Sleeping Beauty

A bit of flash fiction today. Not entirely fictional…!

8pm. Great, baby asleep in good time. Should really go to bed now, but I’ll just have five minutes first. Ooh, there’s a repeat of that show I missed the other night. Right, I’ll make a cuppa and watch that; it’s only half an hour…

9.30pm. Gah, what’s that? Tea everywhere! Stupid, must have dozed off there. Only saw half of that programme too. Well, guess I may as well go to bed. A year ago I’d have just been getting going on the second round of drinks by now. But this is good. I like being a mum – most days. Yes. Really. Ok, bed.

10pm. And here we go. Baby awake. Change her, feed her. Put her back down. Still not asleep? Ok, we’ll try the old mummy dance. The last time I danced this slow with anyone I ended up with Baby. Sway, sway. Shuffle, shuffle. Sing, sing, softer and softer. Asleep. Back to bed.

11pm. Typical, been trying to get back to sleep and can’t. Might go make a hot chocolate.

11.30pm. It’s strange but true, you can actually go to sleep standing up. Maybe the hum of the microwave. Maybe the micro-waves of the microwave, scrambling my brain. Not sure how anyone would tell. Anyway, hot chocolate ready now. Will drink it in bed and definitely NOT doze and spill it on sheets.

Midnight. Well, a couple of spots on the sheet aren’t too bad in the scheme of things. And they’ll come out in the wash. There’s the baby again. Change, her feed her. Put her back down. Still not asleep? Sway, sway, shuffle, shuffle. Sing, sing, softer and softer. Asleep. Head straight for the door, watch out for the…yes, that toy there, the one with the flashing lights. Oh well, could have been worse. Didn’t wake her. Now if I’d stepped on that toy with the musical buttons that you can’t switch off…ah, yes, that would be the one. Sway, sway, shuffle, shuffle, sing, sing. Stumble in sleepy stupor. Wake up, mummy. Sing, sing, softer and softer.

1.30am. Asleep. Back to bed.

2.30am. Who in the name of all that’s holy is texting at this time of night?? Cath. Great, sounds like she’s having fun with the girls. She should be home in bed by now. I read something the other day, that if you get less than six hours of sleep every night, by the end of two weeks you’re actually operating at the level of someone who’s drunk. I prefer the old way. At least then you got a good time and a good drink before everything went fuzzy. And you were pretty sure after the hangover you’d be ok. This hangover’s lasted 5 weeks so far. Longest hangover in history. Back to sleep.

4am. Baby awake. Change her – why aren’t the tabs sticking? What’s wrong with this stupid nappy – trust me to get a dud one. Oh. Had it on backwards. Change her, feed her. Put her back down. Stayed asleep this time. Head for the door. Awake again. Sway, sway, shuffle, shuffle. Sing, sing, softer and softer. Back to bed.

5.30am. Baby awake. Change her. She can’t need feeding again, surely? No, it’s playtime.

Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.

Pier Pressure

A short story for today’s post.

Ever noticed how those kids’ rides that are supposed to look like smiley dolphins or whatever look dead creepy when there’s no kids around? Or even when there are, come to think of it. Big painted eyes stare mockingly at you and the wide fixed grin stretches from one side to the other – it’s like it knows something about you that you don’t, and it’s trouble.

There was one of these at the pier, outside a seedy amusement arcade. I say arcade, but we’re talking a few machines, a change kiosk and a vending machine. The carpet was big red and yellow flowers and ferns, like something from an old lady’s living room. Smelled of wee too. I didn’t stay in there more than a minute. At least out on the pier the smell of wee was mixed in with the smell of salty sand and seawater. Continue reading “Pier Pressure”

Some Life, Somewhere

I love the idea of chapbooks. Those small, cheap pamphlet-type books that are produced purely because the writer just wanted to get their work out there. Because they felt they had something important to say, or they wanted to express themselves through poetry or prose, or to record some part of their family’s history or values. Those writers very bravely put their work out for people to read without thinking (much!) of the bigger picture, of getting an agent or a publisher or what happens if people don’t like it.

There’s a whole lot of discussion at the minute around e-publishing and self-publishing and should you hold out for a deal or do you do it for the money or the recognition, or do you just want to say something. I think, personally, and I doubt I’m very original here, that this is the age of the ebook, and it’s the perfect medium for a chapbook. People have short time spans available in the pressures of the modern world – even people who don’t ‘work’ like me but care full time for children or other loved ones. At the same time the explosion of the kindle, smartphone and ever-cheaper ereaders means that there’s huge potential for buying cheap publications and carrying them round easily for those moments when you do have some precious leisure time to read. I know, for example, that there’s a massive market for iPhone reading apps, whether it’s the classics, the kindle app or iBooks; I’ve had my own little bit of success with Ether Books who produce specifically for the iPhone (branching into other smartphone operating systems later in the year – hint hint) and who published my short story a couple of weeks ago. Without knowing the specific numbers involved, I know it’s been popular because my story has been in the Bestseller list since it was published (ok, bragging over now).

That small success has given me a much-needed boost. Family upheaval lately has meant that my writing has very much taken a back seat and I’ve lost direction. The email from Ether gave me a proper kick up the behind and I’ve taken up my pen again. Well, pencil, actually, since I’ve rediscovered a love for working through ideas with pencil and notebook. That, combined with that admiration for chapbook writers I mentioned above, has led me to a little project of my own.

I proudly present my own e-chapbook, Some Life Somewhere. It’s a collection of seven short stories told through dialogue, and touching on the big questions – life, death and the tricky bits inbetween. I’ll be publishing it on kindle and through smashwords later this week, and I’ll put a link to the Amazon listing on here and my website and facebook page. My very talented husband has done my cover and I love it. I’m really excited about the whole thing  -even if only my mum reads it, it’s me taking a big brave step and it’s what I need to do to pick my feet up and run along my own path as a writer.

Stuck in the Mud

The woman tried to move her feet. However much she wriggled and jiggled her legs, they wouldn’t free. She stood up straight, hands pushing into the small of her back, closing her eyes with a weary sigh.

On every side the world moved around the mud puddle. Children danced and ran, energy pouring out of them and towards her in torrents, but the torrents died away to drips before they reached the mud puddle. Busy busy people power-walked, focused, in a straight line towards a goal she couldn’t see. Where their so-straight path crossed her puddle, it veered around the outskirts, as if repelled by the negative power like a magnetic forcefield.

She tried again to get free but her struggles only seemed to suck her further in. The mud crept up her leg, cold and dark, and she shivered. She started to call out for help. She called louder and louder; no-one heard, although every now and then someone would stop and look around them as if bothered by something they couldn’t quite work out. Shaking their heads, they always moved on.

To her left she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a dark cloud beginning to crawl over the sky. She sobbed once and the breath caught in her throat with the cold. Her legs were aching from the effort of holding her increasingly heavy body up, and she slumped, her hands resting on her thighs taking as much of her weight as they could. Shallow breaths turned to droplets in the damp air. As she began to give up her hands slid down her legs. She jerked herself up for one last look at the world around the mud puddle and saw, in the distance, other people stuck in their own puddles. One caught her eye and they smiled humourlessly at each other. He waved at her, and began to raise his leg. She watched him wobble as he managed to free first one foot, then the other, stepping out of his puddle and striding away, mingling into the crowd with only a watery brown mudstain on his clothes as evidence of his entrapment.

She gritted her teeth, grinding them until they hurt and her jaw was locked in place. She stared down at her legs and willed her foot to lift free of the slime around it. It began to move; still sucked under the surface but starting to shift slightly. At the edge of the circle the man stood waiting; he’d returned for her. Every ounce of strength was forced into that obedient leg and it juddered free. She took big sticky steps, wading through the treacly mud with aching slowness until she finally stood with one foot poised to step into freedom. She looked back over her shoulder at the ever-present, threatening dark cloud and then turned, put each foot in turn onto solid ground.

She stretched in the sunshine and revelled in the warmth seeping into her skin, like a lazy cat on some Mediterranean tiled roof. Her eyes narrowed against the brightness and the colour.

Then she walked away.

A Not So Perfect Interview with Nik Perring

Recently I won a draw on Bah! To Cancer’s blog for a signed copy of a book of short stories by Nik Perring, Not So Perfect. By the way, if you haven’t visited Bah! to Cancer before, pop over now and have a look, it’s a great site. No, not now, I’ll never get you back. Go at the end of the post, when you’ve commented about how wonderful I am. Sorry, Nik Perring is.

I’d heard great stuff about this little book, and I was over the moon to win a signed copy for myself. I started reading it quite late at night, intending to read a couple of stories then and digest it slowly, but I was completely hooked and devoured the whole lot in one sitting. I would have gone back and read it again but my husband turned the light off. Grr.

There are 22 short short stories, and they really are short. The book is a small square and each story is only a couple of pages, but my goodness! Nik Perring says more in those couple of pages than a lot of people get to in three sides of A4. There is a range of stories too, some are more whimsical but some left me feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach. I think I actually caught myself holding my breath after Shark Boy. This was my favourite story, but the others were all wonderful, and like the best short stories, you can go back and re-read each one to find more and more layers and meanings. The stories are kind of like one of those rich sweets you get from a posh chocolate shop, y’know? They’re only tiny, you gobble a couple down, and just enjoy the experience, then you learn to chew them properly and discover all the flavours. Sorry about all the food references, it’s past my elevenses time.

So if that hasn’t whetted your appetite yet (sorry!), I was lucky enough to persuade Nik to give me a quick sort-of-interview. This is my first crack at this, so be kind to me…

How did you get published? Was it a long tortuous process involving pulling out of hair and staring into empty gin bottles in front of a dying fire?

This is going to sound very arrogant, so I apologise in advance, but my path to publication was really straight forward. I found a publisher I loved and wanted to work with (Roast Books), and I submitted to them. They liked what they read, asked for more, I sent those in, which they also liked, and so they said yes.  I would say though that I think the reason it was all so straight forward was because I’d spent an awful lot of time doing the hard work.

As for gin, well, I’m saying nothing!

If you had to pick one story from Not So Perfect – I mean, if your life depended on it – which would it be?

That’s always a really, really difficult question to answer, probably impossible, because I genuinely love, and am proud of, them all. I really enjoyed writing Number 14 because that was about the first one I’d attempted after deciding that writing short stories was what I wanted to do, and I loved writing Seconds Are Ticking By because it came so quickly and fully formed. I’ll always be fond of Shark Boy and In My Head I’m Venus because they’re really good fun to read out, like Kiss and The Mechanical Woman, and – and…

What was your process in making an anthology? Did you write a million stories and then choose 22?

The twenty-two that made it into Not So Perfect were my best and the ones that fitted together the best. There were a few that got left out because it was clear that they were different and didn’t quite fit but, to be honest, it all came together very naturally (and I’m a stickler for only putting work out there that I really love which I think helped the process).

What’s the best thing about being a published author? Or the worst?

The best thing is that people are reading my work and, apparently, enjoying it. That’s really, really special. It’s a nice feeling too to know that I’m not all that bad at it!

Worst? I don’t know. There are lots of bits about it that aren’t perfect. Being a writer’s a lonely occupation. I’ve seen people’s attitudes towards me change since this book’s come out, often in a not so perfect way. There’s a pretty constant sense of worry and anxiety and pressure.

But mostly, and I genuinely mean this (despite sounding like an utter grump) I love the job.

If you were giving advice to a newbie, what would be the one essential ingredient to a perfect (or not so perfect) short story?

Truth, I think. And by that I mean being true to yourself and being true to the story. So, not trying to write like someone else and not trying to write something you think a certain sort of person would like. I think any writer will write best when they’re writing something they’re enjoying (it’s a lot less pressure then too!). So yes, truth and feel free to write whatever you want to write.

The other advice would be: Just Do It! Be brave!

(You can see a list of my short story writing tips here: http://thestorycorrective.com/short-story-tips/)

Thanks so much for having me on here! It’s been a pleasure!

Thanks Nik!

Nik Perring is a writer, and occasional teacher of writing, from the north west. His short stories have been published widely in places including SmokeLong Quarterly, 3 :AM and Word Riot. They’ve also been read at events and on radio, printed on fliers and used as part of a high school distance learning course in the US.

Nik’s debut collection of short stories, NOT SO PERFECT is published by Roast Books and is out now. Nik blogs here (http://nikperring.blogspot.com) and his website’s here (www.nperring.com). He also offers short story help here (http://thestorycorrective.com/).