Drunken Sailors - MWBB - Winner!

Another winning piece for this weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster, and at my fourth win, I think I might have reached saturation point and consider stepping out of this for a while. Although I do enjoy the song prompts and what they bring, I need to focus on other writing endeavours.

This week I came out with a rather disturbing tale, not for the feint-hearted. The line 'way hay and up she rises' got stuck in my head (as it did the characters) and this is where it went for me.

  The prompt song this week was:
“Drunken Sailor” by Captain Tractor

They were school buddies, she’d known them all for years, and they still went out together on a regular basis. The fact that she was the only girl made no difference; she could party hard just like the rest of them, she was one of the boys. Although that night it got missed.

Nancy tried hard not to think about thatt. She looked at their sorry faces and tried hard to believe their remorse, believe that it all just got out of hand. But Jimmy couldn’t quite look her in the eye and that bothered her. It made her wonder and recall his eyes that night; the arrogance and the supremacy they’d shown. How drunk had he actually been? There was no telling with him. There were nights you thought he was completely leathered, but then he’d say something and you knew he wasn’t.

But she had watched them all drink that night, watched them all put away the beers with the vodka chasers along with her.

It had been the usual fun in the local bar. Pool was their favourite, and they’d all wanted her on their team; she could pot anything no matter how drunk she was. Then as always they’d moved to the club. Nothing unusual there, two of their six had gone off to chase some skirt. And then afterwards they’d all piled round Johnny’s – again nothing new.

Nancy looked down at her wrists and rubbed them, and maybe the courtroom thought it was a look of humility, but it was pain. The red embedded lines still hurt even though it’d been a week. The doctors said they would eventually disappear, but some days she could still feel the ties they’d used; those horrible plastic things you couldn’t get out of, something she knew all too well now.

She was asked how drunk she’d been and all she could think was, ‘it’s amazing how fast you sober up when you have to’, but it hadn’t made any difference. She still couldn’t work out how it had started, who had instigated it, and how it had ended up with them thinking it was a good idea. She swallowed, still feeling the gag reflex she’d had to the dirty sock they’d stuffed into her mouth. Another thing the doc said would pass.

Then she was asked to recount what had happened. She didn’t think she could when she had gone through it with her lawyer, but up here on the stand with them all there in the room watching it poured out, every detail, totally clinical. As she named each of them, describing in detail what their turn had entailed, she found it cathartic, as though finally stating it out loud made it clear that it was a heinous unprovoked attack, and that the things they did were perverse and brutal. She shifted in her seat, still feeling the brutality.

When asked who had brought it to a stop, the true denigration of what they’d put Nancy through was revealed. Johnny’s mother was sitting in the courtroom. She’d already given her testimony through tears – tears that her own child was capable of such horror, and that she had been the one to discover it after not liking the sounds she’d heard from his attic room. At no time was there a question that it had been a game, Jimmy’s knife had put paid to that. Why would you need to hold a knife to a friend’s throat if it was all in fun?

Nancy was relieved at the verdict, knowing she wasn’t going to have to see them now for several years. It would give her time to recover, time to try and find a way through. She was still in shock; she knew that, the doctor didn’t need to tell her. She just wished the song in her head would stop; the one they’d put on repeat that night to remind them of the good old times. One line in particular kept getting stuck, along with the image of Jimmy’s face as he’d mouthed it during his turn; ‘Way hay and up she rises’. They’d been more than just drunken sailors that night.

Daily Picspiration No.5 - The Player Plays.

On Sunday the 21st my fifth Daily Picspiration entry went up.

The photo really lent itself to follow on from the last instalment - 'Recruitment', and as soon as I saw the photo I had the opening and knew where I wanted to go with it. This serialisation is based off a novel I wrote back through the 90's called The Jester, which when looking back over it really needs a lot of work, but doing this short pieces about it is enabling me to explore avenues with the characters and their backgrounds which I hadn't done in the novel.

You can read 'The Player Plays' here.

Guest Blog - Writer Events Q&A with Dionne Lister

The next author I contacted to answer my Writer Events Q&A is Dionne Lister.

Dionne is an Independent self-published author who writes fantasy and suspense/thrillers. Her novels ‘Shadows of the Realm’ and ‘A Time of Darkness’ are the first two in the ‘Circle of Talia’ series. 

If you like dragons you will love these. They are available in both paper and ebook .

Dionne also has an ebook called ‘Dark Spaces’, which is a collection of scary short stories and definitely worth a read.

I was aware that Dionne had recently been on a writers panel, so I wanted her input on my Q&A to tap her experience of writer events. So here you go.

What was your first writing event?

Genrecon in Sydney, 2012. It is a speculative fiction event. Genrecon was my first event and I think I heard about it from someone on Twitter.

Did you go alone?

I asked Ciara Ballintyne if she wanted to go with me. I had never been to any before, because I had only just started really getting into the writing life, mid 2011, joining Twitter in August or September of that year. Before that I had a sensible job: I was a property valuer and never spoke to other writers—I don't know how I survived for as long as I did!

When you went, did you go with a specific plan in mind, or focus? Did you structure the day, or did you just go and see?

A bit of both. I’d never been to one before so I wanted to know if they were any good, but I did have talks I wanted to see. On the day, we could pick what we wanted to see, and there was a lot to choose from.

Can you go to a writing event without a specific focus? Can you just go and look?

You can, although if there is nothing you are really interested in, it’s probably not a good idea. I wouldn’t go to a conference that was for romance, for instance, as I don’t write that genre.

What did you gain from it personally?

I learnt that I knew more than I thought I did and that there is more than one way to do something (writing-wise). It was also wonderful to meet and talk to other writers—that really was the best thing for me.

Have you been to any other writing events?

One of the most exciting things to happen to me was getting onto Facebook one day (and no, that's not the exciting thing) and finding a private message from Kate Forsyth, one of Australia's most successful children's and young adult fantasy authors. I thought at first it was a joke, but I checked out the link and it was definitely her page. She introduced herself and asked if I wanted to speak on a panel at the NSW Writers Speculative Festival. I cried, I was so happy! Apparently she'd been looking for an Australian, self-published fantasy/spec fiction author to speak about self-publishing and after weeks of combing the net, she picked me. I was flattered and excited.

After a successful appearance at that festival, I was asked to speak on self-publishing at the Sydney Writers Festival—the biggest writers' festival in Australia. Because I've done that, I'll now be speaking at two more festival/writer's days in November, so it's just had a domino effect, and I'm enjoying the ride.

I guess it has all come from presenting a good image on social media and producing a good product. As you know, I've had a professional cover done and my books are edited. I also put myself out there as an advocate for professional self-publishing. I think because I'm an editor, it really peeves me when people put out work that is only half finished and full of mistakes.

Writing is a business (as much as it is a passion) and you shouldn't ask readers to pay for half-baked work—imagine if MacDonalds served half-cooked chips or you had to sew your own buttons and hems on the new jacket you just bought. I think becoming a successful author is about working hard, being lucky enough to get that one opportunity, and doing as much with it as you can :). I'm certainly going to run with the speaking gig as long as people will listen to me rabbit on lol.

Have you ever gone on a writing retreat? If so, what are your thoughts/experiences?

No, haven’t done that one, although I think it would be wonderful to go somewhere and have none of the distractions of every-day life and just be able to write.

For someone starting out, or wanting to go to one and not being sure, what advice would you give?

Pick a conference that has content you’re interested in, and if there are questions you’ve always wanted to ask, write them down before you go as there is always opportunity to ask at the end of any panels or talks. Be prepared to have a good time. 

Guest Blog - Writer Events Q&A with Imran Siddiq

While doing the Writer Events Q&A with Susi Holliday the Winchester Writers Conference was mentioned, and I realised that another writing friend had attended as well. This led me to consider that there was more yet information to tap from other authors about writers events, so I have decided to turn the Writers Events Q&A into a series of Guest Blog posts from a variety of authors across the globe.

Imran Siddiq is the self-published author of the YA Sci-Fi novel ‘Disconnect’.

It is available in both paperback and ebook, and is the first part in the ‘Divided Worlds’ trilogy. (I have both versions, because it’s such a good book!) The sequels, Disassemble and Disrupt are due for dual release on July 29 2013.

Imran is a fast paced, well disciplined writer, who is a fountain of knowledge, and he clearly shows in his detailed response to my Q&A. Enjoy.

What was your first writing event? (writing group, writers conference, book fair etc.)

The Festival of Writing organised by the Writers’ Workshop in March 2011. It was a three day event held in York (UK) and although the weather had a remnant of winter lingering in the air, it was an amazing place to be. Anxiety and apprehension over what to expect were in my mind for the 2 hour journey, but it would become the best £500 I spent in a long time.

Did you go alone?

Indeed I did. Prior to this my only venture with Social Media was Facebook, and all my friends were non writers. It wasn’t until after this event I joined Twitter and found new friends that adore writing. I had no idea of what kind of people would be there, and that caused me to feel apprehensive.

When I went again in September 2012, I gave a lift to a fellow writer and met up with dozen(s) of new friends, and those from 2011. Many are the closest that I’ll make in my lifetime.

When you went did you go with a specific plan in mind, or focus? did you structure the day, or did you just go and see?

My plan was to learn about the process, because I knew little of the agent/publisher relationship, and hadn’t paid much attention to the rules of writing. What a mistake.

At the time of booking, I’d arranged to have 2 x one-to-one’s with Literary Agents and to attend 8 workshops in total relating to Sci Fi, Children’s Writing, Editing, Plotting, Characters, and Voice. I just picked what sounded good to attend to at the time.

What I gained was beyond what you’ll get from a blog, Youtube video, or a book. It was first-hand experience that bore holes into my mind.

Now, I know what to expect from workshops and whose to attend to based on comments from other attendees.  Also, just because I’ve been to an editing workshop, it won’t stop me going to another hosted by someone else. Getting another take on an area that you know well is key. Writing, methods and opinions are subjective and obtaining a broad range of advice is essential.

Can you go to a writers conference without a specific focus? Can you just go and look?

Sure you can, but when you weigh up the cost, travel time, away from family/home, I think it’s good to research what the festival/conference is all about. Will it satisfy you?

I won’t go to a high-costing event that doesn’t offer face time with an agent. I want their opinion of my work.

I will go to a low-cost event that doesn’t offer face time with agents as long as the workshops appeal.

I will travel 100+ miles to an event that has speakers/workshops relating to my area of writing; Young Adult.

I won’t book an event 1 mile away if it’s about Crime Thriller, because that’s not my subject.

Some events provide videos of what happens, so have a look, or just ask someone who’s attended in the past.

What did you gain from it personally?

Feedback. Friends. A Road Map.

Before the event, I thought that I was the only one who had issues with commas, prepositions, show not tell, editing, how many times can you use ‘said’, POV, head hopping, hooks, cliffhangers, prologues, how to write a synopsis, what the covering letter, oh my gawd… deep breaths…

I was not alone.

I am not alone.

We all go through the same issues at some point. The event provided solutions, ideas, methods, and most of all the light at the end of the tunnel.

Have you ever redrafted or edited but felt a little unsure if you’re changing it into a beast? Imagine the insight you gain when an agent tells you what to change, add, develop, or reduce. And when you take that advice on board you see all of your work in a different way. A better way.

And as the for the Road Map. I knew what I had to do to create a better novel.

Everyday I learn a little more.

Have you ever gone on a writing retreat? If so, what are your thoughts/experience?

Not yet, and I probably won’t due to costs.

For someone starting out, or wanting to go to one and not being sure, what advice would you give?

Even if you only go to one event a year - do it! Experience the thrill of other writers, young and old, new and veterans, and see the same passion that sometimes keeps you up at night.

Gain from others. Seek out new information. Make you own mind up of whether you will listen, but at least have the relevant details provided. Do you know how frustrating it is to get a rejection letter from an agent with no feedback? Counter that by going to an event. The agent, no matter how much they hate it, will tell you why. Use it.

Writing events aren’t cheap. Some range from £50 going into the £500+ and some even more.

The Festival of Writing 2013 will be by 9^th event in 3 years. I haven’t been on holiday since 2010 because I don’t have sufficient money, but seeing friends, visiting new places, and talking about what I love.

It’s worth it.

***

Thank you Imran for sharing so much information with us.

You Reap What You Sow - MWBB - Winner!

The piece I wrote for this weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster was difficult to write for many reasons and I wasn't confident it would work at all, so I was surprised and humbled to find that it won!

The prompt was a song:

  “Further Up the Road” by Bobby “Blue” Bland Memorial Edition

 

 

You reap what you sow.

I looked out the window at the courtyard below, but there wasn’t much to see. I missed city life. I hated being here.

I hated not being able to breathe either, although the tubes up my nose were no longer uncomfortable, but the worst thing was the loneliness.

No one came to see me, you see, no one visited me; I hated it. I’ve got three children, but no one would know. None of them come. I’ve done so much for them too, but they can’t be bothered.

Things were hard, they have to understand that. It wasn’t easy for me either. It wasn’t my fault that their dad had gone off with someone else, or that their stepfather had been violent. And no one had cared about me, had they? All my own mother cared about was the house. I can still hear her saying ‘but you’re leaving such a lovely house’. And my brother? Still visiting their father and his new wife I hear.

I did my best; they went to private schools and had a good education. Yes, later there were a couple of state schools, but that couldn’t be helped, there hadn’t been any money after the divorce. But I always checked the school statistics first, before enrolling them. Other children had done alright.

It wasn’t my fault we had to keep moving. I was just trying to provide a home, find a good father figure for them, and some kind of stability. Yes okay, Randolf hadn’t been that stable. I know moving round Leicester trying to find him hadn’t been easy. And I know putting the youngest in cabs late at night might not have been a good idea, but what else could I do? I needed to know where he was and whether he was having it off with that Lucy woman. And I’d been right too.

Yes, the end of that relationship had been messy. It’d been tough leaving the youngest to live alone in that hotel for a couple of months, but it wasn’t like I’d had a choice, it was close to her school. I was in a bedsit myself!

You see, I never really wanted to be a mother; I wanted to be a friend. But they weren’t really interested in that. They didn’t want to listen to me and hear about my life. They were too caught up in themselves.

It could have been worse; I could have left them, or put them in a home, but they didn’t want to hear that. And I didn’t, I kept them with me. It wasn’t always easy either. Trying to convince Hugo to let the youngest live with us; he hadn’t wanted it, but the boarding school was too expensive. And yes, I had lied and told them both she’d been expelled, but it had worked. And from what I read in those diaries I’d found in her bedroom, she should’ve been anyway. She didn’t like hearing that mind. She’d always been difficult, the most ungrateful of the three. And in the end it had been too much for Hugo. She ruined that relationship.

But I don’t understand it; I really thought I’d be looked after by now. Although men can be so pathetic, can’t they? So weak. I mean look at my own son. Can’t even be bothered to pop by; I’m not that far away. And he should too; I’m his mother; it’s what a child does for their mother. It’s probably her though, his wife, she’s never liked me, and he doesn’t like saying no to her.

The youngest is overseas, so I suppose it’s too far for her. And the eldest, well her husband’s awful, isn’t he? Never wants her to go anywhere, or have anything to do with anyone.

                                                                              

But I really thought my friends from the Church would come. I mean, I’ve done so much for them. I ran everything for them; the Church shop, the fete, the admin. They were helpless when I arrived; I had to take it all on. It was exhausting too, part of the reason I ended up in here.

But no one appreciates anything I do for them.

Visual Dare 28: Obsured

This weeks Visual Dare felt like a new area for me. Don't normally do gangster types, but the picture lent itself to it.

 

 

The smoke billowed and I coughed loudly, waving my hand rapidly in front of my face, trying to see the man, but he took no notice and kept chuffing on the cigar, sending a smoke ring my way just to annoy me further – it worked.

I had no idea why I’d been brought to him. I tried not to feel nervous and keep my knee from jigging under the table, but I was on tender hooks; what I could have done?

He gave me just two words; his voice deep and husky, probably from all those cigars. “Jonas Peach.”

My stomach sunk; shit I was in trouble now. I didn’t think any of them knew about that, it had been a cock up on my behalf. Occasionally people got in the way of other jobs. As I prepared my response I hoped he would understand that – but I was doubtful.

150 Words

Five Sentence Fiction - Locked

 

Lillie McFerrin's Weekly Flash Fiction Prompt - 'Locked'

 

The bolt slid across and the jingle of the padlock could be heard just before it snapped shut; Argentia knew she was going to be in here a while, but hated not knowing why. She assessed the door with its scratches and dents, but a shove reassured her it wouldn’t give. Then she heard the weeping, quiet and low, broken only by sniffles.

She peered into the musty darkness and caught the outline of someone huddled on the floor.

Startled by Argentia’s approach the emaciated figure stopped weeping and as she moved closer started smiling; its sharp, white incisors becoming visible even in the dim light.