Epublishing is old news. No really, apparently it is. Unless you’re a newbie like me, then it’s oh-so exciting! Yes I too have wandered into the wilderness of self-publishing as of yesterday afternoon and discovered it’s not a wilderness at all – positively over-populated you could say, but it still elicited a bit of thrill none the less. Ok, so maybe no-one anywhere ever will download my little darling, but at least I’ve done it. But it was a strange experience. Imagine (gents too, if you will) being pregnant for five years, then without moving from my seat and with very little effort, out popped my creation for the entire world to see. As an event, it felt like a bit of a non-one. Then suddenly I was worrying about every little thing – what if a stray comma buggered-up the integrity of a sentence? What if I’d spelled ‘incorrect’ incorrectly? Lost a line to the foibles of cyberspace? Everyone would think I was an idiot who shouldn’t be allowed near a keyboard. Then I heard the words Get Over Your Self and my blood pressure returned to normal. Indeed. Thousands of ebooks get uploaded every year and thousands of readers and reviewers download them every year so it’s good to know that what ever else is going on in the world, we’re still reading.

This short blog then would be an opportune moment to thank everyone who has helped me thorough my literary pregnancy – (you know who you are!) the beta readers, copy readers, editors; those who unknowingly fed my imagination, those who advised and corrected my many and varied mistakes, the friends who stared at me blankly, waiting for an answer, when my mind was engaged elsewhere as the holes in whichever plot became apparent, and even my old postie, who would often ask ‘How’s that book of yours coming along? Not finished it yet?’ – a comment guaranteed to irritate and keep me at my desk all night with the words ‘I can’t come to bed – Postie says I have to finish my book’.

You know what’s coming next, don’t you?!

A Collection of Unsettling Short Stories

After several months in the making, author and Winchester Writers Festival regular, Allison Symes’ book From Light To Dark and Back Again has hit the shelves. Mistress of dark flash fiction, Allison has created this wonderful collection of short stories – best described as adult fairy tales – and I am delighted to be interviewing her here about her writing journey. As a writing-hopeful, many years ago Allison nervously dipped her toe in the waters of the Winchester Writer’s Festival and I asked her What made you take the plunge and go to the Festival the very first time?

I’d been wondering about going a year before I actually went, dithered too long and lost the chance to go so was determined not to make that mistake again. I was a new writer then – I blog weekly for Chandler’s Ford Today, usually on writing themes and have interviewed authors, self publishers and those who run independent presses – and I dithered due to sheer nerves. You know the kind of thing – I’d look stupid etc. I went the following year, telling myself at worst I would learn from the courses. As it turned out, the warmth of the welcome at Winchester for all delegates was incredible.

Did you feel inspired? Yes. I always come away feeling invigorated by the courses because I know what I’ve learned I can apply to my stories and blogs.

How do you think you’ve evolved creatively? The short answer is by learning from my mistakes. The longer answer is I’ve written things “the wrong way round.” I started off trying to write a novel and then came to short stories. I started with fiction and have now branched into non-fiction. Most authors I’ve come across do things properly and start off with short stories before even trying to write something longer! Having said that I have learned a lot about how to write – and how not to – in both novel and short story writing. The irony is I now write flash fiction as well and Cafélit in particular feature some of my 100 word tales!

So what happened? I was getting nowhere with the novels so thought I really should try short stories again. This time I read up more on the craft side and then started applying the principles. Lo and behold I produced a short story. I was so pleased. But the real pleasure came when A Helping Hand became my first short story in print thanks to Bridge House Publishing putting it in their Alternative Renditions anthology. From that point there was no looking back.

What genre are your books and what draws you to it? I think urban fantasy/magical realism would cover most of my stories – I just love the idea of other worlds. I like the idea of having this whole new world, one that you’ve invented, and to be able to explore it. With fairytales you have the basic premise set down; you know there will be magic, there will be good and evil etc but you can then put your own stories on that template and create some wonderful new tales. I just can’t imagine NOT writing in this genre.

So Allison, tell us more about your first flash collection, From Light to Dark and Back Again. The title, for example…

The title reflects the mood range of the stories in the book. I write humorous flash fiction to borderline horror and some crime For the collection I thought it would be good to end the book on a lighter note so came back down the scale again so to speak. Some are funny, some are dark, some cross the two. Some are set in a magical world, others are based on ours.

Allison’s flash fiction has appeared online at Alfie Dog Fiction, Cafelit,  Scriggler and in print-version anthologies by Bridge House Publishing

Allison’s blog round-up can be found here: http://allisonsymesscollectedworks.wordpress.com

http://chandlersfordtoday.co.uk/author/allison-symes/

Whilst musing with a group of writer friends recently, we were trying to come up with a catchy short story title.  The obvious ones – I Can’t Think of Anything, and Writer’s Block – fell by the wayside pretty quickly. Then we started on the silly stuff – My God Look At The Size of That and Not If I Can Help It – were also discarded amid much giggling. Ah, children to the last. I’m surprised nobody farted at the same time. Perhaps someone should have. We gave Death as a title quite a wide berth, feeling somehow that it had been done… to death… and tried Crossing The Road, Hamburgers for Free, (nil point) and Boom! none of which seemed to hook us. Then someone said Green, which although not receiving tumultuous and rapturous applause didn’t get the immediate thumbs-down either. So Green it was.   We had no idea we were in such esteemed company!

So, for this damp and miserable January day, here is my offering of Green. Didn’t say it was any good.

GREEN

She smiles,
quickly.
Lips parted
like an F22 undercarriage
open for business.
Plates, snatched from the table
cannot
will not
escape
her tight tight grip.
“I guess the best girl won, right?” laughs the diner,
smoothing crumbs
with long painted nails
from the cloth.
“Guess so,” She replies, coolly,
but not as cool
as the breath that she feels
smearing
the inside of her own mouth.
Until today,
waitress and diner worked shifts
together
waiting tables and clearing up
other people’s
half-eaten food and lipsticked cups.
But now, today,
Fate had slipped
an invisible wall
between them,
and where one now ate
the other removed the redundant
dirty plate,
dismissed
with a wave of the hand.
“Bring the bill, would you
sweetie,” instructs Long Nails,
and, leaning in,
drops a rapturous smile
to her faithful companion.
Loitering, plates still held fast,
“No dessert?” She asks,
wishing the answer were
Yes,
in the hope that Long Nails would succumb
and choke on a random
sugary crumb.
“Not now honey. Gotta watch
this figure!” Long Nails returned,
the smugness in her voice
smacking her hard in the face,
and putting her
firmly
in
her waitressing place.
She gripped the plates tighter
until it felt her fingers
would break.
Long Nails looked up.
“What? Gotta take
the rough with the smooth,
sugar,” she cooed.
“We both had a chance. You lost.
Guess I just look better on the screen
than you.”
It’s a tough place, L.A.
to audition.
Tougher still,
to waitress.
And before the thought
had even left her head
those plates she held so tightly
fell
releasing half-eaten
balsamic
and other staining liquids
all over
the semi-transparent
dress.
“Oops,” She said,
and closed her lips.
Mission complete.

Copyright Jacci Gooding 2017

Whilst at a multi-age gathering during the Christmas and New Year break, us of a certain age were bemoaning the fact that there just aren’t any good tv ads any more. Why was this? we demanded, chucking back the mulled wine with calls of ‘It’s eleven thirty…diet coke break..’ and ‘We just want to be together’ (best Brummie accent required), the reminiscences of which were received with blank and stony faces by the under 45’s in the group. Tsk tsk. Is that what the internet has done to us? Robbed us of the sparkling ingenuity used by the ad men to make us buy stuff? Not so – now it’s all online I was told – the good ads, that is. Bigger louder funnier – all online. There was a time I’m sure you can recall, when the ads were better than the programmes themselves… those programmes which are now being wheeled out as Bests Of, and punctuated by the talking heads of knowledgeable tv insiders. What was rubbish once is still rubbish now; back then we just had those damned good adverts to take our minds off how rubbish the programmes actually were. I mean, who in their right mind thought a semi-naked man painted orange and slapping people’s faces was a good idea?! Kevin from down our way ended up in a+e with a black eye and a punctured ear-drum two days after the first Tango Man ad was aired, when Dodgy Dave from the estate Tangoed him. I guess I understand why that ad was pulled – but hey! sales orange tango soared. I wonder if any of those tangoed by a sugary drink ended up as dentists? Just a thought. But anyway, where is this leading I hear you ask.

Well… last week I accompanied a nervous friend to a pitching session at a local agents’ get-together who where looking, unsurprisingly, for local authors. He got the book pitch down to a T but sadly fell at the first fence when asked to advertise himself.

“So what makes you so special?” asked Agent Ruthless. “Go on. Advertise your self.” I expect you can hear the breeze-heavy tumble-weed from there, can’t you? The answer “I…er…” wasn’t a show stopper and I can confirm, that even from the cheap seats, I could see that none of the agents were at any point Tangoed. Understanding that to be a writer these days means you also have to be Out There, packaged and available, blogged-up and ready to rockn’n’roll 24/7 can put you off a bit, if all you want to do is write. Leave the advertising to someone else. But my writer friend, his ego as well as his confidence dented to such an extent that even returning to the the bar five or six times later that evening didn’t help, is not one of those people. He’s a brilliant writer, but still at the beginning of his tortuous, relentless and unforgiving career – sorry – did I say that out loud? I meant….but is at the beginning of his wonderful, satisfying and creative career and has absolutely no idea how to advertise himself. By the fourth visit to the bar we had started to write pitches, and then loglines, of ourselves. You should give it a go. With or without beer/wine/gin/poison of your choice. Once his confidence was on the up again, we came up with ‘Brilliant Writer Seeks Brilliant Readers’, which does have a bit of ring to it I have to admit. Another attempt, ‘I Write, You Read – Every One’s A Winner!’ was more of a filler whilst we waited for the peanuts.

But my poor old writer chum – he won’t be pushing himself out there, unashamedly telling everyone how good he is – he’s just not that sort of guy. Oh dear. There may be trouble ahead…

Last Thursday’s #openmic evening run by novelist @jennyjheap at The Globe Pub in #Warwick was another great evening of author camaraderie and all things writer-ey (love a new word, me). The theme was – appropriately today perhaps – Winter, and some great pieces were given an airing to a very appreciative audience. Poet Gwyneth Box evoked winter in Spain, which brought the colours and warmth of the Med so much closer to our dark and damp shores. Jenny read a poignant short story where Winter was delicately portrayed by an ageing widow. Pepping things up a bit we heard two shorts about snow – lots of snow – in the wonderful Welsh valleys, and how something that can be so restrictive to travel (ie – you can’t do it until it melts!) does actually bring communities and friends together. Heartening stuff. Writer Nick le Mesurier and his glamorous assistant read a wonderful two-hander that held many laughs and possibly a few tears (might have got a bit of dust in my eye at some point – you know how it is), and we listened, spellbound, as the hilarious yet tender story unfolded. My Winter offering relates to nature, and here it is below. ‘Cause everyone loves a sparrow, right?!

WINTER

She puffs out her chest as the north wind buffets her small body and ruffles the delicate feathers tasked with protecting her from the chill of winter. Perched amid a leafless web of spiky hawthorn branches, the sparrow finds little shelter from the icy confetti that falls silently and steadily around her, yet she is content to wait. A trudge of foot, a gentle call and a sweeping hand knocks snow from the bird-table and it falls a second time, a mini avalanche of ice dust to land on the snow below. Crumbs of fatty nuts and bread are hastily scattered across the snow-capped table and then she is alone once more. With darting swiftness she takes flight and lands amid the food, a rich brown berry on the pure white snow. Hungrily she gathers what she can. To make it through this darkest of seasons she must eat every day, the scales of sustenance holding her struggle so stay alive precariously in the balance until the earth tips Springward again.  So she eats quickly before her banquet disappears beneath fresh snowfall.

Other birds, with empty stomachs and keen eyes are also looking for food. On soundless wings a sparrow hawk suddenly descends – because she too, must eat.