met this chap before he died in 2007- I’m sure we would have had loads in common. Though he was fairly young, the list of countries he visited is very impressive and one in the eye for anyone who thinks that being in Ziggy means that you can’t travel!! His friends and relatives raised the dosh for the memorial fellowship… and what a great idea for a memorial, to help living achieve their dreams while making yourself remembered. I hope that my friends and relatives do the same for me when I die… it’s a truly practical way forward. It’s also really nice being discriminated for instead of against, as is per usual for people with FA. In order to apply to Mr Far’s fund, you need to have FA. Which means that there won’t be that many applicants as only about 1000 people have the disease in this country. Hence my excitement…

TAHITI

Of course I had no trouble at all deciding where my dream travel destination would be, not least because of the artist Gauguin’s travels and burial there. Initially I wanted to sail all the way from Marseilles to Tahiti, just like Gauguin did in the 1890s, but this idea was quickly blown apart when I discovered the price of a cruise. From all my research it seems that cruising anywhere is a very expensive way to travel, and I’m not convinced of how much I’d actually like it… this might sound a bit stupid, but I’d feel pretty useless being stuck on a boat while everyone else did the actual sailing!! It could also be quite boring for me, not being able to see, and as the ship would be too big to be able to feel the sensation of the waves etc I’m not sure of the wisdom of cruising. But still, I wanted to be able to smell the sea and also take my time passing by all the various places as Gauguin did, I didn’t want to just get in a plane and magically get out in Tahiti! Still, if this travel application all had to be carefully thought out and budgeted, I might not have much choice.

THE GAUGUIN

I was very excited when we found out about a little cruise which went round the small islands surrounding Tahiti. Presumably this would include Gauguin’s final resting place, as he left Tahiti for one of these smaller islands a couple of years before his death. The cruise boat is called The Gauguin; I suppose it will be loaded with rich Americans, but I was willing to ignore this for Gauguin. But the travel firm told me that The ship was inaccessible to Ziggy… I wanted to know why I couldn’t stay on board while it stopped at the various islands, if I couldn’t get off into the little boat that takes you to the shore. I never discovered the reason why… probably just some safety rubbish… however, nothing could really dampen my enthusiasm for the south seas at this point… just being in Tahiti would be quite amazing.

WARM COLOURS

I’m really into Gauguin’s paintings and life at the moment, undoubtedly because of the Tahiti connection. He was actually a stock broker who lost all his money when the market crashed and so decided to pack up and leave his wife, five children and France and sail off to Tahiti, which he’s visited before and fallen in love with. He wanted to get back to basics. I suppose nowadays Andy would call this “the simple life” (Andy’s always going on about the simple life). I still remember a few of Gauguin’s paintings because of his crazy use of colour. Without hesitation he would paint trees purple and make everything different shades of red or yellow, including people’s faces! I recently saw his self portrait, and he actually looks more like a boxer or a thug than an artist!! Nonetheless, I’m still haunted by his abstract colours, which seem to me to go hand in hand with the tropics… that sensation of feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin is to me associated with such crazy colours. I don’t know if that makes any sense at all – I hope it does.

NEW ZEALAND DREAM

It won’t surprise you one bit to hear that one of the other destinations for my travel proposal will be New Zealand. I could go and visit my friend Kirsty who emigrated there last year… she tells me of the orange and lemon trees in her back garden, as well as being by the sea and mountains! I had a dream about New Zealand last night, and I can still remember the warmth from it. I can’t remember what I was doing exactly, but it involved listening to music outside at some sort of festival. Anyway, that’s quite enough of dreaming… hopefully I can get a cruise from Australia (another destination) which would take me all the way along the coast of New Zealand, from the ice which Suzanne told me about at the southern tip, to the greener north island. I’ve yet to research if this cruise would be accessible for Ziggy.

BOB’S PALM TREE

Still on the subject of tropical dreams, the image of a desert island - complete with palm tree and sunshine takes me right back to a massive mural in Bob Maybrick’s house. You might remember Bob from The Promised Land, one of The Ziggy Collection stories which I thought deserved more attention, as that period where I was involved with the Church of Stockport is still so vivid – some of the characters particularly need elaboration. So I’ve been writing a short story with this splendid title: Grouting for Bob, which is a sort of spin-off from The Promised Land. It focuses mainly on my sharp memories of Bob’s house, which other members of the church did up for him and his American wife while they were getting married in Pennsylvania. I may go on to do more short stories in the same vein, as the whole Church of Stockport thing is full of wonderful characters and events which have just got to be told. I seem to have been somewhat distracted from The Space Between recently, which is not to say that it’s been totally neglected but I do seem to have several stories going on at the same time. I only remark on this because it’s so unusual for me, quite a different way of writing for me in fact.

THE ATAXIAN

Another change of direction for me is that recently I wrote an article for The Ataxian called Getting on my nerves about my experience with new research into the nervous system/hearing impairment. While this research doesn’t seem to have reached any definite conclusion for me anyway – I thought The Ataxian might be interested in printing it. Well they are and they also asked if I wanted to get more involved with media work, journalism etc. Although my instant reaction was to say “Yuk! No thanks…” I mulled it over and thought, why not? While it doesn’t mean I have to give up on fiction totally it would make a nice change… and it’s also vitally important to spread awareness of Ataxia, which people generally don’t know anything about. I also think it’s possible to combine fiction and journalism. What do you think?

PERFUME

As I’ve been working on quite a few different projects at the same time so I’ve been reading several books at once, which is something I never do. Must be something in the air… Anyway I’m continuing with the wonderfully sensual Perfume with Ruth. The main character follows his nose all the way down from Paris to Grasse, which is in the south east of France on the Riviera. He doesn’t want to meet (or smell!) anyone else on the journey so he travels by night. Of course he could find his way in the dark by just lifting up his nose and smelling the sea or mountains, whatever… alongside this I’m reliving childhood memories with E Nesbitt’s The Railway Children - The edition I’ve got is a lovely children’s one with pictures. The story is just like the film so far except more detailed. Andy says it’s difficult to read, but it’s not. It’s easy to listen to it! I’m also reading Shout, a book about The Beatles, which makes a nice change sometimes from fiction.Oh - and not forgetting a re-read of The Picture of Dorian Gray, for research into a character idea for The Space Between.

The Space Between
Copyright © Nicola Batty 2009
The story so far…
The year is now 1902 and Wilde has died in Paris. Before dieing he left his manuscript with Gustave, who has now come to London and given the manuscript to Ricketts. Ricketts has shown the manuscript to Robbie Ross and together they hope to publish it as The Vale press’s final tribute to Wilde. Meanwhile Harriett and Jack were still living in Kensington with the Ross’s. Now read on…

Harriett took several steps towards Georges and took Jacks hand protectively. “What’s in that letter?” Georges gazed at her for quite some time; it was impossible for her to tell whether or not he recognised her after all this time… the familiarity was there, if not the recognition.
“ It’s from the captain of my ship, giving permission for Jack to come with us. I will keep an eye on him, so don’t worry,” Georges told her soothingly, folding his arms “you must be Jacks mother, I presume.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said firmly. She felt suddenly panic stricken, as if everything were slipping away from her, “I want to know more, will jack live with you near the dock?”
Georges opened his mouth to reply but before he did so Jack interrupted.
“No! I’m going to live with Freddy!” There was a brief silence. Finally he turned around slowly and opened the gate.
“I’ll still keep an eye on him… So don’t worry please. And Jack make sure you give the letter to your head master alright? I’ll call around again before we leave” and with that he was gone. Unable to move or speak, she watched the wooden gate swing back and forth long after Georges departure. Beside her Jack’s hand squirmed out of her grip and he danced away from her, holding the letter up before him triumphantly.
“This is it! I’m going to sea! I’m going away from here!” he cried, laughing and grinning.
Harriet watched him numbly as he disappeared thru the kitchen door. Very slowly she picked up the empty washing basket but found herself unable to return straight to work; too much had happened in to short a space for her mind to be able absorb it all. To her, everything felt spiky and jagged nothing seemed to fit in. She sighed heavily and turned her face away from the bright sun, which was dodging between clouds as if playing some sort of Game with her. She smiled gently, knowing that to return to work was the only thing she could do now. Shifting the basket to the other arm, Harriett forced two steps back towards the kitchen door.
It was much later in the day when she returned to collect the washing from the line, which had dried long ago in the sun. It was a lovely evening; the air was still warm and there was a soft chorus of birdsong, which seemed to echo the mellow colours of the sunset as is slipped below the horizon. Harriett felt much calmer now, though the memories had still touched a chord within her. Behind her, Harriett heard the newly fitted French windows open; she turned to see Mr Ross standing there, watching the sunset. It seemed very odd to her that he should just come out merely to watch the sunset; but he had obviously already noticed her for he walked up to her taking a seat on the low brick wall which had separated the two of them. Taking out a cigarette he glanced at Harriett and smiled apologetically. “ Good evening Harriett and it’s a beautiful one is it not?”
Harriett smiled and nodded awkwardly, waiting for him to go on. After several moments he did.
“I’m glad I managed to see you by yourself, actually … I wanted to apologise about this morning. Harriet… I’m very sorry. Charles came round unexpectedly.”
Harriet smiled and looked away.
“That’s quite alright sir. Charles is… Charles is in the past now.”
Ross nodded but his troubled expression remained.
“Well, that’s very philosophical of you… but I’m afraid that Charles may be coming round here quite frequently over the next few months. You see, he’s made rather an exciting discovery and wants me to help him publish the manuscript he’s been given… it’s one of Oscar’s stories which I’ve been looking for ever since his death. I told you about it, I think.”
More from The Space Between in RM#102
RAW MATERIALS

copyright © Nicola Batty 2009
I must admit to being in two minds about whether to include this particular piece in this issue as not a lot really happens here, I feel the extract should be a lot more exciting and dramatic at this point. I’ve been putting a lot of thought and mulling over various ideas for the novel, and have become a little bit excited about it generally; therefore it seems that I’m not doing it justice by including such a bridging sort of extract – even though it may be interesting! I’m keen on spending more time with both Jack and Freddy, developing their relationship… and particularly Jack as a character, he’s got to be filled out. So that his leaving should be felt more. Also I thought that I could use the manuscript appearance in rickets hands to give him an excuse for coming over to Robbies house and meeting Harriett once again. I wanted to be careful how I handled this – it could be too melodramatic or sentimental – only Jack holds them together as a memory. While Harriett may still hold some feelings for Ricketts, I don’t think he feels anything anymore – my decision may not line up completely with fact, but non the less I think Ricketts fling with Harriett was his last physical contact with a woman. This may not go along with all I’ve read in Ricketts biography, which seems to point towards him being a totally gay character, if you see what I mean! But I’m not too worried about altering biographical facts to fit in with fiction, as there’s nothing to say that a relationship with a woman didn’t take place… and so I’m free to interpret my own way.

I was also very happy to bring Robbie Ross back into the story at this point, because I think he’s going to become an essential character – particularly when he meets Freddy. I’m not absolutely convinced how far Harriett will be affected by this, so I’m going to just let the novel write itself!!
I have a lot of sympathy for Robbie… I feel as if I know him quite well, I think he was a very cool chap who I’d wish I’d met. Non-the less the light in which I’m going to show him is not altogether a positive one… I feel quite sorry for him because he became the victim of events really of which he had no control. Although he was undoubtedly a hardheaded businessman above all things he did have soft spots; especially as far as human boys were concerned! As with Rickets, I had to be very careful in handling this… especially as it’s not really a subject I’ve got much experience of. The whole business about Jack going off to America is one which I’m still undecided whether to develop or not. While it’s quite tempting to elaborate on Georges home life in Louisiana with his wife and daughter, it would involve an awful lot of research as I know next to nothing about early twenties American life. I don’t know whether this is worth pursuing… I may just leave it completely and keep the action in London, perhaps just catching glimpses of Jack when he returns home briefly I’m not sure if this’ll work. When I began this book I was quite keen to develop the Louisianan swamps I don’t know why, but I’m really fascinated by the swampland. But I don’t know if this is really going to fit in… I may well have to give the swamp lands a miss and concentrate on the Antarctic!! I suppose the only thing to do is to wait and see how things come out in the wash...

URBAN

SCRAWL!

Welcome to Andy's bit...

NaisaiKu..

Hi everybody, my time has been taken up recently doing the childishly simple poetry form that I have named NaisaiKu.. It's really easy and anyone can do it. If you'd like to find out what I'm blogging on about, simply clink-the-link...

January 2009 Issue 100

2009-01-07T00:43:00.011Z

Nicola's Editorial

CENTENARY
Welcome to issue 100…
I suppose there should be a trumpet fanfare in the background along with a hailstorm of applause of course. Supposedly this issue should be in suitably striking colours… I wonder what colour scheme Andy has gone for?? Maybe it was a mistake trusting him as far as aesthetics go… we both decided not to include a paper hat or free whistle with this issue but to settle for the first issue included. This could be sort of interesting if only as a comparison… look how far the Newsletter has come on since it began on a single sheet in 1999. Anyway, I’ll leave all that to Andy - the computer is strictly HIS department.
CHRISTMAS IS OVER
Once again Andy’s taken the tree outside and replanted it… I hope he remembered to remove the decorations first!! It doesn’t actually feel to depressing because I’ve always hated the presence of the tree after Christmas. To me that seems far more depressing than to just get rid of it altogether!! Jack’s been back from China for a week now, and he went back to school yesterday so everything is well and truly back to normal… or at least as normal as we’ll ever get in this house. Jack’s actually said very little about China… though this is not unusual for him, as he so rarely says more that a few sentences to us nowadays anyway… but from what I gather his stay was mostly in hotels and involved a visit to a kite factory and eating scorpion in a posh restaurant! He described scorpion as tasting like crispy prawns… which sounds rather nice! Perhaps this is as close as I will ever come to eating some, whether or not in a posh restaurant! Actually, I don’t feel too jealous at the moment because Andy’s promised that we’ll go to Tenerife next month… though I know his promises by now, so I’ll believe it when I see it! He’s got lots of ideas for exciting things to do this year… I think he must be feeling his age.
RAW MATERIALS etc.
I’m not sure how much this has to do with the dawning of the new year… but recently I’ve been overtaken with a creative drive to such an extent that I’m dying to get on with The Space Between… I even have vague hopes of getting it finished by the time the year is out!! Though these are very vague… I doubt it very much, even if I do get cracking with it. I think maybe I’ve just been thinking about The Space Between for too long… now I want to get the ideas down on screen before I forget them. I also want to finish the novel because I want to get on with other things… like more autobiographical short stories, perhaps even a development from The Ziggy Collections. I’m still wondering whether to go on with this autobiographical stuff, because although it’s easy to write I don’t feel satisfied with it as quality writing if you see what I mean… so I’m not sure whether to steer away from it completely. I also feel concerned that it may be to self indulgent, that I’m NOT truly creative. It’s completely different to writing The Space Between… and I don’t want to mix the two. Hence my desire to get on with writing while its still winter - and it’s the best thing about it being so freezing, its good writing weather! I wonder if Scott shared this opinion in the South Pole? Possibly not…
SERGEANT PEPPER
I’ve just remembered that just before Christmas Andy and I went to see Bootleg at the Manchester Apollo, but this seems such a long time ago now! I must admit to being slightly dubious about this Beatles tribute band… however I feared that they would do a simple rendition of the early Beatles stuff and be quite boring. But I was very impressed… they covered the entire Beatles career all the way through, tackling complicated things such as “All you need is love”, “Strawberry fields” and “Eleanor Rigby” without hesitation. Although it would have been pretty impossible to get the sound exactly like the Beatles did in the studio Bootleg did an admirable job… the songs were recognisable, and they had an entire string and brass section on stage with them all the way through. Andy told me that they changed costume to match the stage of the Beatles career they were going through, complete with false moustaches and beards!! They were amazing anyway, well worth seeing. Still on the subject of music, I’m very much looking forward to going to see Elvis Costello in a few months… unbelievably he’ll be playing at the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester with a string quartet!!
BANANAS IN THE BACK GARDEN
While I’m talking about things that happened before Christmas, I’ve remembered going to a Manchester Ziggy group Christmas party held at someone’s house in Droylsden. This house was quite amazing because it was on a little square, and all the houses nearby were part of a community set up by immigrants from Russia (Moravia says Andy) who had fled to escape religious persecution. I can’t remember the name of them… probably Andy will tell you. (They’re called the Moravians, says Andy) Anyway, the house was very old… 1785 I think, and part of it had been converted from a coach house. The woman who owned the house was called Olga - though this had nothing to do with being Russian because she wasn’t! Both she and all her sisters were named after Chekhov characters, because her Mum had been obsessed by the Russian playwright! Olga told me that there was a banana tree in the back yard, which they kept warm in winter by covering it with a sleeping bag… beats a greenhouse I suppose. Although Andy and I didn’t manage to win a hamper in the raffle this year, we did manage to sell twelve more copies of The Ziggy Collection… which was much more important!
PERFUME
Although I’ve not been doing much reading over the holidays, I started this book by Patrick Suskind just before Christmas… I’ve read it before but was so impressed with it I wanted to give it another go! I also wondered if it may have special significance to me since I’ve lost most of my sight, as I remember it being so evocative of eighteenth century France in terms of not sight but smell. All the way through, the book is heavy with the sense of both of the country and the city… the unwashed citizens reeking of sweat, the slaughterhouse, the markets… there’s a lovely scene where a woman gives birth in a corner of the fish market. Everything is described by smell… though we’ve only just begun the book I want to get on with it as soon as possible! I think Perfume was written in the mid eighties… it has a beautiful cover, which is really sensual. I think that the publishers should have made each page with a different smell! It makes me think of the theatre in France which was set up around the eighteen nineties; apparently each play was accompanied by relevant smells which must have been wonderful… except for where the play was set in a sewer or field of cows. I think this theatre was closed down pretty soon after, needless to say.
THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
Another book I am really looking forward to reading is the children’s classic by E. Nesbit, which I remember from the film version with Jenny Agutter. I was amazed to discover that the book was actually written in 1906, making the action of the tale contemporary… I had always thought it was written in about the nineteen fifties. To me, it brings back such memories of childhood… I can’t remember how many times I watched the film - maybe hundreds!!! I wonder if the book will recreate the Edwardian era as vividly? I hope so.
100 TO YOU
This month my Mum celebrates her 70th. Birthday – so therefore it’s completely fitting that I dedicate this special 100th. Issue to her. Here’s to you Mum have a great birthday and thanks for always being there!!
THE SPACE BETWEEN
copyright Nicola Batty © 2009

The story so far..
The year is 1902; Wilde has died in Paris and his manuscript has disappeared with him. Although Robbie Ross has searched for it in Wilde’s hotel room he can’t find it and returns to London without it. Meanwhile a certain Frenchman by the name of Gustave has been telling Esther Pissaro, at whose house he’s currently staying, about his friendship with Wilde just before he died, and he showed her the manuscript that he claimed that Wilde had given him.
Now read on …

“So you’ve come over from Paris, did you say?”
“Yes, that’s right,” answered Gustave. “My father owns a hotel in the Latin quarter… that’s where I met Oscar Wilde.”
Charles gave a slight start and glanced quickly into Gustave’s sea green eyes.“You knew Oscar?”Gustave nodded slowly, smoothing down the front of his white shirt. He was aware all the time of Charles’s eyes flickering over him, drinking in every detail of his appearance. He didn’t mind at all; in fact he basked in the man’s attention.
“Oh yes… we were great friends just before he died. In fact I have something of his here which he gave me…”
Charles took the portfolio from him at once but made no move to open it. He continued standing as though transfixed, staring at Gustave without smiling. Eventually he cleared his throat and spoke in a dry, choked manner.“Oscar never mentioned you - what is this you have?”
Gustave smiled easily and just shrugged. “Why don’t you open it and see?”
Taking the portfolio over to the table, Charles laid it down carefully and opened it. He leafed through the papers inside, touching every page with the utmost care as though afraid it would disappear or crumble to dust beneath his fingertips. When he finally turned back to face Gustav his own face was as pale as the papers themselves were.“Where did you get this?” He asked in a strangled whisper.
Gustav flipped back his long fringe with a casual movement of his head, giving a slight shrug. “I’ve told you, Oscar gave it to me. I thought… I thought you may wish to publish it as a memory of him, perhaps.” He paused, moving over to the table beside Charles, where he stood so close that the contact they both felt was so real… and yet they didn’t actually touch each other. The manuscript before them shivered as though with the air itself, even though all the windows were taped shut on such a cold April day as this. Gustave watched Charles’s fingers pass lightly over the surface of the script as though he were a blind man reading the letters by touch; the entire room seemed to be charged with electricity which ran between the two men, they both felt it and they both knew it was real. “I know all about your company, the Vale Press you see… Esther Pissaro told me,” continued Gustav lightly, “to come and show it to you”
“How do you know Esther Pissaro” he asked sharply.
“Oh yes I know both Esther and Lucian… I’m staying at The Old House with them you see.” Taking a few steps across the room, Gustave dropped his jacket lightly on the sofa where it lay in a crumpled heap, curled up like an animal. Gustav stared at it for some time in satisfaction before turning back to Charles and moving in towards him with the utmost care and precision. He was aware as each second passed of his own youthful beauty shining out from within, and he was in perfect control. “she thought you might like to publish it for Oscar.”
Nothing was said, but Gustave could feel Charles nodding slowly as he took in the young French mans explanation. For several more long seconds Gustav allowed the air to slide between them, drawing them ever closer without needing any sort of body contact. When Charles spoke at last, some colour had returned to his face and his voice was slightly more level.“Well Gustave… Esther was right, I am interested… very interested indeed”
The two of them stood so close that they could feel static crackling between their individual arms; it pulled them closer so that the contact was already made, the promise was already made. Charles glanced very briefly at Gustave… it was almost unnecessary. “But…tell me, Gustave… if all that you’ve said is true… what do you want in return?”
MORE FROM NICOLA'S work-in-progress-trilogy in RM#101
Raw Materials #100
Ever since resuming work on the Space Between, there’s been no looking back… in fact the ideas are coming so thick and fast I just want to get them down on screen – you’ll notice that I don’t use the term ‘on paper’ any more… a true creature of the twenty-first century!! While I wouldn’t like to say I hope to finish the book this year I… nevertheless I do feel confident enough to say that The Space Between will take a much shorter time to complete than The Spark. I think this has had a lot to do with leaving myself more room for manoeuvre within a historical framework. It’s not really fair to say that history died along with Wide… but I get that sort of feeling with The Space Between, though this doubtless has more to do with the other characters I’m choosing to focus on at the moment – of course my own fictional ones. Gustave is one of my favourite ones from The Turn of The Century Party, it was really exciting to bring him into the story at this point. The Space Between begins just about where The Turn of The Century Party leaves off so it’s natural for Gustave to appear as himself, and so his story progresses.I didn’t really plan that any sort of relationship should develop between Gustave and Ricketts that just happened as I wrote it. This is still one of the most exciting things about writing - where the ideas completely take over by themselves and I’m simply the empty brain to be used!! Though it’s still true that once the idea is there it has to be handled extremely carefully – of course I’m talking about Gay relationships, particularly when it’s between a fictional character and a historical one! I definitely don’t want to sound smutty or anything like that so the only thing to do was to leave it unsaid but hinted at pretty heavily… but not too much. Moving away from Ricketts, I was thinking about what to do with the Pissaro’s … I couldn’t find out much about their lives in the early twentieth century and so, was quite delighted as this meant I could virtually make it up!! I had thought of tying in Gustave’s addiction to opium with the Pissaro’s – but Andy warned me to watch what I was saying about them as the family is very much still alive. Well I actually don’t agree with Andy on this one – I mean, that’s the whole point of The Space Between, mixing up history and fiction, of course there has to be a compromise to avoid hurting people. In this case, I think the compromise will be by making my opium addicts fictional characters. As I’ve already used characters from my own fiction I thought it would make a nice change to bring in some characters from Wildes fiction. Of course Dorian Gray seemed the natural choice. I wanted to go for one of the lesser known characters… which will mean some rereading, though I’ve got ideas already it was Ruth’s suggestion to bring opium into The Space Between … simply because it was so prevalent around that time and also something which I was fascinated about. Its links with the creative imagination are well known and so I thought it would fit in rather nicely.

URBAN
SCRAWL
Welcome to Andy's bit...
CONGRATIONS!!!
Many many congratulations Nicola on reaching the big 100!
THIS NEWSLETTER
This Newsletter started out as a paper publication in 1999. The very first issue was a single sheet of A4 paper and if I can find the one library copy that we still have I'll scan it into this machine and share it with you.
MARCH 2008
Of course the centenary of this publication could/would have been way back in March last year, apart from the fact that there were several months when Raw Meat became a bi-monthly while Nicola was doing her MA at Manchester University.
SEPTEMBER 2006
The first issue we put Online was in September 2006 and by January 2007 we stopped printing and mailing the paper publication.
NEXT IOO!
So Nicola, here's to the next 100! All my love Andy xxx
FINALLY
Just to let you know, that if you clink-the-link at the top right of this page to Nicola Batty's profile you will find that there's an old picture of Nicola with me (Andy) and Jack about ten years ago. You can just see the Granada TV weather map in the background. It was of course taken at Albert Dock in Liverpool. this is the same picture that is on the back of Nicola's E-book:
The complete Ziggy Collection! e-mail Nicola for further details of how to get your copy of this publication.
SEE YOU NEXT MONTH FOR 101! Andy

December 2008 Issue 99

2008-12-07T20:19:00.010Z

Nicola's Editorial

NINETY-NINE

I’ve always liked the look of the number 99 much better than 100, though I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s the two curved digits standing side by side. I remember at junior school, painting a crazy 9 on one half of a sheet of black paper and then folding it to make a 99. For some reason this memory has stuck with me over the years, I wonder why? X is another good letter that can be played around with in its symmetrical folding away, and of course it leads me on to the time of year. Yes, I’m afraid it’s Xmas once again, and this year actually promises to be a little bit different from the usual crimbo, because I’ll be without Jack. You may not believe where he’s going… China! With Sheila and her family. It’s the furthest he’s ever been and I think he’s pretty excited about it. I’ll miss him, as the house always seems so empty and quiet without him (and his drums!) But I’m determined not to get too miserable over Christmas and so have invited Nick, our actor friend from London, up here to stay, so hopefully the seasonal festivities won’t be too difficult to bear…

CHINESE ZIGGY

Jack wants to bring back pressies for everyone from China, though I don’t know how realistic this is. Anyway, I think he’d get into a spot of bother at customs with my Chinese request. Some time ago, Sheila told me that some Chinese Ziggies had been designed to be propelled by the means of a bar that goes across the front, so that you push the bar in a cycling motion with your hands. This seems much more sensible than the British design, where my hands are always getting mashed in doorways or tight corners. I think the Chinese design would allow for much more speed too, simply because it’s easier to propel. I need to test these theories… I’ve always wanted to try out a Chinese Ziggy, and perhaps one day I’ll get my heart’s desire.

THE ZIGGY COLLECTION IN MANCHESTER

Still on the subject of Ziggy, but this one in Manchester, with the Manchester ataxia group, which has recently been formed. Both Andy and I have been involved with the group and when it was suggested I should write a piece about myself and my writing, I took them up on it. So several weeks ago, Andy read out ‘All By Myself’ in which I took the opportunity to promote The Ziggy Collection, which I feel has been sadly overlooked for some reason. Andy has been working on final adjustments, getting it all right for the computer, and now the complete package looks both beautiful and professional… just about paperback book size. Andy and I were both delighted at the enthusiastic reception and we sold quite a few copies. So successful was our Ziggy talk that we intend to take it round the area to other Ziggy groups.

THE WRITER ON WHEELS

I feel like I’m treading an extremely fine line between being pigeonholed as a writer in Ziggy and simply using Ziggy as a means to an end. The ‘end’ being recognition as a writer. It makes me slightly nervous to get such an enthusiastic response from other Ziggy people, though it’s only natural they should sympathise with what I’m writing about. It’s been great to have people show an interest at last with my other novels, The Space Between and with RAW MEAT. I don’t want to take this talk to other Ziggy groups exclusively – So you can imagine my delight when my suggestion of taking the Ziggy talk to the Manchester Writers group was welcomed enthusiastically! I felt it was very important to keep pushing my writing to the forefront, as it should always be there and Ziggy in the background, where he belongs, while I can’t possibly and have no intention of ignoring Ziggy, he must always keep in his place. Somebody asked me recently what my feelings were towards Ziggy and I answered, “Absolutely nothing… he’s just a lump of metal, that’s all.” But maybe he’s a useful way of getting recognised…

FIRST LIGHT

Time for a complete change of subject, I think. I’ve recently been reading this old novel by Peter Ackroyd, which I was finding mildly interesting but certainly not riveting – which is quite surprising, as Mr Ackroyd’s writing usually absorbs me completely. Like most of his stuff, this novel concerns time; near the ancient settlement that is being excavated there is a strange burial mound, in which a wonderful secret inner chamber has been discovered. I keep getting the strangest feelings of déjà vu as I read; perhaps I have read this before!! It all sounds so familiar – but maybe that’s just the familiarity of the spine-tingling sensations I get when reading Ackroyd’s stuff. There’s a lovely moment when the main character, Mark, first ventures into the inner-chamber and finds two stone figures there – the whole atmosphere of ancient dust is wonderful – Mark brushes against one of the figures and apologises for disturbing the peace and silence of the tomb. Although I don’t think of this as one of Ackroyd’s best novels, it’s certainly worth a read, if only to get the excitement of an ancient culture still being present today.

PAGES FROM A DIARY IN GREECE

Another book which I was given for my birthday but haven’t got round to reading until last week was this account of his impressions of Greece by the one and only Ricketts. In fact this cloth bound 1930’s edition looked very much more exiting than it actually was… I’m sorry to say that this book wasn’t half as impressive as the gold writing on the front! Ricketts went to Greece in 1911 with Shannon, but he makes no mention of his partner at all which I found really frustrating because I want to know all about his private life - which not surprisingly, he didn’t choose to reveal. Actually, I should be pleased about this because it leaves the way open for me to fill in myself. None the less I hoped Pages from a Diary would give me just a few insights… but no. In fact I was much more impressed when I heard about another book by Ricketts… which I was rather intrigued to read as soon as I found out about it.

EXPENSIVE- AND CRAZY

For some reason, towards the end of his life Ricketts decided to write this work of fiction Beyond the Threshold, which as he explains, is a combination of real and imaginary conversations between such eminent people as angels, Schopenhauer, Wilde and Plato. It’s hardly surprising to me that Ricketts used a French pseudonym as many of the conversations have naughty undertones basically being about sex, particularly male homosexual sex! But I wonder why Ricketts tried to hide his identity when it was pretty obvious that he had a hand in it, as he openly declared himself to be the illustrator of the book. I had to go all the way to Leeds University library to look at the book, which I wasn’t allowed to remove - Ricketts only printed one hundred and fifty copies so it’s pretty rare, and as the book cost £750 on the internet, it’s a little beyond my means! Probably it was partly because it’s so rare that I found this book so absorbing - it’s just such a crazy concoction of things, all beautifully illustrated and bound. Almost worth paying the price!

ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN

Recently Andy and I went to see one of my favourite 80’s bands in Liverpool, Echo and the Bunnymen. It was the first gig that we’ve ever been to together - and Andy actually enjoyed it! He was particularly enthusiastic about a version they did of walk on the wild side by Lou Reed (Andy’s favourite musician) even though the Liverpool Arena was pretty big I was surprised when Andy told me that they had an entire orchestra on stage with them… it must have been a very small chamber orchestra, or else just really squishy! The band did a lot of their old stuff where they used a combination of strings and electric guitar etc.

JACKS DEBUT

I think I mentioned that Jack has been busy over the past few weeks rehearsing for his show Street Dreams, which is being put on by the Community Arts North West project in Manchester. We went to see this production last night which was a combination of music, acting and dance… it was very impressive seeing as the teenagers had written and performed everything themselves! Jack told me that he was on stage all the way through, and the band could be seen through the thin cloth screen, which they sat behind. Street Dreams seemed to be a concoction of different points of view from all the different minority groups - even including a girl in Ziggy, which was interesting! The best thing was that they weren’t trying to make an issue out of any particular thing - but just showing all the different sides together which was inspiring!

RED AND GOLD

These colours must be really hip this Christmas, well at least on my Advent calendar which took a lot of searching for! I wanted a good old-fashioned Advent calendar… not one of these modern tacky ones with chocolate behind every door. Ruth actually discovered a beautiful Christmas tree one, which was really aesthetic with the tree in different shades of red and decorated with gold bobbles. So far every picture is a beautiful, red, gold or black! Maybe it’s an Anarchist Advent calendar, if there is such a thing. With that, I’ll say Happy Christmas and see you next year.
RAW MATERIALS

After having such a long break from The Space Between I was a little worried about getting back to it… I thought I might have forgotten the details of where I was up to! But no… it all came back to me as soon as I started writing. None the less it was a great relief to get back to the novel; I didn’t want to put it off too long for fear that I would loose the initial drive altogether!! But I’ve had enough of writing little bitty short stories and stuff… it was unthinkable that I could leave The Space Between unfinished. I’ve been thinking about the third novel during time off, and I’ve decided to concentrate on Scots Antarctic adventures and I’m just not quite sure about actually getting the manuscript to the South Pole!!, Could be tricky…

But to concentrate for the moment on The Space Between is quite enough I think I’ve known ever since I began the end of the novel that I needed to spend some more time on Freddy’s and Jack’s relationship because this is going to be essential in order to make a real impact with what’s to come. That all makes it sound pretty intriguing, which might be a good thing. You’ll probably appreciate that more when it’s finished. Anyway, I don’t feel that I’ve developed the boy’s closeness and their dependence on each other particularly Jack’s dependence on Freddy. Ruth compared their relationship to that between brothers, so Jack would look up to Freddy for protection as one would with an older brother. The way things have worked so far, I thought I could tie in Jacks desire to return to Spitalfield rather nicely. I wanted to get across the simplicity and directness of how Jack looked at the situation; he can see no problems about what his Mum thinks or anything like that. On the other hand Freddy has all the confidence of five more years than Jack, and Jack stands and watches admirably as he makes instant decisions and stands back. There were the same old problems as well, with me not really knowing how two Edwardian teenagers would act or speak to each other... particularly two young boys. I’m sure that the world they grew up in was incredibly different to nowadays, so that I can’t very well rely on my own experience with my Jack. For a start the novel boys would have been much more aware of money and getting jobs, as this was absolutely essential in order to survive. Yet on the other hand Jack is an artist and Jack dreams of what he wants to follow. I didn’t want to loose this because I think it’s quite an essential part of his nature – he goes right against all Freddy’s hopes for success, which are much more practical and within reach. Despite the differences between the boys I wanted to bring out the closeness of their relationship without making it obviously homosexual at this point… but still it could obviously become so. I thought Jack could look after Freddy as an older brother, one he never had. More Raw Materials in the next issue of Raw Meat..

The Space Between.

The story so far…

The year is now 1902; Wilde has died in Paris, and his manuscript has disappeared along with him. Back in London, Gustav has lost the manuscript in his possession, meanwhile in Spitalfield; Jack has gone to visit Freddy in Spitalfield on his seventeenth birthday.

The following is an extract from Nicola's work-in-progress-trilogy.

I’m still expecting you in a year or two… when you’re old enough to get a job.” He grinned at the younger boy as he said this, rubbing his shoulder affectionately – but Jack pulled away, almost stamping his foot in frustration.

“ But I don’t want to keep on waiting!, why cant I get a job now? I want to come back to Spitalfield right now… I’m old enough to get a job. Georges said I was when I saw him last year… he said I could come with him on the ship to America.” Jacks face was turned to Freddy his eyes fixed on his friends; his eyes pleading with him.

Freddy gazed at Jack for a long moment, sighing; eventually he laid the drawing down on the arm of the sofa and sat down carefully. “ It’s not as easy as that I’m afraid, Jack.” He was pulling at a thread of cotton from the elbow of his shirt as he spoke, measuring each word by the movement of his hand. “ Do you remember I was talking to your ma at Christmas when I saw you? She was saying that she wanted you to stay at school for another year, and I don’t want to upset her. If she wants you to stay in Kensington then that’s how it’s got to be. Don’t worry - it’s not long!”

Jack turned away, tears springing to his eyes.

“But why? Why must I stay at that stupid school when I’m quite able to become a sailor with Georges now? I don’t like that school… I don’t like Kensington, I just want to come back, come back here and live with you. I want to come back.”

Freddy gazed at Jack thoughtfully for a long time. Finally he got to his feet once again and hugged Jack tightly. The complete movement of the embrace seemed to overwhelm both the boys for a second and take their breaths away. When the moment had passed, Freddy stood back and didn’t look at Jack, but only cleared his throat very softly.

“ I’m very sorry, Jack… I can see how frustrating it must be for you. But I think you should be patient. What exactly did Georges say to you last time, anyway? Did he come round to Kensington to see you?”

Jack nodded, still thinking about the closeness of their embrace. The memory of it seemed to calm him.

“ Last time Georges came to see me he told me he’d speak to the Captain of the ship and see if he could take me with him. That was last year… I haven’t seen him since then.”

The good-natured expression of the elder boy broke easily into a triumphant grin, and he reached out toward Jack and took his hand.

“ Well then, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Lets go round to Angel Alley and see Georges now… we can ask him what he thinks. Come on lets go!” Another extract from The Space Between will appear in RM#100

URBAN

SCRAWL

Welcome to Andy's bit...

CONCERT WHAT?

I just read Nic's editorial, where she said I'd never been to a concert with her before last weeks Echo and the Bunnymen gig in Liverpool, What about Misty's at the Manchester Academy and that other gig we went to at the Night & Day Cafe in the Nothern Quarter? And didn't we go to a few concerts at Womad a couple of years ago and that Peter Gabriel do? What about the thingy at the MEN Arena in Manchester and that fantastic Vivaldi concerto at The Royal Northern College of Music... need I go on?

CRIMBO

Well it's nearly Christmas and I did say that I was going to finish tiling the kitchen floor and re-plaster Nicola's sitting room and decorate and carpet it etc, etc. But, as ever, things come up to prevent me from getting stuck into the building work. I mean it when I promise her that I'll do it but every time something happens. Anyway, I checked the calendar a few minutes ago and I have about six clear days... so maybe, fingers crossed, I might just...

PUBLISHING

One of the things I love to do is to create things out of nothing. I write a few poems out of the top of my head, type them up onto the computer, print them out in 'landscape' staple the pages together and you've got a little chap style booklet. Take them down the pub, read a couple of poems and sell the copies for beer money - simple! So recently, when I've been preparing some of Nicola's work for publication, proof reading, reformatting, printing covers, guillotining paper etc. I was in my element - I can see a little publishing empire on the horizon, don't wake me up.

MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN RM#100!!!

We wish all our readers a very

Happy Christmas!

And a brilliant New Year!

We'll see you all again for the

One hundreth issue...

Nic, Andy and Jack.

November 2008 Issue 98

2008-11-08T19:48:00.022Z

Nicola's Editorial. www.rawprintz.blogspot.com
NOVEMBER BLUES
The year is wearing thin... only two more issues left until the big 100! And what will be inside that issue? A paper hat? A toy whistle? Or absolutely nothing?? A surprise gift, I suppose. But back to November, here and now. I once read somewhere that more people commit suicide during this month than at any other time of year. I can fully believe it, I've always found November to be particularly depressing and bleak... to far away from Christmas to feel excited, yet just near enough to feel really wintery and cold.
THE NEW PRESIDENT
I'm now going to do something that I never usually do... talk about politics. The new President of America is black... so what? Why is everyone making such a fuss about the colour of the blokes skin, if we're meant to be so progressive and enlightened? Of course it's high time that coloured people were placed in positions of power, and I welcome this wonderfully named President - he has to be an improvement on George Bush surely? But I do wish that people could just be accepted as people, and not as black or white or a Ziggy person etc.
IN ZIGGY
I suppose the same amount of fuss will happen when a new President is finally elected who is in Ziggy... if that ever happens during my lifetime - which I doubt. I suspect that when someone in Ziggy does become President, the big welcome that everyone gives him/her will be tainted with self congratulations for everyone wants to be known, to be recognised as a right on person. Back to the new President... the most remarkable thing about him to me, is his name Barack Obama! When first I heard it, I thought this was the name of the shattered angel in Dark Materials Philip Pullman's trilogy... But it's a little different.
ZIGGY MEETING - 'ME AND MY WRITING'
Still talking about Ziggy - soon we'll be going to the next meeting of the Ziggy group aka Manchester Ataxia. I've been allocated a slot during this meeting in which I'm going to put Andy to good use and get him to read the piece which I haven't yet written, called Me and my writing! Although I've got plenty to say on the subject which doesn't involve Ziggy. This will be a great opportunity to promote The Ziggy Collection!
THE COMPLETE ZIGGY COLLECTION
Andy has been working on the collection trying to sort out the various computer problems of transferring it to CD ROM and hopefully we will have it ready in time. I hope that several members will be interested in the collection... and of course anybody else who reads this, please remember that The Ziggy Collection is now available on CD ROM with the cover illustrated by my Dad, C J Batty and an extra story Second Sight written specially for this collection which itself has been renamed The Complete Ziggy Collection. The CD ROM is advertised in the Raw Mart section of this Newsletter.
MYSTERY MAN
Thinking about the website brings me onto a rather interesting comment left by a mysterious 'Danny' who's actually a bit of a mystery man 'cos Andy can't get through on the phone number he left. So Danny... we'll be glad to send you a printed copy of Raw Meat if you send us your street address! Please could you e-mail me and do so?
LATEST RESEARCH
I think I mentioned in the last Newsletter that I've been involved with some up to the minute research with the Audiology department at Manchester Royal Infirmary. Well... it seems this research is an ongoing process and I'm having yet more tests measuring connections between my Brain and nerves... And the final test I had yesterday was a rather nasty one.
UNPLEASANT
I was rather anxious about this test which was to get readings between my eardrum and nerves which actually was done by jabbing a needle with a transmitter wire connected to it into my eardrum again and again. Not a pleasant experience in fact I told them to stop after only half one ear. This was actually pretty infuriating, I only later discovered that the test was vital in order to find out if I would be suitable material for a cochlear implant. Recent research has shown that some people with nervous system disorders like mine may benefit from a cochlear implant after all... despite my being told the opposite last year so... the Doctors said I could have the test done again under a general anesthetic which I might consider. There seemed to be a lot of questions left... Nothing definite yet but things could be promising...

FINAL SECTION
To finish off this issue it's essential to bring the subject back into the realms of fiction... too much reality is extremely bad for the health. After reading so much about Ricketts, I decided it was high time to return to reading a bit of fiction. I unearthed a novel by my old favorite Peter Ackroyd which I can't actually remember reading which seems incredible. I've had the book for twenty odd years it's called First Light, it has an amazing surreal cover which could be lots of things. Likewise the book so far is hinting at weirder things though at first it seems to be a quite straightforward story.
MY KIND OF STUFF!
Unlike most of Ackroyds stuff, it's set only during contemporary times; but the novel definitely points back to the prehistoric settlement which has been discovered. I'm waiting for the novel to become more complicated, interweaving different strands of peoples lives and perhaps involving a bit of ritual sacrifice around the standing stones etc. ... all my kind of stuff!

RAW MART
This is the section of
Raw Meat where you can
advertise your own publications.

THE complete ZIGGY COLLECTION!
Nicola Batty's collection of autobiographical short stories,
originally published in four slim volumes is
NOW AVAILABLE in CD ROM format.
Please e-mail Andy at properjoes@aol.com for further info.

THE BARKING THING
by
Suzanne Batty
clink-the-link-to-order

URBAN
SCRAWL!!
Welcome to
Andy's bit..
FORMATTING
First of all I must apologise for the formatting of the October issue of Nicola Batty's Newsletter. I just couldn't get it right. Whatever I tried to do the fonts kept changing. Nothing seemed to stay still for very long. Then, when I came to do my bit the whole thing went haywire! Everything I typed ended up in italics. In the end I gave up.
NEW START
Thankfully, things seem to have settled down this week and so far we've managed to get Nic's editorial down and a couple of bits for Raw Mart without any problem. I hope I haven't spoken too soon because I still need to import Raw Materials and Nicola's story. Anyway...
AUSTRALIA
Phew! Australia seems to be the 'in place' right now, Nic just received word from our friend and Shakespearean actor Nick Simons, who is currently in Melbourne. Nice one Nick! Also the research that Nic was talking about (in her bit about the Audiology department) was done in Australia too.
DIGITAL BOOK
Finally, don't forget that you can order a copy of Nicola's digital book The complete Ziggy Collection. This collection of autobiographical stories which was originally published in four slim volumes is NOW available in computer disk format, which means you can upload the complete collection plus a new story that Nicola has added for this publication. Wow! Don't miss out, we might never repeat this offer (only joking!).
MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL Andy in RM#99

RAW MATERIALS

I am staring dully out of the window at the leaden sky, watching the men load the last few remaining crates containing our precious objects into the back of the van. My hands grip the edges of the windowsill, for it causes me great pain to be present at their departure. The sky is darkening already even though the clocks have not yet struck five; a few bleak, half-hearted droplets of rain are blown against the window, the beautiful window it’s stained glass border still in tact. I wish that the tears would slide out down my withered and wrinkled cheek – but they refuse to do so, for I have always been proud of the fact that I never show my emotion. I rest my hand to my face and scratch my beard thoughtfully, still watching the van move along the Avenue lined with tall, stately houses. Suddenly, I turn away and gaze around the empty room. All the shelves are bare and there are conspicuous spaces on the walls where paintings once hung. There are only a few remaining crates left now; they are scattered in the far corner of the room; I gaze across at one of them, seeing the labels stuck onto the lids like a final inscription, ‘the property of C Shannon and C Ricketts.’ I look away numbly, for I cannot bear to see them go. Taking a few steps towards the fireplace, I wonder for a moment about making a fire and lighting it for the cold is beginning to seep through the bare floorboards and into my bones. But I stand there still, making no movement. I rubbed my gnarled old hands together, trying to entice the warmth to come back to my body and flow through my veins once more, the way it used to. These hands…, which had once created such exquisite designs! I think blankly of the massive portfolios I have just sold, which were filled with my costume designs, the jewellery designs, book illustrations. Where were they now? I stare into the empty crates feeling nothing. I am past all caring now.

You won’t believe this, but I’ve rewritten the last pieces of this bloody short story that has been giving me so much hassle… I didn’t really want to put the same piece in yet again because I thought you would be as sick as I am at the thought of reading more about Ricketts. But in the end I decided that it might not be such a bad idea, seeing as this piece is completely different from last time. I wanted to get that particular sadness about the end of Ricketts life, to capture his complete loneliness… separation from both Shannon and his beautiful collection. I tried writing the story as a play but it didn’t work…. I find stage so limiting, you can do so much more with a story. Involving different sounds and memories, juxtaposing them and generally farting about with the structure. So I went back to the short story yet again; but I was making it even more difficult for myself by reading Ricketts biography at the same time. As a result I came to discover different characters and things that I had to put in and change as I went along… which was tedious. My main worry about these this particular piece was that Ricketts – my ultimate my hero – appeared nothing but a dirty old man. Of course I didn’t want to do this at all… and yet I wanted to involve his close relationship with the delectable young Sewed, as it was his final intimacy. He highlighted the complete loneliness of Rickets final days, when Shannon developed his hostility towards him, which I think must have been absolutely devastating for the poor chap. I think also that this partly explains Ricketts physical relationship with Henning.

You may well ask why I’m taking such pains with this short story… why I don’t just give up and go back to ‘The Space Between’, which is my novel. I ask myself exactly the same question... to tell you the truth I don’t really know why Ricketts is so important to me. I just feel that the tragic ending of his and Shannon’s life together makes wonderful fiction… maybe the reality was a bit too horrible, but the fiction is good. It is also the story, which is not generally known… it fits in well with the other short stories I want to collect about the lives of historical characters, which are not generally known. Thinking about Shannon’s brain damage, I was particularly fascinated by how this affected his and Ricketts relationship, especially as there was no exact information available. So I had to make a lot of it up though I don’t mind doing that at all! While Shannon could certainly identify some of his own paintings, and was able to hold a decent conversation about art with Ricketts, I wonder in fact how much they talked to each other in those last months? Ricketts biography says that in the end Shannon wouldn’t even speak to Ricketts so that he wasn’t so affected by Ricketts death. Even though Shannon lived on for another few years, there was nothing really left for him... where as nowadays he would be encouraged to draw and paint, then he wasn’t and so he had nothing.

I am still having occasional thoughts about getting back to ‘The Space Between’… but I’ve just got to get this Ricketts story right, I don’t know why its so important, but it is. ‘The Space Between’ will just have to wait.
Many thanks for sticking with us! Hope to see you all again for RM#99!

October 2008 Issue 97

2008-10-06T15:53:00.010+01:00

Nicola's Editorial..

CHANGES

I always seem to begin RAW MEAT by talking about either the weather or else apologising for the late arrival of my newsletter. Well, this time I’m going to open with the passing of time from one stage to the next. September seems to have been an entire month littered with changes… this is not just a personal observation. Another friend of mine has also remarked it on, with lots of things in her life changing completely. Such is the situation here… still, because wasn’t I saying in the last one that everything was unsettled? Even though the summer has now thrown in the towel for good, autumn hasn’t really brought anything more conclusive. Still, I’m in a state of transition, I’m passing through and changing. While I’m not complaining about being in this state it is rather difficult to actually settle to anything… hence the missing “Space Between” in RAW MATERIALS! I won’t offer any excuses for this because it’s just the way things are at the moment… and there is no harm in change, indeed it should be embraced like an old friend!

CHARLES RICKETTS

My friend Mr. Ricketts has been becoming more and more of a real figure as I’m continuing to wade through his biography. Our developing attachment reminds me very much of my relationship with Mr. Wilde; I can still remember vividly my first introduction to Mr. Wilde in Woolwich in the mid eighties, and from there I have never looked back. A similar thing has happened with Mr. Ricketts in that I want to read more and more about him, and for him to gain substance and solidity so that he is a tangible character, flesh and blood. Alongside his biography I am reading a play about him and Shannon, The Last Romantics by Michael Lewis MacLennan. I find the Ricketts in this play quite difficult to visualise because there is no mention of his red/ gold beard and hair, which first attracted my attention when they were described to me. That, and his restless character - he was a man who was continually in a state of change, shifting from one thing to the next.

THE EARLY TWENTEITH CENTURY

One of the most interesting things about Ricketts biography (besides the man himself) is the period in which it covers - the turn of the twentieth century. I’ve always thought it was such a shame that Mr. Wilde died just before one of the most exciting times of transition began. In historical terms it was a time far beyond the Victorian age, yet not quite totally modern - I’m thinking of things like cars, planes, telephones, and surgery. And then there were those horrendous scenes of carnage in the First World War, which seem to affect everyone in some way. I’ve wanted for a long time to set a novel against this time of transition… doubtless I will one day! I used to love the film The Railway Children and still remember it in great detail. This film seems to capture the feeling of the time perfectly - and I’d like to try to do the same in a book. Maybe one day I’ll write it…

THE GREAT UNSAID

But returning to my favourite man of the moment - that is, Ricketts - I think that one of the reasons that I’m so drawn to him as a character is because of all the things that are left out of his biography, rather than all the factual details about him. This is particularly true of his relationship with Shannon, most probably because nothing definite is known. These gaps need desperately to be filled by someone, anyone who’s got the nerve to do so! For this reason I really like biographies, they make me itch to write fiction filling in the gaps, the great unsaid. I was reading about a fictionalised life of Dickens told from the point of view of his wife, which sounds extremely interesting. There seems to be a movement in literature at the moment towards exactly what I am doing in The Space Between - that is mixing history and fiction. I hope it’s true because then publishers would be more open to my ideas!

CANADIAN PUBLISHERS

Talking of which, I’ve been thinking of trying Canadian publishers with The Space Between idea. I don’t know how much luck I will get, because Andy vaguely tells me Canadian publishers are more open and independent than main stream publishers, and also they seem to be more in touch with British culture (this may just be coincidence!). Typically of Andy though, he says vaguely that there are loads of these Canadian publishers… but fails to come up with any concrete evidence! Sigh…

TOUCHING FROM A DISTANCE

Now I promise not to say any more about Ricketts… I will turn instead to another book we have recently reached the end of. I still think one of the best things about this book by Debbie Curtis is maybe the title!! I don’t think much of Mrs. Curtis’s writing style, or the overall quality of it, which I’d hoped would give some insight into the suicide and mental state of her husband, and suggest some possible reasons for the lead singer of Joy Division deciding to opt out of life just as the band became successful. The relationship between Ian and Debbie Curtis unnerves me because it seems practically nonexistent, or at least Mrs Curtis doesn’t elaborate much on it. Perhaps this is just the way Ian was and so it’s not fair of me to criticize his wife, so I should stop. They were in fact only married a few years, so one can’t really expect them to know each other that well. Nonetheless, this was an interesting book in places, but a very frustrating read.

CHANGES: TWO

Moving all the way round in a full circle I’m going to finish this issue on the subject of changes… yet again! Finally we seem to have reached some sort of conclusion as regards to the new helper situation… I may be having not one, but two new helpers sharing part of the job. Which all sounds terribly complicated, but it’s not, honest!! Latest news on Andy’s brain is that it is still behaving itself, which is good. He went recently to hossie to get it scanned and checked, and despite all evidence to the contrary it is still there. The other boy - that is, Jack - also seems to have changed recently… he’s become much more obsessed by music, both listening to it and playing it at different events. He was telling me that he wanted to take English, Art and Music at A level but it’s turned out that he can’t do Art at A level with out having O level. This sounds to me pretty daft… why should creativity be stopped for any reason at all?? Somebody tell me.

RAW MATERIALS 97

Ever since August I seem to have found myself constantly distracted from writing by loads of other things… such is my excuse for not producing another piece of The Space Between this month. I fully intend to return to it as soon as possible, though. One of the reasons I’ve been distracted from it is that I’ve become so obsessed by Ricketts himself, so I suppose I could blame him, which is nice. He’s become so very real to me, much more so than merely a dead character on paper. I’m still in the process of wading through his hefty biography, which I’m finding totally absorbing. Alongside his design work, painting, making jewellery, sculpture (he was a busy chap) the biography also gives me more of an impression of his life with Shannon and his cats and squirrel. But one of the most interesting things about this book is what it leaves unsaid, or simply skips over without going into much detail, which leaves the way open for me to fill in the gaps, particularly where they relate to characters which are mentioned only briefly. For instance, Shannon’s relationship with Kathleen Bruce is mentioned only very briefly as there seem to be no real facts behind it. I’m quite happy with this situation, because I’m not dealing with facts, but with my own interpretation of them. The biography also seems extremely careful about the relationship between Ricketts and Shannon – but the conclusion seems to be that Ricketts was gay through and through (whatever that means). So I suppose my own conception of his relationship with Harriet has been blown… but I don’t think you can say that at all, you never know what happened so many years ago, do you? I still think that Ricketts was a man of intense passion and he must have needed some outlet…

Ricketts has also been distracting me from The Space Between in a slightly more creative way. I told readers of the story about Shannon’s fall (from grace maybe) late in his life, which resulted in brain damage, and I decided to begin the short story that I’ve had in mind for ages. I wanted to try and get across how devastating a blow this must have been for Ricketts… to have his life long companion suddenly altered. It must have seemed to frightening for both of them, especially when Shannon was unable to recognise his own paintings, it must have been like that whole part of his life had never existed. The title of this story comes from one of Ricketts’s letters, I think, when he talks matter-of-factly about the length of time Shannon was unconscious for. This seemed typical of the way Ricketts thought and wrote about himself, and how he dealt with the situation of Shannon’s brain damage. It’s interesting to notice that he never elaborated much on his feelings, but tended to stick to practical matters, such as what Shannon could and couldn’t do for himself. Which is fine because it left the way open to do my own elaboration. I was tempted to write this story as an undiscovered extract from a diary or something, but that’s been done so often and I just can’t imagine a chap like Ricketts confessing things to a diary. So I’ve left bits of the story - like the one you’ll read here – a bit diary like but other bits which are more objective. I’m not sure if the mixture of these two styles will work or not… but time will tell.

I intend to begin work on chapter 2 of The Space Between as soon as possible. As well as being distracted by Ricketts, I’ve also been distracted by Kathleen Scott and thoughts about her husband and his Antarctic expedition… I don’t want to elaborate too much at this point, because these ideas are still pretty vague. Though it seems to me to be too much of a coincidence about Mrs Scott having had a fling with Shannon… and I feel this link needs to be developed. For so long, for so many years, I’ve been so obsessed by Cherry Gerrard and the other members of Scott’s Antarctic team, who battle through blizzards and suchlike… how wonderful if I could bring all this into the final book of the trilogy! This will need quite a bit of thought, I don’t need to say… but hopefully will bear fruit someday.

FOUR DAYS AND FOUR NIGHTS

This is an extract from Nicola’s short story.

“Look at these pictures, Charles. Do you recognise them? They’re all your own work… you do recognise them, don’t you?”

I glance away quickly, aware of the note of desperation creeping into my voice. Although my hand is shaking, I grasp the edge of the paper and turn over the page of the photograph album with effort, feeling the weight of it as a welcome sensation against the ease of the movement. It seems like a contradiction, a continual struggle of wills. I’ve always been like that; restlessly struggling. I lick my lips nervously and turn my face slightly away from the window so that the light, which is streaming thru, catches at the glints of fire in my hair and my beard. The auburn tints are still there, nostalgic now, almost faded completely to a sort of dull coppery grey. I am an old man now, and I suppose you’re an old man too. My hand trembles at the page, and I can’t tell whether it’s from nerves or memories. I can hear my own breaths as they move from between my lips; I try and control my voice, to force the words into coherent order, not rising or falling too sharply, level and controlled.

“You must recognise this one… it’s you standing in our bedroom at The Vale, don’t you remember? Many years ago, I know… perhaps you have forgotten.”

I dare to raise my eyes and glance briefly into your set expression. As always you show nothing, give nothing away, but your clear blue eyes are as clear and bright as they always were, even though they are now touched by age. You gaze blankly at the photographs, nodding your blond head very slightly in acknowledgment. Slowly you take a deep breath and turn your eyes to me.

“I don’t recognise any of the paintings…except this one. This still life… these flowers.” You move your hands carefully across the page and point; your hands are as beautiful as ever, the hands of an artist with long, finely sculpted fingers. “It was on our bedroom wall at The Vale, you say? Yes, I remember all that. I remember painting the flowers from the garden…red and white roses… I sat in the garden and painted them from life like a true pre-Raphaelite. That was many years ago, wasn’t it Charles?”

I look away from you and I can feel the tears prickling against the backs of my eyes. I lay my hands very gently over your face, sealing the promise within, sealing the memories.

“Yes… many years ago,” I whisper, in a voice squeezed tight like a thread.

Standing up quickly, I snap the album shut and throw it down on the coffee table. I surprise myself by the violence of the movement… sometimes I hardly recognise myself. The grandfather clock at the far end of the room chimes dully eleven times and you glance at it quickly, as if you’ve never heard the sound before. I clear my throat very softly, loosening my tie around my neck – I feel as if I’m being choked.

“Over forty years ago. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you’d forgotten it… and yet we made so many plans there, that’s where it all started. The Vale, Chelsea.”

Striding over to the window, I stare out over the rooftops of Holland Park - they all seem so very respectable and polished and that the gleam of their gutters chokes me still further. A boy on a bicycle trundles past, sailing along the wide avenue lined with trees, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. I watch him go, aware of a nervous tick pulling the left corner of my eye downwards. I can’t breathe here, although this is my home… and has been for thirty years. I feel a movement behind me and turn to see that you have stood up and are going over to retrieve the old photograph album. You still move with the easy grace of a dancer, even though your blond hair is now mottled with grey. My smile is gentle, filled with affection. The artist’s eye wanders over the images.

“Yes,” you say gently, nodding very slowly, as if to confirm the truth of your words. “I remember the flowers, just the flowers…”

URBAN SCRAWL!!

Welcome to Andy's bit..

I think I'm going to sign off for this issue, at least for now because blogger is playing up. It will only let me write in italics and in a certain font and style. I'll come back later and try to remedy this. Andy

I'm back but it's still gone crazy!

more next time...

September 2008 Issue 96

2008-09-09T00:49:00.010+01:00

Nicola's Editorial..

IT’S AUTUMN ALREADY

It seems ridiculous to feel the chill edge to the air even though it’s only just turned September! Even while we were on holiday camping in Norfolk the sun only shone intermittently, and it was too cold for me to even contemplate going in the outdoor pool… which was frustrating because Andy was quite keen believe it or not!! Although I love the autumn and welcome the change in the seasons, I do feel that this summer was a great disappointment - I’m hoping at the moment that Andy and I are actually going to fly somewhere suitably warm such as southern Italy or Greece. But at the same time I know Andy far to well to bank on that…

UNSETTLED TIME

Everything seems to be changing at the moment - not just the seasons. Ruth’s left and so Brigitte is now helping write this; though I’m still seeing Ruth sometimes as she’s been helping out with some reading. More about that later! What with Jack just going back to school today at the end of the week, it’s very difficult for anyone to feel settled. Andy’s promised lots of changes and improvements around the house… but I’m not confidant about anything at the moment, though hopefully this will pass as things begin to get sorted out.

RICKETT’S

Central library have been finding me some interesting Rickett’s books, including a rare biography, which I borrowed for a few weeks. The library also have encouraged my interest in Rickett’s by showing me an actual Vale Press book… although this was a very plain edition of Shelley’s poems it smelt so old, it was wonderful to touch. It was from 1901… imagine all those years which have ticked by since it was made! The library also lent me a book by Rickett’s, which was a sort of collection of bits of letters to the likes of William Morris, and also fragments from Ricketts’ diary. It is so incredible to read his own actual words - especially when he says things like “ Did some painting this morning and then called round to the Ballentyne Press for the last time…”. Every word I read about him gives me a fuller idea of his character… he’s definitely one of those people I want to meet in the after life!!

SHANNON’S FALL

While I’m going on about Rickett’s, I must just elaborate on my idea for a short story which I’ve had in my head for months but have put aside because I didn’t want to get distracted from “The Space Between”. Now, however, I think that the story will actually materialize because I simply can’t keep it in my head a moment longer. I keep reading little details about Rickett’s character and relationship with Shannon which intrigue me… I want to fill in that gap left in biographies. I think I already mentioned Shannon’s dramatic fall whilst hanging a picture later in his life, which resulted in brain damage. Although he lived on for another ten years and was physically ok he was only able to recognise a few of his old paintings. That situation must have been terrible for both he and Rickett’s… it just had to be written about! The short story will be the first of my collection about the lives of historical characters, which I’ve had in my head for several years. I already have a completed short story about Swinburne and another in my head about Lizzie Siddal… so this tale of Rickett’s and Shannon should fit in the collection quite nicely.

BIOGRAPHIES

There is something intriguing about a biography - it always leaves gaps, spaces which are crying out to be filled by the imagination. I remember first being captured by Wilde in this way - by reading about the 1890’s generally, and wanting at once to know more about the great man. How ever many facts a biography may give there’s always something more to be learnt which the biography leaves out; for this reason I love reading them because I always want to fill in the gaps left. Details of characters lives are not an end in themselves, but just a springboard for the imagination… I’m using Wilde’s own words here as I think we were talking about the same thing. Wilde was actually talking about Wainwright in his essay “Pen, Pencil and Poison” - but the meaning behind his version is the same.

MADEIRA

To change the subject from Wilde, both Andy and I have been for some time talking about going away this month - really “away”, abroad, Andy’s promised... But the question is where? We both want to go somewhere different, somewhere we’ve never been before… it has to be an island, somewhere warm and quiet. I was thinking of Capri or Malta… but then I thought of Madeira. I remember reading in Scott’s journals that he stopped there on the way to the South Pole… I was quite taken by the image in my head of the members of Scott’s Antarctic team in the early twentieth century equivalents of Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses, basking on the decks of the ship! Anyway this promised exotic holiday will remain a dream for now.

PENTNEY PARK

The reality of this summer’s holiday was a little less exiting than Madeira… I only went for a few days camping in Norfolk, as I have already said. Although the campsite was perfectly ok for Ziggy, it wasn’t particularly exiting. The best thing about that holiday was the fact that Jack was there, actually willingly spending time with the family!! The most memorable trip we made there was to Bury St Edmund's which had been recommended for some reason, by Sally - my friend who lives in Norfolk, though I couldn’t work out why. But when we arrived there and visited the cathedral with it’s beautiful stained glass windows, and then went to the ruined Abby in it’s gardens which smelt strongly of the sea because the Abby building was made of sea stone, it was easy to see why Sally had liked it so much. Like me, she is a great lover of history… and so this was definitely the most memorable experience of the holiday for me.

GREEN FAIR

A few days after we returned from Norfolk we were off again, though not camping this time - we just stayed near Sheila’s house in Surrey. For August bank holiday we went to the green fair where Sheila had two stalls, one of them selling pizzas and the other selling circus things like juggling balls. There were quite a few crazy stalls - we managed to get hold of some citrus fruit marmalade and also some ginger wine. Andy spent a long time talking to a green stall owner about Ziggy bikes.

ZIGGY BIKES

Andy’s very into Ziggy bikes at the moment… I hope all his ideas actually come to something, because a bike, which could carry Ziggy, and me, sounds like a wonderful idea. It would also be a great way of transporting us to our allotment, which we’ve put our names down for. Both Andy and I are very into growing our own vegetables and potatoes… Andy also has been going on about building his own poly tunnel for quite some time, though I don’t know if this will ever materialize. Rather like the holiday really…

OLD FACES

One of the most amazing things that happened at the green fair was that I met up with my friend Christine’s two daughters, who I haven’t seen for twenty odd years!! It feels totally strange to me to try and visualise people after such a gap… to me Yolanda and Chloe are still little school girls of about eight and will remain so all their life! How ever many descriptions Andy and Christine gave me of the girls I still couldn’t get any image of them now as good looking young women. I suppose this is one of the more positive things about loosing my sight… people have become frozen in time, years pass and age never touches them. Perhaps in Andy’s case this may not be such a bad thing!

RAW MATERIALS 96

For quite some time I’ve been aware that as I approach the end of chapter one I was going to introduce a totally new character. It seemed the right place to do this as I’ve already introduced Gustav and the Pissaro’s and so I had no qualms about bringing in someone else. In my research about the relationship between Shannon and Ricketts, on a gay website, I came across a rather interesting piece which suggested that whereas Ricketts was gay, Shannon was bisexual as he had some sort of relationship with a woman named Kathleen in the early years of the twentieth century. It seemed from Rickett’s diary that he was anxious about Shannon getting married and although this was not definitely to Kathleen I thought… hey, I can use this in my novel. So I had actually decided to use Kathleen before I stumbled across an amazing coincidence concerning her later marriage to a certain Captain Scott… who we all know from my Antarctic obsession. At first I couldn’t believe this incredible coincidence, ever since reading Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights, I’ve longed to use this as a backdrop in my trilogy at some point, but it had always seemed impossible to make it fit in credibly. Now here was my chance… I’m not absolutely certain how it’s going to work out but I’m quite certain that it will. I wanted to make the last part of the trilogy mostly a work of fiction; I don’t want it to be unbelievable at all but just to step away from the know facts into the realms of fiction with confidence. I’m sure by then I should be able to pull this off.

I wanted to put Kathleen in “The Space Between” as soon as I discovered that she was an artist herself – actually a sculptress, and also Shannon’s model for a few portraits. I was quite intrigued to know more about her and so I got myself a biography – but I’m now reluctant to read it before finishing my novel. I don’t want to get bogged down by little facts like the exact place she lived but at the same time I don’t want to make any obvious contradictions. Maybe I’ll have to reach some sort of compromise… I hoped the biography would tell me more about her relationship with Shannon but I’m also quite prepared to fill in the gaps myself, so I may just end up using bits of the biography and ignore other bits that go against my fiction. I thought it was high time I spent a bit of time with Shannon, or at least give him more of a look-in than in “The Spark”. The triangle relationship was another intriguing one, for Kathleen was also good friends with Ricketts, though I imagine he was a little reserved with her – he obviously saw her as a bit of a threat. Her sister is actually totally fictional - though Kathleen had many brothers and sisters, something stupid like eleven I think – I thought it would be useful to make her married to an American, I’ve got no definite ideas about her husband yet, but I’m vaguely thinking of making a dedicated Wilde-follower.

Apart from Kathleen, I’ve been reading lots of stuff about Ricketts, including a sort of reconstruction of his life, including letters from the likes of William Morris… which is wonderful, taking me right back to the 1890s, where all my characters are alive and kicking. It’s great to read Ricketts’ actual words and get more idea of the way he thought and reacted to other people. I don’t know what it is I find so fascinating about the chap – I just wish I’d been born a hundred years ago!! In my research at central library they also showed me an actual Vale Press book which was quite a plain edition of Shelley’s poems – not at all elaborate or ornate as some of them were, but still it was a Vale Press book from 1901 – which I’m proud to say I actually touched. The library has also got hold of a Ricketts biography, which is something I’ve not been able to get before. This should be fascinating reading, though in a way it’s too late, too late for “The Spark” anyway.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

THE STORY SO FAR

As 1901 draws to a close, Wilde has been dead for almost a year. The whereabouts of his manuscript is unknown generally – it’s assumed to be in the Paris hotel where he died, though in fact it’s been brought back to London by Gustav, a friend of Wilde’s. Gustav is staying at the Pissaro’s in Chiswick. Nearby in Richmond, Ricketts and Shannon are still continuing their work on the Vale Press. This extract is set somewhere in the city, at the house of the Bruce family.

From CHAPTER 1 - 1901

Turning away from the window, Kathleen had already begun to wash her hands and clear away the used clay, when there was the sound of a commotion from the hallway below, which carried easily up the stairs. She looked up curiously as the door of her room was pushed open by a tall, stoutly-built woman with a broad grin and round face and stood there with her hands on her hips. Her eyes roamed all round the room carefully, interested.

“Hello Kathleen… I hope I’m not interrupting your work.” Kathleen began to untie her apron, throwing it casually on the table and turning away.

“No, no… that’s quite alright, I just finished. How was your meeting anyway?”

“It was very good – you should have come with me. There were quite a few old friends there I hadn’t seen for years… not since before I went to America. There was even Laura Hattersley there… I don’t know if you remember her? She remembers you, anyway… and she didn’t believe that I was married, though I’m not quite sure why. It’s not that surprising is it?”

Kathleen smiled faintly, collapsing down into the armchair at the back of her small room. Immediately beside her, the fire burned brightly, giving off warm waves of welcome heat.

“I only remember her very vaguely, so I can’t really say what she thinks. Perhaps she’s just simply surprised that you’ve married an American. Who knows?” She shrugged, smoothing down the flowered folds of her skirt. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her, Lottie, anyway.”

Taking several strides towards the fire, her sister stood before the flames for several moments, rubbing her hands and pinning back her hair so that it hung in very loose coils around her face. Sneaking a quick glance at Kathleen, Lottie went on chattering.

“You should have come cycling with me, Kathy… the meeting was over in Islington and it’s a lovely day for cycling – bright and cold. I’ve borrowed Timothy’s bike… at least I think it’s Timothy’s, I’m not sure. It was one of the servant s who lent it to me.”

“Perhaps they’d lend me one as well… I’ve never cycled, so I might fall off.” Kathleen nodded approvingly at Lottie’s red, embroidered bloomers. “But first I need to get something like you’re wearing… my skirts would never do.”

Lottie slapped herself on the thigh heartily, grinning all the time.

“Do you like them? I got these from a department store in New York… I can bring you some back next time I visit. I don’t know when that would be. Mark is so busy with his paper nowadays.” She paused and patted her belly ruefully. “And then, of course, there’s this one to think of…”

“Yes, of course… when’s it due?” Asked Kathleen, leaning back against the cushions and running her eye casually over the stout figure of her sister.

“June, I think,” replied Lottie with a slight shrug. She turned her back on the fire slowly, folding her hands behind her as she did so. “I’ll have to leave straight away after Christmas. But then, I suppose you’ll be leaving soon, yourself, won’t you?”

Kathleen smoothed her hair back with delicate fingers.

“That’s right, though I’m not quite certain exactly when the classes start… Easter perhaps.” She gripped the arm of the chair suddenly, grinning. “I’m so excited about it, Lottie… you can’t imagine.”

Lottie nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s a wonderful opportunity for you… my little sister, studying sculpture in Paris.” She looked up suddenly, turning round to face Kathleen with a finger held up before her like a lighted candle. “Which reminds me of something else Laura said about you, Kathleen. Someone that she’d seen you with… a man… perhaps an artist. She says she saw you at the national portrait gallery, several months ago.”
More of Nicola's work-in-progress-trilogy in October.
URBAN SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit..
LINKS
Here's a little link to a couple of poetry blogs. The first one is my brother Stan's blog, Elephant Small. We all knew that he was a bit of a writer, 'cos way back in 1991 he worked on my Doktir Nairobi publications, WN Funzine and Space Travel for Beginners. But what we didn't know was that he would go on to write a couple of novels (so far) and surprise surprise he is now the web author of his very own prolific poetry blog. Elephant Small.
LINK 2
The second link came as a bit of a surprise too. Steve Taylor, who we know from the South Manchester Writers group, who is generally a serious writer of educational and very imformative books like Making Time, (his latest). And my favorite The Fall. Informed us this week by e-mail that he had posted some poetry on his website. You-can-clink-the-link-HERE.
LINK 3
The third link is to my sisters video, Kim has been seen many times on tv in adverts and in the newspapers as a prolific competition winner over the years. She is also a mystery shopper, so if you see her coming into your store be sure to give her good service. Anyway, her latest adventure was a day out at Tatton Park in leafy Cheshire a dozen miles or more away from this keyboard. She took her grandkids and their mother and her son Andy and a camera crew from a local Manchester television station Chanel M. Unfortunately, I couldn't make the link work here but you may be able to view it by clinking-this-link to Chanel M and then clicking on "fun for the family" and then Aug 1st. 2008 and it's the Tatton Park video.
More from Urban Scrawl Andy in RM#97
DON'T
YOU
KNOW!
It's two years now since we started posting Raw Meat to the www. The first issue we posted was in September 2006 and just for the record, Raw Meat became a totally Online publication from January 2007. We have been publishing this Newsletter since 1999 every month apart from while Nicola was doing her MA at Manchester University, when it was produced every two months.
Hope you've enjoyed reading this!

August 2008 Issue 95

2008-08-07T23:37:00.004+01:00

Nicola's Editorial..
ABSENCE…

Unbelievable though this may sound, at the moment I’m actually feeling the absence of both Jack and Andy who have gone away to a farm in Wiltshire for a week, along with lots of other kids and adults – some of the kids being Chinese and not speaking English! The jaunt has been organised by Sheila, so she’s taking along her Chinese husband to act as interpreter. I don’t know exactly what activities the week involves for the kids, some adults were needed also to help supervise. The whole thing sounds pretty amazing, and I must admit to feeling a bit left out of the action. Where as I had been greatly looking forward to a week by myself, it’s actually so long since I’ve been the only one here. It’s not an altogether pleasant feeling but I don’t suppose it will take long for us to get on each other’s nerves again when they return!!

SAYING GOOD-BYE

Two more departures, which are due imminently, are on the cards… my friend Kirsty will be emigrating to New Zealand sometime this month. I’ll miss her, simply because she’s been such a good friend for many years. Although of course we’ll keep in touch, it’s extremely dubious whether we’ll actually be able to meet up in New Zealand! The other friend is Ruth, my trusty helper. She’s going to try a change of career – tree surgery or park rangering are two ideas, which I hope work out! I’d like to dedicate this issue to both of these not-quite-absent friends and wish them luck in the future!

CRAZY ANIMALS

I’ve just come back from a weekend spent at my mum’s in the Cheshire countryside with Brigitte, my weekend helper. It’s lovely to be out in the open countryside during the summer… we strolled around amongst the fields and then got an ice-cream from the cool ice-cream farm. Also we visited Stapely Water Gardens, which is like a massive greenhouse filled with tropical plants and flowers, and of course there are lots of crazy creatures there, such as piranhas, giant turtles, ta tarantulas, different frogs, snakes etc etc. The poisonous creatures are kept in tanks, I might add!! The best animals for me were the meerkats. I only had to remember how crazy these animals looked when they stood up on their back legs, to make myself laugh aloud! The meerkats were a new addition to Stapely… they were situated near the reptiles for some reason. I suspected that an anarchist was in charge, because all the various animals seemed to be mixed up without any apparent reason, which was actually quite nice!

OUT AND ABOUT

I’m enjoying the summer sunshine – when it appears – as always, it’s lovely being outside when it’s so warm. We’ve just booked a week’s camping in Norfolk near to my friend Sally’s, so I’m doubly looking forward to this jaunt. Andy shares my enthusiasm for this little holiday, even though it means he has to go through all the camping stuff to make sure it’s still intact. Jack’s also coming with a friend… it’s a rare thing nowadays to get the whole family together willingly. Hopefully the weather will improve and settle down a little by then.

CELESTIAL FIREWORKS

It’s actually raining at the moment, which is pretty bloody typical of an English summer. But talking about meteorological conditions reminds me of The Day of the Triffids, which Ruth and I have just come to the end of. I thought this was a brilliant book in some ways… the idea of the celestial fireworks was the most dramatic and memorable thing in the book, rather than the man-eating plants, which seemed a bit far-fetched and even silly. Anyway, this is doubtless my own problem but I just found the triffids funny – in fact I kept sniggering, which was very off-putting for Ruth I guess. The idea of everyone waking up blinded by watching these celestial fireworks is a really scary one… especially because the book was written only a few years following the Hiroshima bomb. I remember at school watching War Games and being scared absolutely shitless by it… I had nightmares following it, although I can’t remember exactly what it was now – a sort of drama and documentary combined, I think. It showed some of the effects of the atomic bomb being dropped. The scene I particularly remember showed some kids playing in a back garden when the bomb fell, and they were all rubbing their eyes and crying. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget something like that. Anyway, back to The Day of the Triffids which was pretty amazing, as a novel. We are yet to watch the film but I hope I don’t find it too silly!

THE FORGERY

After The Day of the Triffids we had to find something short to read that we can finish before Ruth’s departure… “How about a short story by Wilde?” Ruth suggested. The Portrait of Mr WH was the obvious choice… I’ve read it all the way through for my dissertation, years ago but thought that rereading it would be interesting, especially after writing The Space Between, or part of it anyway. we’re reading the extended version which has recently been published with Peter Ackroyd’s wonderful introduction… it was in fact this introduction that made me want to write The Space Between rather than the short story itself. The cover emphasizes the main theme of the story – having a finger print over the portrait of Willie Hughes. Wilde notoriously thought that if you believed something strongly enough, you could make it exist, thus religions exist. I don’t quite know how he fitted this in with his own death-bed conversion to Catholicism, but there you go. I strongly suspect that his conversion was simply brought on by the fear and confusion of his last days. I believe he actually became delirious towards the end in fact, so I don’t think any sudden dealings with religion can be taken seriously.

ZIGGY MEETING

But that’s quite enough of Wilde! A word before I go about the recent first meeting of the Manchester branch of the Ataxia group that I attended recently. There were about fifteen people there – I was amazed to find out that only three of them were in Ziggy, and only one other person had Friedreich’s ataxia, the others all having Cerebellar ataxia or being helpers or relatives. I wish that I’d been able to speak to the other woman, by amazing coincidence she was called Suzanne and also has a teenager. Doubtless I’ll see her again at the next meeting. The meeting involved allocating different jobs… my hopes of getting to be editor of the newsletter were thwarted by a twelve-year-old boy who was very keen. One of the most interesting subjects brought up was the existence of two ataxia clinics, one in London and one in Sheffield. I think I will visit this clinic which has a team of experts on hand… it’s useful because not many medical people have ever heard of ataxia, or anyway, they don’t know much about it. So I rather think that a trip to Sheffield might offer some useful alternative advice from experts!

Despite being somewhat distracted by the summer heat and enjoying lazy days spent basking in the sun, The Space Between is continuing to develop at a cracking pace. I can see it just beginning to take shape as a novel; at first I was worried because it seemed to be so top heavy… there’s a lot of historical things happening in the first few years, but then there’s sort of a blank space which needs to filled somehow! But as I’m beginning to feel more at home with the characters - particularly the new characters such as Gustave - I’m gaining sufficient confidence to let them grow in their own ways. Also little stories are just budding, which is nice to watch from a distance… although I’m not really watching from a distance, I’m writing the damn thing!
Gustave is on my mind at the moment because I’ve been having lots of different ideas which don’t seem to have worked so they are just thoughts… I couldn’t decide whether Gustave was going to be a really shady character or not, because this didn’t seem to fit in with his anarchism. I felt that I had to be very careful here… because anarchism has such a bad name anyway! I wanted to blow these ideas of anarchism meaning violence to pieces once and for all, and to show it meaning simply an alternative way of life, both peaceful and quite possible. And so if I want Gustave to be a real anarchist, it wouldn’t follow at all to make him steal or be corrupt in any way. I was rather stuck with this extract… how could I make Gustave want to get rid of the manuscript without wanting to make money out of it? Andy reminded me that in those days, Wilde’s manuscript wouldn’t have been worth anything much anyway. So… I thought and thought… but it wasn’t disastrous at all, because it gave me space to develop the Gustave/Suzanne relationship. Also it would lay down several new variations for Gustave to take later on. I’m particularly taken with the idea of having Gustave smoke opium… though whether or not this will come up is another matter! We shall see.

I also want to develop the relationship between Gustave and Esther Pissaro, which I don’t want to make definatly a romantic/ sexual one yet something more than a friendship. I at the same time I have to remember they are both anarchists so there would be no cheating or lying involved to her husband. It's got to be an interesting triangle; obviously it's not always going to be all easy going between the three of them, plenty of spikes and misunderstandings… but basically a shared house of trust.

The piece I’ve just finished writing and did originally intend to include here is with Jack and Georges, where Georges gives Jack back the drawing from Little Red Riding Hood which he borrowed some years ago. Though it was nice it was important to spend time with both of them and to show their closeness which will become necessary later in the novel - I think it’s not so important as it’s maybe being over taken now by other things… and so you will have to wait until the novel is published!

I wanted to spend more time with Jack than I have done in The Spark; it’s necessary for what’s going to happen that his character should be developed.
More Raw Materials in RM#96

THE SPACE BETWEEN
(C) Copyright Nicola Batty 2008

THE STORY SO FAR

The year is now 1901; following Wilde’s death in Paris, the whereabouts of the manuscript appears to be unknown. Both Ricketts and Ross are anxious to trace the missing manuscript, which they want to publish at the Vale Press. It seems that Gustave - who has come over from Paris to London recently and is now living in Whitechapel – knows something about the manuscript but will not elaborate. The following extract takes place in the Old House, which belongs to Lucien and Esther Pissarro – Gustave has taken a room there in exchange for doing some building work.

CHAPTER 1 – 1901

Heaving a great sigh, Gustave glanced at his companion, making sure she was involved in the scene he described. Although Esther’s face was in shadow, the gentle firelight caught the deep green glints of her eyes, in such a way that Gustave knew that she understood him perfectly.

“My friend was dying, you see… so it was very important that we should share these things, this great spirit, at this time. I’ll never forget him, or the things he said.”

He fell silent and gazed into the fire. Esther watched the firelight throwing moving shadows over Gustave’s face, accentuating the fine chiseling of his cheekbones and the strangely shifting colour of his eyes, which sometimes seemed to have a definite dark blue about them, sometimes a green, but then again, sometimes neither, something completely undefined. Leaning forward, Esther laid her hand tentatively on her companion’s arm and spoke hesitantly, as if afraid to bring Gustave back from Paris.

“Tell me Gustave, who was he, this great friend who left such an impression on you? What was his name?”

For a while Gustave made no reply; then he smiled very slightly, as if holding the great man’s hand once again. He shook his head as if to awaken himself from his trance and leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the fire.

“The name I knew my friend by in those days was Mr Wilde, Esther,” he answered smoothly. “For I was quite a different person in those days if you understand my meaning. Mr Wilde was also staying at my father’s hotel and that’s where we met and that’s also where he died. I shared his last days with him, I’ll never forget Mr Wilde.”

“Do… do you mean… Oscar Wilde, Gustave?” asked Esther. Gustave nodded. Her face was alight with recognition and remembrance at once, and she laughed aloud in delight. “Then I know exactly what you mean. I met Oscar several times… mostly with Lucien, though sometimes by myself. You’re right, he was a very great man who will never die in a way.”

“Somehow that comes as no great surprise to me, Esther… that you knew him.” Esther’s smile was ambiguous, hinting at a touch of regret within it. “I still remember many things that he said, and indeed I still have something that he gave to me, a manuscript…” His eyes were drawn towards the tea chest that Esther sat on. Standing quickly, he moved towards her and pulled her to her feet, suddenly. “If you will excuse me a minute… you are sitting on the Parisian chest.”

Esther watched the Frenchman open the tea chest and rummage amongst its contents. Finally he drew out a manuscript, held together with stiff brown card; getting to his feet slowly, he turned to Esther and offered it to her, wanting her to take it, as if it were nothing but a heavy burden to him. Esther took the manuscript reluctantly, glancing at him.

“I’m not sure you should have this, Gustave. Are you sure Oscar gave it to you?”

“Yes,” he replied sharply, turning away and staring moodily into the fire. Beside him, Esther turned the pages of the manuscript carefully, her eyes roaming over Wilde’s small, neat writing. “Well… I’m not certain that Mr Wilde intended me to take the manuscript away with me, for that was my own decision. I wanted to keep something to myself, a part of him, something to remember him by, I suppose. At first I wanted to keep this… but now I don’t. I don’t want anything to do with it. It’s not mine. I shouldn't have it at all. I was a different person entirely when he first showed me this manuscript in Paris… you must understand that Esther.” Turning to her abruptly, Gustave reached out and stroked back her long hair from her face gently. “But now I’ve changed and that part of my life is dead and gone. It’s over. So… I don’t want the manuscript any longer. Would you like it?”
More from The Space Between in RM#96
URBAN SCRAWL!!
Welcome to Andy's bit..
LOWER SHAW FARM
I just got back from an amazing place in Wiltshire, it's called Lower Shaw Farm and I went along to spend the last week doing Summer Activities there, their explanation not mine. The farm is a three acre site almost hemmed in by a housing estate to the west of Swindon and comprises of a wonderful period farmhouse and an assortment of outbuildings including the former cowshed and woodshed and a barn. The real essence of the place though is not so much the infrastructure or the location but the people.
SOLAR PANEL
One of the people who works there is called Paul and he was building a solar panel to heat the washing up water for the sink in the dairy. It was simply a second-hand central heating radiator, (the kind of thing you probably have in your house right now) which he mounted onto a wooden frame. After stripping all the old paint off the radiator panel first and repainting it with a matt black finish, he then covered it with a triplex glazing sheet so the whole thing was encased, coffin like and then tilted at a good angle to face the sun. A plastic 15mm pipe was then attached to the radiator and the mains cold feed via a tap and then another one to over the sink, to bring back the heated water.
AMAZING TIME
It really was an amazing time and the people I met at Lower Shaw Farm really made the difference for me. Although, I managed to take part in a number of Summer Activities like the bread making workshop and an afternoons cycling which I thoroughly enjoyed, I think the actual communication between the different ones there, not least the children, was the thing that I felt made it a special time for me. When I left, shortly after midday I didn't get to say goodbye to many people, I thought it would be too emotional, so I just left, after packing Jack into the van. Did I mention that Jack came with me? I hope people weren't offended by our sudden departure but I really couldn't face all those good byes!
More from Urban Scrawl Andy and more LSF stuff in RM#96

July 2008 Issue 94

2008-07-02T00:14:00.006+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

THE ANARCHIST TRAVELS
No more dramatic accidents to report in this issue… my life - and face - seem to have resumed near enough their normal shape. I can travel quite happily in the van now, though I prefer to get out of Ziggy and into the passenger seat, which is okay but frustrating, because the whole idea of getting the van was to enable me to travel easily in Ziggy! Although Andy doesn’t mind lifting me into the seat, this won’t be possible forever. So what’s to be done? I wish we could go back to the old ways of travelling in Ziggy, without all the so called “safety regulations”, which are such a pain. Speaking as an anarchist, I wonder if I can’t take the responsibility for my safety upon my own shoulders and travel without all the wheel clamps, safety belts etc. Andy says that he’d get prosecuted if we had an accident, but can’t I take the risk myself? That’s the whole idea of anarchism, that individuals are responsible for themselves.
BIRTHDAY SEASON
At the moment everybody seems to be having their birthday: Ruth, Jack next week, Brigitte the week after and also my friend Kirsty, who’ll be leaving for New Zealand soon. While I must admit to being a little bit jealous of her for making such a dramatic change to her life, I also feel very sad because I doubt very much whether I will get to see her again!! Although I would love to go to New Zealand one day, I can’t imagine it being practical… it’s so far away! Jack’s going to the theatre for his birthday to see a one-man version of Star Wars… which I can’t imagine! I’m very curious, and I hope Jack will give me a detailed description of it, though I some how doubt he will, as he seems to have adopted the usual teenage silence, at least as far as communication with his parents goes. The summer seems to be a particularly popular time to be born in… I wonder why this is? Can there be any relation between the warm weather and the increased birth rate??
TRIFFIDS: NO LAUGHING MATTER
We’re continuing to read and greatly enjoy John Wyndham’s classic The Day of the Triffids. Although some of the ideas in the story seem quite dated, other bits are really scary… particularly the idea of nobody being able to see, which actually seems to have nothing to do with the appearance of the triffids themselves, though I always thought that the two things were connected. I must admit to having some problems taking the idea of walking plants seriously; although I wanted to watch the old film again, I some how suspect I would fall about laughing… in which case I think it’s probably just as well I can’t see it! I think the triffids would have been much more scary if Mr Wyndham had made them simply glide along, rather like JK Rowling’s dementors. But I can’t visualise groups of triffids marching or chasing people… perhaps this is just my problem, having grown up on a diet of Monty Python.
TRIP TO WALES
From triffids to train travel… a few weeks ago I went with Brigitte, one of my helpers, to stay with a friend who lives near Newport. It was Brigitte’s first outing into Wales, so she was quite excited!! It was a first for me as well – a first time for travelling by train without my sight. Although this gradual loss of sight has been going on for years, it’s recently come home to me that I have to rely on other senses to realise what’s happening around me. It’s amazing how much you can tell about where you are simply by smells and sounds… this is particularly true with trains, which are full of station sounds whenever the train stops and it’s also an enjoyable sensation, the motion of the train. So the entire journey wasn’t half as nerve-wrecking as I though it would be, in fact it was quite fun!
CAERLEON
Deborah and her husband actually live just outside Newport in a village that has a fantastic Roman amphitheatre in it. Deborah has an electric Ziggy and so she managed to go round the amphitheatre and the village by herself, which was just as well! Although I loved the old amphitheatre, it was difficult to reconcile it with the sounds of traffic outside… I was very aware of not being able to see it!! I kept thinking of scenes from The Life of Brian, which also didn’t help me take it seriously. In a different part of Caerleon there were statues of King Arthur, Lancelot and Guinevere… I wondered what the link was between the village and the statues, and Deborah said it was something to do with the round table. I was a bit mystified; Andy and I saw pieces of the round table on the walls of a castle in Winchester, so I’m not sure if Deborah meant there were actually several different legends connecting Caerleon with the round table.
ROMEO AND JULIET
Just before our trip to Wales, Andy and I went to see a production of Romeo and Juliet in Heaton Park. Although I enjoyed the very rare experience of being out with Andy (!) I found it extremely difficult to follow the action of the play without my sight… because it was an open-air production, it was extra difficult for me. I was trying to listen out for music between scenes, and things like sword fighting and people screaming… but there was none of that! Although the production did have swords, there was also a Volkswagen van on stage and most of the actors wore jeans. According to Andy, this mixture of times worked well – though it bothered me when he told me about the play afterwards. What I would really love to do is to see one of Shakespeare’s tragedies at The Globe theatre… surely you must be able to feel the age of everything. Still on the subject of Shakespeare… I’m still considering whether or not to tackle Peter Ackroyd’s massive biography of the bard. I’m very temped to, particularly in relation to The Portrait of Mr WH and Mr Ackroyd’s reading of it.
THE NEW ZIGGY
You may remember me telling you that I had finally received a new Ziggy and was trying it out. But it actually seemed to cause more problems than it solved… so we took it back to the Ziggy clinic and asked if they had any alternative ideas. A simple foam wedge underneath the cushion was suggested as an alternative to having a completely different cushion that didn’t allow much movement. Well, I like the foam wedge much better, in this case Andy’s favourite saying is true: the simplest ideas are usually the most affective. I’ve also ordered another cushion, filled with gel, which should be more comfy, as the last gel cushion I had was. This last one came to a sorry end when the sack of gel somehow exploded and it all began to leak out, which was pretty messy! However, we’ll try again, and better luck this time.
SUMMER SLOWNESS
Apologies for the lateness in the arrival of this issue. There’s no excuse really, apart from a general laziness, which always comes about in summer. Talking of RAW MEAT, I suppose that it must be its birthday fairly soon… can you imagine, almost one hundred issues have been written and – presumably – read?? It seems very strange because I can still vividly remember writing the first issue, which is like the memory of a very old person seeming to become sharper the further back it goes. Anyway, I’ll finish this issue here… (which seems filled with me going on about problems with my sight!) But I hope you’ll forgive this, it must just be a gradual realisation that has come upon me… if that makes any sense.

RAW MATERIALS 94
copyright (c) Nicola Batty 2008

Because I’ve been finding it increasingly difficult to go thru and edit The Spark, I have sort of given it up for a while and turned my attention instead to carrying on writing The Space Between, which is a welcome relief! The situation as it stands is really frustrating… I know that The Spark needs careful editing and altering, but I’ve come to a point where I am unable to do it myself. So what do I do now? It’s a big question and I don’t really know the answer… there must be one. There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t go on writing… it’s just going thru the damn stuff afterwards that is a pain in the arse! So to keep myself from becoming to disheartened by all this I’ve taken up where I left off with chapter one of The Space Between… and it’s going fine, there is no problem with that. Writing is the easy bit!

It was really nice to bring Ricketts into this new novel and pick up old threads of story that are still unfinished. The Vale Press is still struggling along but on the way out… and I want Charles to be aware of this, in fact, he sort of brought it on! The exchange between him and Ross now comes quite naturally, as though I feel I know them by this stage. I am still unsure whether or not to leave Ricketts completely after the Vale Press is finished… I am tempted to keep him in the background but I don’t want to go against historical fact, which shows him to have lived happily with Shan. But this doesn’t make good fiction and it’s the same problem with the Pissaros.
Talking of dramatic incidents, it seems that Charles Shannon had a pretty good death; apparently he fell off a ladder whilst hanging a picture… quite a suitable end for an artist don’t you think? But the story doesn’t actually end there - Shannon lived on for a few more years in some sort of asylum; when he fell he damaged his brain, but to what extent I don’t know. Presumably Ricketts was still able to communicate with him at the end, but the Internet doesn’t tell me that much… so there leaves another space to be filled in future.

Taking up advice from another Wilde writer, I recently got in touch with an Irish literary agent who are interested to see The Spark… so fingers crossed! I’m still not totally convinced of the necessity of agents for writers, particularly because I wasn’t impressed with the last one I had 20 years ago. I’m aware that some writers manage quite well on their own but I feel that it’s particularly difficult for me, both because of the editing difficulties I’ve already mentioned and also because of the specialist nature of the stuff I write, which does not appeal to a large readership. Also I’ve found that more and more publishers only accept manuscripts through agents and whether I approve of this situation or not is irrelevant, if I need an agent initially to make the break into the publishing world then so be it. While I’ve got absolutely no intention of selling out on my principles, particularly regarding Ziggy… I still don’t want him (Ziggy) to interfere in any way with my writing, even though that seems pretty impossible sometimes! Anyway, I mean that I accept that I might need some help to get started or at least to become a published writer. Whether or not this may involve an agent is debatable… but I am quite willing to do whatever is necessary.

THE SPACE BETWEEN…
copyright (c) Nicola Batty 2008

THE STORY SO FAR.
The year is 1901 and Wilde has recently died in Paris, supposedly leaving his manuscript in the care of Ross. The following conversation takes place in the garden of Charles Rickett’s house in Richmond, which he shares with his partner Shannon

CHAPTER 1 – 1901

“Excellent Cognac, Robbie… from Paris, I take it?”
“Of course. And I brought some other things of Oscars back too…some manuscripts, you understand? I was wondering if perhaps the Vale Press would be able to publish anything? I was thinking of a short story, as a sort of tribute to Oscar’s memory. What do you think Charles?”
Charles studied his friend’s expression, remembering his own reluctance to become involved with such a project several years before. He also felt vaguely uneasy; the flames eating up the manuscript of Oscar’s story seemed to be physically threatening his mind, gnawing at the edges until they killed. He cleared his throat very softly before he spoke.
“That would be a fine thing for the Vale Press to do, though it comes rather too late, I’m afraid. You see, the press hasn’t fully recovered from the Ballentyne fire… I fear it must end soon.” Charles shrugged, draining his glass and putting it down sharply on the table. When he turned back to Ross his smile was apologetic. “And so you see Robbie, that we’re not in a very good position at the moment.”
“Yes, I see that,” said Ross carefully, “but this last publication could be a sort of swansong… a quite fitting tribute, I think.” He paused, sitting forward in his chair and clasping his hands on his knees. “You could make a beautiful edition of The Portrait of Mr WH, couldn’t you? You still have the copy I left with you all those years ago, don’t you?”
Charles folded back his shirtsleeves with very careful movements; his throat felt suddenly dry and he avoided Ross’s eyes.
“I rather hoped that Oscar himself would’ve kept a copy,” he said finally, “and that it would’ve been amongst the manuscripts you brought back.”
“Ah…” Ross sat back against the velvet cushions with a small sigh. His eyes filled with a great sadness, a great emptiness. “That’s what I hoped too, but I searched his room and could find no trace of the extended manuscript, which I handed over to him myself some years ago. I can only presume he must have given it to someone… which seems a very odd thing for him to do, knowing how careful he was about his own writing. Still… I thought that you might have the old version in your possession.”
Stepping forward, Charles seized the bottle and filled both of their glasses, using the movement to distract himself from the confrontation. But he had to face it… sooner or later he had to face it. Looking directly into Ross’s eyes over the rim of his glass, he spoke in a low voice, his words measured like medicine.
“I’m afraid I lost the manuscript. It’s gone… gone completely.”
“Gone completely?” Ross repeated. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that I destroyed it, Robbie. In a moment of weakness, I destroyed it.”
There was only the sound of the night around them, enveloping them within its gentle folds. In the distance a church bell tolled mournfully and from Richmond Park, beyond the garden fence, there came the sound of the river meandering by. Charles listened to the peaceful sounds around him; they all seemed to gather and conspire against him, for there was no peace for him. He clenched his hands, shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. Turning away from Ross, he went over to the railings and stared over the garden fence, into the park. After a while, he forced himself to speak, though his words were strangled within his dry throat.
“I’m sorry… but you understand… I was frightened by Oscar’s arrest… you see that, don’t you?”
For a while, Ross made no reply, simply raising his glass to his lips and draining it slowly. Stretching out his arm, he put down his glass beside the candle and stood up, carefully smoothing out the creases in his trousers.
“Don’t worry Charles… I understand perfectly. That original manuscript would be of little use to me anyway, it’s simply so frustrating… I had the new version at my finger tips in Paris… so near and yet, it slipped beyond my grasp…” His words trailed away into nothing as he sighed wearily and rubbed his face as if trying to wake himself from a bad, persistent dream.
More Raw Materials and another extract from Nicola's-work-in-progress-trilogy in RM#95

URBAN
SCRAWL!
Welcome to Andy's bit...

BACK TO NORMAL?
Things are settling down nicely now and the weather is back to normal, which means that in this neck of the woods it rains about half the time. The other half I must say, is absolutely fabulous! The sun light really seems to make a difference to the way we/I view things, even when it isn't possible to go outside and enjoy the weather, just being able to see the sunlight through the windows makes everything seem okay.
VANTASTIC
I read that Nic (in her editorial) is still banging on about seat belts and floor clamps for Ziggy and such stuff. She thinks that all the modern regulations are unnecessary and that as a good anarchist she should ignore the law of the land and ride in the back of the van without any safety harness whatsoever. - Well I'm sorry Nic, but the floor clamps are needed and the seat belt is too. If we did have a bump, it really would be curtains. Spending a couple of minutes at each end of a journey, is all that it takes to be safe.
JACK'S BIRTHDAY
Phew, is it that time of year again? Sometimes, time seems to fly by and this year is going so quickly for me. I don't know what happened to Easter and Whit? But all of a sudden it's Jack's birthday and the school holidays are just about to start and Nic wants to go camping and her helpers want to take their holidays and Glastonbury is already over...
More from Urban Scrawl Andy in RM#95

June 2008 Issue 93

2008-06-05T23:02:00.000+01:00

JACK'S PICTURE

Nicola's Editorial

CHRISTENING THE NEW VAN
As soon as we got our new van delivered a couple of weeks ago, Andy and I took it out for a quick spin before breakfast. When we arrived back home – disaster! While Andy’s back was turned I somehow managed to roll across the van and straight out the side door, making contact with the pavement with my usual style. It was actually quite dramatic, there was plenty of blood and I attracted quite a little crowd of curious onlookers; I’m becoming quite well known in Moss Side for incidents such as this.
HOSPITAL
The rest of the scene is pretty foggy to me: I think I was completely confused as to exactly what had happened, although I was aware of being taken to hospital and stitched up etc. Ruth and I took a bet on the number of stitches my wound would require – I suppose Ruth was closest with six, though there were actually five on the outside and two in. Imagine having stitches inside… it sounds yucky but in fact I didn’t feel it thanks to the local anaesthetic. All my bruises were quite wonderfully psychedelic at first, although they have now almost faded completely. But still the scar remains above my eye, much better than Harry Potter’s!! It was one way to liven up a mundane Friday morning I suppose!
SAFETY REGULATIONS??
Ever since this little escapade, I’ve been very nervous of setting foot (or wheel) in the van again… perhaps understandably. I don’t like the idea of having to put these wheel clamps on Ziggy, as is the law nowadays. I don’t think it’s necessary at all; I’ve travelled in a van countless times before with no problem concerning Ziggy sliding around, as long as Ziggy’s brakes are on. It seems to me to be more dangerous to put the damn things in place, being a distraction for the person who’s got to fart around with them!
SEAT BELTS
I also get impatient with having to wear about four seat belts… which seems to me to be absolutely ridiculous: why can’t I just have one like everybody else. All these new “safety regulations” seem totally arbitrary, why on earth have the powers that be brought them in suddenly? It used to be so easy to get in the back of a van, but now it’s nothing but a pain in the arse. We’re still trying out different methods as there are quite a few seats available in the van, but these seem to be a bit difficult for Andy to help me into and I think back longingly to when it used to be such an easy way to travel.
STILL INTACT
However, I live to tell the tale. It seems strange to think back on the event now, a few weeks later; now that all the psychedelic bruises have almost completely faded… though I don’t think that I’ll be able to forget the incident in a hurry. In fact I had to stay in hospital for a couple of days due to my continual throwing up, which I suppose was quite a natural reaction. I remember being very impressed by the extreme patience and skill of the doctor as he stitched me up; I thought this must be a far more useful and essential job to have, rather than working in a factory or something.
ANOTHER ZIGGY TALE?
Andy has suggested making another Ziggy Collection of tales of my various accidents over the years, and this one would of course be in it. But I’m not that confident about the idea… I suspect that going on and on about such catastrophes would become simply tedious after a while. This accident made both Andy and I think about our day in Paris several years ago, which involved a visit to Oscar Wilde’s hotel room, me being proposed to by a charming drunk Frenchman, and also a similar injury sustained by me in the Pere Lachaise Cemetery whilst searching for Modigliani’s grave. This day is recalled in the Ziggy collection, which is now available in electronic form on CD. The cover illustration is by my dad and the collection includes a new story called Second Sight. Should you wish to order the CD, see Andy’s column for details.
STRATFORD-UPON-AVON
Last week we travelled down to Shakespeare’s birthplace – with absolutely no more dramatic incidents. We met up with our friend Sheila and did all the usual Shakespeare stuff; seeing the house where he was born, the Shakespeare Museum etc. The best thing about the Shakespeare Museum was that the information film took you into a room next door that had a stage where the witches’ scene from Macbeth was re-enacted by holograms. Although lots of it was lost on me I could feel and hear the special effects they used; the wind and the thunder. I was also able to see the flashes of lightening, which completed the storm nicely!
HAMLET
Not too far from the museum were the four statues that I remembered seeing fifteen years ago and knew that one of them was my favourite, Hamlet of course, holding Yorick’s skull. Andy and I recalled the time we had last visited Stratford to see my friend Nick, when he was performing with Kenneth Brannagh in Hamlet and staying with some other actors in a lovely old house next to the theatre. Even though I was pregnant at the time, I can’t have been too heavy for Andy to carry me upstairs where I remember we stayed. As I recall, we said goodbye to Nick on the Sunday afternoon, leaving him content with a bottle of whisky and his favourite film, Jason and the Argonauts on telly.
MR ACKROYD’S BIOGRAPHY
Being in Stratford reminded me about the biography of Shakespeare by Peter Ackroyd, which I’ve intended to read for ages but have always been daunted by its size! As I love Mr Ackroyd’s writing, I think it would be worth it; I can’t envisage it being just a dry biography of facts… it must be worth the effort, I suspect. Has anyone else read this biography and can tell me anything about it? I’m very interested to find out more about Shakespeare’s life, particularly about his relationship with Willie Hughes (Shakespeare’s boy love that Wilde wrote about in The Portrait of Mr WH.)
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS
But that is future reading… at the moment Ruth and I have just reached the end of the wonderful Lewis Carroll’s second Alice tale, which was every bit as wonderful as I remembered it being when I first read it twenty-five years ago! The book is inseparable from Tenniel’s illustrations; I still remember most of them in detail having copied several of them myself in the old days. The idea of basing the story on a chess game is surreal; I still have an Alice chess set in which some of the pieces are characters from Alice in Wonderland such as the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit, and some are from Through the Looking Glass like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, the White Knight etc. I used to be a good chess player… I wonder if it would still be possible for me to play a game of chess without my sight? It’s an intriguing idea… it must be possible to play something by touch… especially with a set such as mine where each piece is very distinctive in shape. Any suggestions?
JAMES JOYCE
After Alice I’ve decided to move forward a few years into the Twentieth Century; I decided to attempt to tackle Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man once again, having been very impressed when I first read it many years ago. I’ve just received the tape of it and so feel I should give it a go, even though I have misgivings simply because it’s not really an easy read for anyone, and particularly difficult for me maybe. However, my Dad has lent me a guide to the book, which I’m finding pretty useful so far. To be quite honest though, I’m not enjoying the book quite as much this time round, though I’m not sure why… much of the beauty of the language and striking visual imagery doesn’t come across as strongly. It seems like very hard work… and I just want to read some fiction!! So we’ve started John Wyndham’s The Day of the Triffids, which is a much more enjoyable read. Its opening chapter is particularly striking for me; the idea of everybody waking up blind is totally terrifying… I remember well the black and white film scaring me witless!! Neither Ruth nor I have read the book before so it’s a bit of a new experience… a first step into the world of science fiction.
COBWEB FOUND
I’m going to wind up this issue with a bit of good news. It concerns our cat Cobweb, who’s been missing for a week. We’ve just received a phone call from a cat sanctuary in Buxton to say she’s been found, safe and intact! I’m intrigued to know what she was doing in Buxton, which is twenty odd miles away!! It makes you wonder…

RAW MATERIALS #93
Copyright Nicola Batty (c) 2008
As if I foresaw the coming events of this month and knew that I would be otherwise occupied with getting my head stitched up etc, I prepared this piece for inclusion several weeks ago. I’m going to ask you to give me some feedback on this piece; I’m pretty worried about it, simply because it’s a fairly complicated idea from one of my other novels and as nobody will be familiar with the story I’m afraid that what I’m trying to do won’t work at all. The idea of swapping sexual identities is one that I used in The Turn Of The Century Party; I’ve always been pretty fascinated by such ideas and wanted to refer to it again in The Space Between but I don’t know if this has worked in practice. The original intention was to make The Turn Of The Century Party available on CD in the near future, so that people can read a fuller explanation of the Gustav/Suzanne story if they want but I don’t know if this will come to fruition. So if you could just send me an e-mail or leave a comment and let me know if it’s bloody confusing as it stands, or whatever… and I can take it from there.
Although I think I’d be prepared to scrap the Suzanne/Gustav idea, I’d be quite sad to do so because I do think it’s quite an intriguing one… and also leads on into Gustav’s character further. I’m quite taken with Gustav, I’ll admit; he’s absolutely charming and wonderful to write about but I don’t trust him an inch!! I’m not quite sure what exactly he’s going to do… but I feel sure that it’s got to be underhand in someway! Perhaps George will also be involved as I also think he deserves more of a look-in in this novel, simply because he’s quite a wonderful character and much more trustworthy than Gustav, particularly in his relationship with Jack which I think could be developed.
Despite all my struggles to keep the relationship between Robbie Ross and Harriet as credible as possible I do think that in the end you just need to take a bit of an imaginative leap! To have an employer talking to his servant about transvestism is a bit far fetched perhaps… but there you go, such is the beauty of fiction and I can see that The Space Between is going to be a little less concerned with realism and history than The Spark… although I still want to use history from time to time as a basis, I also want to bring in my own fiction – I’m not talking about my own novels here but rather fresh ideas to work into history. I’ve got several historical characters that I don’t really know that much about, their lives are like Freddie’s in that they’re missing gaps that are crying out to be filled in. this is what I’m trying to do with The pace Between and I hope it works!
We’re still in the process of going through The Spark; we’re about half way through now, having just reached the end of 1895. Most of 1895 has been concerned with Wilde’s arrest etc and I suspect that I’ve gone too far into this and pieces need chopping… but I’m also afraid to do so because it may be alright after all! I think I’ll have to ask other people to give me some feedback before I do any slashing!!! I’ve also got no idea what to do with The Spark as regards publisher’s etc as it’s obviously very un-commercial and appeals to a specialised market – which is not to say that it’s no good of course… it’s just that I don’t really know where to start. I’m trying to get in touch with The Oscar Wilde Society but so far no luck. Andy’s suggestion of bringing the novel out ourselves on CD is quite a tempting one… although I’d still have the old problem of not knowing how to go about selling it!! This side of writing is one I don’t wish to get involved with at all – I think I need a business manager, rather like Rickett’s with his bookshop. And don’t talk to me about agents as I can’t get any interest from them… let’s face it, I just don’t know what to do. Any ideas??
More Raw Materials in RM#94

THE SPACE BETWEEN
Copyright Nicola Batty (c) 2008
THE STORY SO FAR…
It’s now 1901, and Robbie Ross has just returned from France, where he was with Wilde when he died in Paris. As far as we know the manuscript of The Portrait of Mr WH is still in Paris. The following scene takes place in Ross’s house where Harriet is working as a house maid.
The following extract is from Nicola's work-in-progress-trilogy and may be very different from the finished work.
TAKEN FROM THE SPACE BETWEEN, CHAPTER 1…
“So tell me about yourself, Harriet. It seems unbelievable to me that you’ve not changed at all since I left. Surely Oscar’s death must have touched you… as it has touched me?”
Harriet didn’t answer for several moments; she sat down carefully on the very edge of the sofa, her hands clenched together in her lap. She drew in her breath very slowly and released it, feeling the air tremble as she did so.
“Of course. I felt Mr Wilde’s passing before anyone had told me of it. The moment of his death was as clear to me as if I had been present in the room with him… does that make sense to you, Mr Ross?”
“Certainly it does.” Ross leant back against the cushions, still munching on his toast. Almost imperceptibly, his gaze shifted from Harriet’s face to the rooftops of the stately houses opposite, outlined against the blue sky behind her head. He continued to speak in a low voice. “You know Harriet, I can’t forget that moment, when his spirit rushed from him on his last breath… it’s still fixed in my memory after all this time, and will remain so. I can recall every second that passed, so clearly… even though it was all so confused that I don’t know if all that happened really took place at all. It was so strange Harriet; the daughter of the hotel owner was there… and this was actually Suzanne, the same Suzanne that Oscar mentioned in his letter. As Suzanne and Oscar were quite close in those last few weeks… I don’t know exactly why but there seemed to be something they shared between them that drew them together. Anyway she seemed to be a great comfort to him and so…” He gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “And so I needed no further explanation. It was clear to me that this woman was far from real, yet I found myself accepting the disguise without question, because that’s exactly what Oscar did and he needed her beside him just as he needed me beside him. Oscar always feared dying alone… isolation terrified him. I only wanted to help him, to reassure him.” Breaking off with a sigh, Ross suddenly buried his face in his hands; Harriet watched him nervously, unsure what to do or say. She waited patiently as Ross removed his hands slowly from his face, turning his eyes directly to Harriet’s. She was not surprised to see that they were wet with tears. “One moment we were the watching him die… and the next, Gustav was gone… quite gone, vanished… along with his disguise, because Suzanne also was gone completely. Her dress was the only part of herself she left behind… so that we all knew they hadn’t been a dream, but had actually existed.” His frown deepened as he recalled the details of the night. Harriet listened, spellbound. “I saw Suzanne being stripped away and revealed to be the sham that she was, just a disguise. Gustav’s disguise… because he and Suzanne were the same person – two faces of the same coin. Gustav was real, and he stood in her place… I saw him but only briefly… then he was gone and nobody saw him again.” Catching Harriet’s eye, Ross smiled apologetically and shook his head. “I’m sorry Harriet… this must all sound quite absurd to you. And it is absurd; it makes very little sense to me.”
Harriet cleared her throat very softly, raising her hand slowly to tuck back some stray strands of dark hair behind her ear.
“But… what happened to him? To Gustav?”
Shaking his head slowly as if to clear it, Ross got carefully to his feet and brushed some crumbs from the front of his shirt.
“Nobody knows, as I said… he was quite gone. I would’ve liked to question him further about his disguise but… that, I rather think, will have to remain a mystery.”
Smoothing down the creases in his trousers with a sudden air of impatience, Ross shrugged once again and it seemed to Harriet that he was shrugging away all the vivid recollections of the night when his friend had died.
“But Mr Ross… all this is so confusing to me. I’m not sure that I understand it, I’m afraid,” said Harriet, feeling a sense of panic rising inside her, almost as if she were drowning. Awkwardly, she got to her feet. “I can see why you thought the whole thing was a dream.”
Gazing at her levelly, Ross drained his cup of coffee and returned the cup to the tray.
More from Nicola's work-in-progress-trilogy in RM#94

Urban Scrawl!
Welcome to Andy's bit...
VANTASTIC
The new van is fantastic however, a bit of the shine was taken off it with Nicola's accident happening on the day we got it. I had really been looking forward to driving the thing and then of course after what happened I couldn't get exited about it anymore and everything has become a bit of a chore. Anyway..
SEAT BELTS
I know what Nic means about the seatbelts, they are a bit of a pain to rig-up, there are six in all. Four of them are floor clamps to hold Ziggy down, then there's a big belt that goes round Nic and Ziggy and finally there's a normal seat belt that holds Nic in place. It takes a few minutes to set up but once everything is in place Ziggy and Nic are rock-solid secure. No matter what Nic says about just having one belt etc. she really needs all of the stuff if she wants to travel in the van in Ziggy, otherwise it's just too dangerous.
OTHER SEATS
There are of course other seats in the van and Nic can easily travel in one of them if she so desires although she does say that Ziggy is more comfortable for her. I'm not to sure about that, the front passenger seat is a swivel-seat captains chair with double arm rests and it's really comfy. We went up to Boggart Hole Clough (a Manchester park) today and on the way back Nic travelled in the front seat. I think she liked it!
CATNAPPED
Nic's cat Cobweb was kidnapped and held to ransom! Unbelievable but true. Yesterday we got a phone call from a cat sanctuary near Buxton in Derbyshire which is twenty odd miles from central Manchester where we live. How did Nic's little cat travel so far by herself? we asked. The answer was that she was brought in as a stray cat, some person had taken it upon themself to 'rescue' Cobweb from starving to death.
COBWEB BATTY
Cobweb Batty is a very slim cat but she is certainly not starving. Yes, she probably was hungry at 7.30 am after a hard night out on the tiles, but she was just waiting to be let in for her breakfast at 8am like she does everyday when Jack leaves for school. So, to whom it may concern: PLEASE DON'T FEED OUR CAT!
REPEATED MESSAGE
CD WHAT? Okay, and I'm sure I've said this before but to all those that don't know yet, Nicola's latest publication 'The Complete Ziggy Collection' is NOT an audio book! No, it is a digital book, you read it on your computer monitor or down/upload it to a special screen reader type device thingy that you can put in your pocket. It (The Complete Ziggy Collection) comes in a dvd case that you can keep on your book shelf just like a printed publication. I tell/ re-tell you all this because some people are ordering it and leaving comments like "I can't wait to listen to this!" etc. I can't wait to listen to it either - sadly we don't have the technology to make it happen!MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN RM#94

RAW MART
Watch this space... This is the section of Raw Meat where you can advertise and announce your latest publications, web sites, blogs, bands etc. For further info contact Andy at: properjoes@aol.com
THE complete ZIGGY COLLECTION

on CD in Digital book format is now available!

For further info please contact Andy at : properjoes@aol.com

THAT'S ALL FOLKS!

Thanks for reading RAW MEAT..

May 2008 Issue 92

2008-05-06T08:33:00.000+01:00

Nicola's Editorial

LAME EXCUSE
I’ll begin by apologising for the slightly late arrival of this month’s issue for which I won’t offer any lame excuses, though I could. I could easily use the fact of the beautiful weather as a valid excuse… or the sudden realisation on Andy’s part that we needed to buy our new van imminently, or I could even use the bank holiday as an excuse... though probably none of these will wash. So I’ll be quite honest and say I’m just badly organised and probably quite lazy!
CAMPING WEATHER
The sudden change in the weather has made Andy and I very excited about getting our van kitted out for going camping. At the moment we’re considering getting an awning to go on the side, which we should be able to sleep in. We have quite a few options to try and see which works best. I think we’ll make our first camping trip a local one… perhaps in the Peak District or somewhere like that before we try going to France, which we hope to do in the summer. Although the van is mint green, apparently Jack wants to paint it black… If he does I think he should leave a green zigzag on the side to make it distinctively ours!
THE ZIGGY COLLECTION ON CD
I’ll just remind you that this publication is now available to order on CD, complete with a beautiful cover courtesy of my dad. Not only this, but also an extra story with the intriguing title Second Sight… so I think it’s well worth getting despite the fact you might have an old paper version. The stories themselves roughly describe the ups and downs of my life so far… I think my favourite is Woolwich Meats, simply because it’s about the years I found the most enjoyable, in a way. I also have a great affection for The Burial… perhaps for similar reasons but also for the fact that it is partly fictional. Anyway, you should read the collection for yourself and make up your own mind!
TITUS CONCLUSION
We’re just coming to the end of the book we’ve been reading, Titus Alone by Mervyn Peake. It’s such a wonderful tale that I don’t want it to end – which is the definition of a good story I think. Although the story seems to be quite separate from the preceding two parts of the Gormenghast trilogy, it’s actually become more clearly linked with the castle and Titus’s life within its walls before he left. The way Mr Peake has done this is quite subtle… so that Gormenghast itself was hardly mention for the first half of Titus Alone but has become more distinct now that everything is drawing together for a final showdown. All the characters in this book are very memorable, especially Muzzlehatch and Juno and all the weird characters from the Under river… it’s a bizarre and surreal tale which I’d heartily recommend to anyone who wants a good read!
GINGER BAKER
I’ve recently been absolutely obsessed by Eric Clapton and Cream, playing the songs over and over again. Of course I greatly admire Eric’s guitar masterpieces but equally enjoy Ginger Baker’s drums. I’ve asked Jack several times to listen to some of Cream’s music and copy the drums but he’s not very keen! He says he needs more practice and is going to get some electronic drums, which can be quite silent if you plug in the headphones. The object is that he can practice by himself, without his band having to be there.
TOUCHING FROM A DISTANCE
Still on the subject of music, with my new helper Brigitte I’m reading something by Debbie Curtis, the wife of Ian, the lead singer of Joy Division. Once again I’m showing my age… this band was around in the early 80s and came to a sudden conclusion with Ian Curtis’s suicide. I was interested to find out about the singer’s tragic end although I’m not actually a big follower of Joy Division – actually I don’t much like their music, but my Mum’s a big fan of theirs and encouraged me to read the book. It’s difficult for me to criticise the book fairly as it’s not very well written – very disjointed and full of stops and starts – but this isn’t to say that it’s not worth reading. I don’t feel that it’s fair to pull the book apart from a writer’s point of view because Debbie probably isn’t a natural writer at all. So far the book seems to have left a rather intriguing blank space where it comes to Ian’s state of mind in the years preceding his suicide, which I find fascinating! He was epileptic and apparently the bright lights on stage while he was performing brought on the fits, which Ian found impossible to cope with. Perhaps Debbie doesn’t seem to say much about his state of mind because he never talked to her about it, but that’s a bit difficult to believe. I wouldn’t call the book an enjoyable or easy read by any means – in fact I think the best thing about it is its title, which is wonderful! I don’t doubt that the film of the same title is better, with the man’s music of course.
NEW ZEALAND
Yet another one of my friends has recently decided to emigrate to these islands and I’m filled with both envy and sadness at her departure. I’ve heard many tales of the incredible scenery there from my sister, Suzanne, who went there a few years ago. My aunt who lives in Australia has told me about how amazingly clean the sheep are in New Zealand, as opposed to the dirty sheep in Oz. But apart from the sheep, Suzanne described the ice-mountains to me on the southern island, she even went ice-climbing on them!
ANTARCTICA?
This frozen part of the island sounds surreal in the extreme, because it exists even though the sun shines brightly which makes me think of Scott’s exploits in the Antarctic, where his team had to strip down to their underclothes because they got so hot pushing the sledges!! I’d love to go to this part of New Zealand, because I think it’s the nearest piece of land to Antarctica… perhaps you can even glimpse the Antarctic wastes from there… ahhh… dream on!

RAW MATERIALS
RAW MATERIALS #92 Copyright (c) Nicola Batty 2008
The piece I’ve chosen for this issue of RAW MATERIALS is about a new family, a family who really lived, the Pissarro’s. Lucien and Esther Pissarro aren’t terribly well known, and that’s one of the reasons I’m using them in The Space Between – though I’ll readily admit to having doubts about doing so, simply because so little of interest seemed to happen in their lives! But I was drawn to Lucien because of his links with the anarchist movement, though I’m not actually sure how far his beliefs went. Which is nice in a way – it leaves it open to my own interpretation of facts… the facts being simply that Lucien was the son of Camile Pissarro, who was a more vociferous anarchist and a more famous artist. Lucien’s setting up of his press with his wife was also interesting, as it seemed to follow on from much of what Rickett’s and Shannon have already done in The Spark, so this ties the two books together. Also incidental is that Lucien and Ricketts knew each other quite well, and so that could be useful for The Space Between. I’m still not absolutely convinced what will happen in the novel… I’m hoping the ideas will come! I also like the idea of Esther being totally involved within the business, as a bookbinder and she also painted a few pictures herself, as did her daughter, the wonderfully named Orivido. I think this name is actually Spanish but I’ve got no idea why the Pissarro’s (who are French) would have chosen to give their daughter a Spanish name. It’s difficult to make such a name sound natural in conversation, when you’re writing it. I’m trying to tread carefully as far as Lucian’s anarchist beliefs are concerned; partly because he doesn’t really seem to have been very committed as far as anyone can tell. But it’s open to interpretation I suppose… who’s to say how far his beliefs actually went? Particularly as far as the Old House, that’s the house they’re moving into, was concerned. I’m going to use this house as a sort of base, in a way which may not have been entirely in keeping with history, but still, fiction should be involved equally.
As far as The Spark goes, we are still in the process of going right the way through it from beginning to end… which sounds a bit tedious but actually is not as bad as that, because it’s like reading a totally different book than the one I spent years labouring over! The plot actually moves along quite fast - perhaps too fast for it to be totally realistic. So far I think I that the major draw back is going to be that I tried to cram too much into it, and so it distracts from the main point of the novel - the loss of Wilde’s manuscript. The question is, should I get rid of everything not directly related to this? I am a bit nervous of chopping bits completely out without getting some other opinions… so I am going to ask some other people to read it first! Meanwhile I’m avoiding becoming to disheartened with The Spark by returning to writing odd bits of The Space Between and also a short story, which has nothing at all to do with Wilde or Victorian stuff, so it makes quite a nice change. This story is actually called Going Backwards and is a total work of fiction - I’m not sure exactly what type of story it is, a sort of psychological thriller I suppose. Very unlike my usual stuff… or maybe not, maybe it’s just something different from The Space Between. Although I definitely wouldn’t call Going Backwards autobiographical I suppose it is based very loosely on experience…as Wilde said, you can’t separate writing from the person who wrote it. And I think I would certainly go along with this!
MORE RAW MATERIALS IN RM#93

THE SPACE BETWEEN
The following is an extract from Nicola’s-work-in-progress-trilogy.

THE SPACE BETWEEN
Copyright © Nicola Batty 2008

It was a relief to stand there in the open back doorway and look out over the uneven expanse of grassland that ran down to the tiny brook. If Esther listened carefully she could just hear the soft tinkling of the water as it carried over the other distant background sounds of a Chiswick weekend. The high wall that surrounded the garden seemed to enclose and magnify the sound of the water, and for a moment everything seemed to be distinct and quite separate from life outside, as if this place was absorbed within itself. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the gentle spring air warm against her face. She began to feel more hopeful about the house – perhaps Lucian was right to be so optimistic about it. Gingerly she rested her shoulder against the decaying doorframe, hoping that it would not collapse beneath her weight.
Standing some distance away, down near the brook, was the slight figure of her eight year old daughter, simply watching the water flow along past her as if there were magic in its ceaseless motion. The child seemed to sense her mother’s eyes upon her and she turned, her brightly coloured skirts swinging round with her. Esther watched her approach, taking a deep breath, trying to smile… she didn’t want to pour cold water upon Orivido’s enthusiasm, which she could feel bubbling over even from this distance. The little girl’s wild wavy hair was pushed back from her face in a vain attempt to control it; its thickness was something she had inherited from her father, but the gentle smile upon her face was completely her mother’s. Esther found herself wearing the same expression as Orivido drew closer.
“Mama, the brook! We have a brook in our garden – did you know that?” Orivido stood beside her mother, clutching her mother’s hands in delight. “Papa never said there was a brook here. It’s our very own. This is our own special house – I can feel it, I know it. It’s every bit as beautiful as Papa said… don’t you think so?”
Esther took a step down from the back door into the small paved area, where there were several large earthenware pots that had, at some point, contained flowers but were now either empty or broken. Deliberately, Esther didn’t look at them but looked beyond, keeping her smile firmly in place, sharing in her daughter’s enthusiasm.
“If you feel the place is right… don’t worry, I’m thinking about it,” she promised, hugging the little girl briefly to her. She was suddenly aware of the fresh breeze, lifting strands of her straight black hair back from her face; she was glad to be released from the stifling mustiness that clung to the interior of the house. Taking in another great lungful of fresh air, she stepped over the back step and stood beside her daughter, taking care not to catch her shoulder on the broken wood of the back door. Once again she tried not to look at the door but to see beyond… beyond into the garden perhaps? She could feel a smile twitching around the corners of her mouth. With careless abandon, she pulled her cotton shawl from her shoulders and dropped it on one of the earthenware pots, for the spring sunshine was warm. “We should stay out in the garden, I think – it’s much nicer.” As she said the words she heard footsteps echoing across the empty back room, sounding distorted as they carried on outside. Esther glanced over at the doorway as Lucien approached, his great, slow strides seeming even more deliberate than usual; every footfall placed carefully to avoid the loose floorboards. He stood there and ran his hand over the doorframe; with his lean, sinewy figure and thick black beard he seemed to be a creature of opposites, both the artist and the practical workman. He looked up at Esther, smiling; the smile was almost lost beneath the black beard, but still, Esther knew it was there. She was well accustomed to her husband’s little ways.
MORE FROM NICOLA'S Work-in-progress-trilogy in RM#93

URBAN SCRAWL!
Welcome to Andy's bit..
CD WHAT?
Okay, and I'm sure I've said this before but to all those that don't know yet, Nicola's latest publication 'The Complete Ziggy Collection' is NOT an audio book! No, it is a digital book, you read it on your computer monitor or down/upload it to a special screen reader type device thingy that you can put in your pocket. It (The Complete Ziggy Collection) comes in a dvd case that you can keep on your book shelf just like a printed publication. I tell/ re-tell you all this because some people are ordering it and leaving comments like "I can't wait to listen to this!" etc. I can't wait to listen to it either - sadly we don't have the technology to make it happen!
MORE FROM URBAN SCRAWL ANDY IN RM#93

RAW MART
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This is the section of Raw Meat where you can advertise and announce your latest publications, web sites, blogs, bands etc. For further info contact Andy at: properjoes@aol.com
This section will be updated as soon as I get some copy... so please check back!

THE complete ZIGGY COLLECTION on CD in Digital book format is now available! For further info please contact Andy at : properjoes@aol.com

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