Our Friend And Part Of Our Family.

A little over ten years ago Jo and I told the kids we were going out to do some food shopping. Back then, it was the best way of ensuring they wouldn’t want to come along. We were only going to ‘have a look’, that was all. It had taken no time at all to talk Jo into getting a dog as we both loved them, the kids were forging new lives for themselves in Bristol and this may help a little. We both knew that this was going to be the only addition we would now add to the family, so going to ‘have a look’ seemed prudent before making a permanent decision.

We drove through the rolling green countryside of Somerset, not far from where my favourite cider is made. Eventually we found the sharp turning up a track which opened out to reveal a house with fencing around the back, securing the considerable land running up a slope into woodland. Just before the woodland was a large kennel. The entrance to the back was through a large metal country gate, the kind we are always reminded to close in the Country Code. On the other side of the gate was an old red car that looked like it hadn’t moved for some time. From behind the car appeared two mischievous faces, one on top of the other like in a cartoon. One face was terracotta red and white. The other face was dark chocolate brindle with a white inverted wine glass running down the centre of her face, the stem of the glass ran between her eyes and the bowl of the glass opened out to envelop her mouth and jowls. They remained peeping from behind the car for only a split second, but that image will stay with me all my life.

They bounded out from behind the car to greet us, their bums shaking from side to side with excitement and faces scrunched up with unabashed joy. After a very quick discussion with the breeder who explained the female brindle was the only one left from the litter she would sell because although she was a fine example of the breed, her inner eyelids were different colours so she could not win competitions. Within seconds I was back in the car looking for an ATM while Jo stayed to make sure no-one else came along and took her from us. Going to only ‘have a look’ was never a realistic option. I returned with the money and we left for home with the new addition to our family, our Boxer puppy called Roxy.

As a puppy, we could not have asked for better behaviour. She never really messed in the house, apart from mitigating circumstances which I will explore in more detail later and she never chewed anything which was a blessing, as Boxers are infamous vandals. Not one chair leg, sofa cushion or shoe did she destroy.

I say all that, but must confess I am guilty of using rose-tinted glasses which ironically, would have been destroyed as she did eat a £200 pair of Oakley’s I had. I returned home from a night out with work somewhat inebriated to find Jo holding up a twisted piece of metal that resembled part of the frames and it took me a few moments to realise the glasses were no more. Roxy had somehow climbed up onto the dining table upon which my glasses had been laying in assumed safety, skated around on the shiny veneer before devouring said glasses. We knew this to be the course of events as our once pristine, lacquered table now resembled an ice rink where several drunks re-enacted Torville and Dean’s Olympic Gold winning ice dance to Bolero. She also gorged herself on every one of my England Cricket baseball style hats. She would eat one, so I would buy another one, and with canine appreciation she would eat that too, ad nauseam. Literally.

***WARNING – Anecdotes Of Poo – Those who have just eaten may not want to read this next bit***

Then we have the chocolate cake incident. I still shudder at the thought of it. We took our youngest to London on her birthday for a day out with her friend to do some shopping and then on to Planet Hollywood for something to eat. In Planet Hollywood I asked them for a surprise birthday cake, and bless them, they provided a huge chocolate birthday cake. Lush. We took it home as it was so big it would feed us all for days to come. Of course Roxy managed to somehow drag it off the kitchen work surface and devour it all. And when I say ALL, I mean ALL. Oh lordy, she ate every bit of it. But she was not sick and showed no signs of feeling sick. We were worried as we knew chocolate can be very harmful to dogs, but we got a lucky break and all appeared well.

At this point I need to explain that we had an ‘En Suite’ bathroom with a walkway between the bathroom and bedroom that had wardrobes either side of it. The doors of the wardrobes were mirrored and on a sliding track. Roxy would sleep on the floor either next to, at the end of or under our bed, it never failed to make us laugh as her little legs disappeared under our bed.

We were woken by the horrific sound of solids and liquids being expunged from an orifice at high pressure. The noise came from the walkway between the bedroom and bathroom. It eventually ceased and there was the sound of rapid paw steps over to Jo’s side of the bed. I turned the light on to see Roxy sat at Jo’s bedside with an expectant look of ‘uh-oh’ on her face. I turned to look at the walkway. Oh my. I felt like Roy Scheider in Jaws, sat on Amity Island Beach in the homage to Vertigo as the camera moves in and zooms out. Before me was Dante’s third circle of hell, Gluttony, or at least the results of it. All I could scream was,

“OH NO!” in shock and awe.

My wonderful dog had woken with significant digestive discomfort and legged it over to the walkway where all hell broke loose. She was understandably curious and concerned with what was going on back there and tried to investigate. Dogs chasing their tails can be amusing, although not when something like that is taking place. She had created her own little circle of hell, all over the mirrored doors, the floor, the tracks and inside the cupboard. Jo ushered Roxy out of the room and downstairs. I got myself a towel, wrapped it around my face in an effort to filter out the overwhelming smell and started the clean-up process.

I eventually joined Jo downstairs to sleep on the sofa. It was several days before we could sleep in there again.

I could tell many stories about pulling grass from out of her as she ran inside like her ass was on fire, or waking to find her nose in my mouth and the time she coughed canine phlegm into my mouth but that was only the smallest part of our life with Roxy.

She was so very gentle, which for a Boxer is quite something. If we were ever upset about anything, she would always be there in front of us, tail wagging and nervously looking for reassurance that we were okay. She was a begrudging companion to an old rescued Boxer we had for the last few months of his life, but she was a companion to him nonetheless. She was aloof, fuss was on her terms. She was a foot warmer when you wanted to sleep on the sofa. She never showed aggression to other dogs and just wanted to play with them or on them, even once still trying to play with a dog that had just attacked her and opened her side up quite severely. She was great with our Grandson, always so patient with him as he played with her, put shoes on her and sometimes fell on her (all closely supervised by us, of course). When we came home she would sit patiently, waiting for us to take our coats off and hang them up before leaping up with excitement to greet us. She would punch Jim in his testicles every time he came to visit. She only ever showed dislike for one person, which proved her to be a great judge of character. She was my alarm clock, waking me up every morning without fail to go for a walk and she would play by running at me, swerving and jumping out of the way at the last moment. She loved to do this and I loved to watch her do this every morning. Her favourite words were Cheese, Chicken, Treat, Walk and Cats, but not to speak, that would be ridiculous. The back door to our old house had a cat flap and she would poke her head through it to bark at people who were walking along the footpath at the back of our house, like some ground-level animated Gargoyle. She developed over a number of years, a unique way of asking to be let out for a pee by exhaling in a manner that sounded like the groan of a Zombie or one of the creatures in Resident Evil, it amused us but could be rather disconcerting for the uninitiated. She was most comfortable when she could lay on the sofa, roll onto her back and tuck her legs in, like an upturned bean. On one occasion she allowed several cows to lick her face. She was a keen and constant farter.

And then a week and a half ago we were on the way back from our morning walk when she slowed down, not to sniff at anything and not to pee, she just slowed right down and stopped. This was to be the start of our losing her. She went rapidly downhill from there, refusing water and food unless it was given to her by hand and only then in very tiny amounts. She perked up a little on Sunday with a visit from the girls and our Grandson, but not enough. That Tuesday the vet advised we could have tests done but they would only confirm what was causing the inevitable and there was little to be done. So Jo and I had reached the day we had known would always come and we made the hardest decision. To carry on would have been selfish and cruel on our part and would not have taken into account her comfort and quality of life.

We both held her as she went and our hearts broke.

You can’t choose your family, only your friends so they say. But Jo and I were so very lucky to have been able to choose this member of our family who was also our dearest friend, bringing us so much happiness in the 10 years and four months she was here. We no longer have our alarm clock, no-one to eat that little bit of cheese, no-one ‘zombie breathing’ to be let out to pee and now the corner of the sofa looks empty.

But in the last ten years we have laughed so much, smiled at each other over her as she snored laying between us and have had the best companion and friend we could have wished for. We would not change a minute.

Goodbye Roxy – X

Thoughts On Submissions And Queries To Literary Agents

Before I start I wish to clarify I have not yet submitted, I am not published and I share these thoughts with no inside knowledge. But I can read, I can observe which can in turn, inform what I have to say. This is just as much for me as it is for anyone else.

Literary Agents on both sides of the Atlantic speak of the same mistakes they see in queries time and time again. These appear to be the main offenders.

1. Who are you submitting to?

Do not just pick a handful of agents from whatever source you’re using. Look into what genres they represent. Is that your genre? If it is, great, continue your research. If not, move on. If you think, ‘They could do with a change’ or ‘My book will be like a beacon of light showing them the way forward and they couldn’t possibly turn this one down’ then you are woefully mistaken and they will more than likely not read beyond the opening sentences of your letter.

2. Are they accepting queries? 

Agents at times will have periods when they do not accept submissions. This will be due to their books being full and they need to commit time to their current clients or they simply will not accept unsolicited submissions. How selfish of them eh?! You should be able to establish if they are accepting queries or not from your source material or the Agent’s website. There’s no point in spending all that time and nervous energy in preparing your submission when it will be deleted or filed under ‘Bin’ without being opened.

3. Get their name right! 

I’m not even kidding. I saw a tweet from an Agent, let’s call him Mr Smith, he works for an Agency, let’s call it The Birmingham Agency. In that tweet he told of a query to him that started Dear Mr Birmingham! I’m going to bet he did not request a full MS from that author. The devil is in the details, especially details like the Agent’s name.

4. Your book is not as important to them as it is to you.

Yes your book is important to you. But that doesn’t make it automatically as important to an Agent. They may get dozens of queries everyday and they appreciate you have slaved long and hard on it, had sleepless nights, moments of abject despair and moments of euphoric highs. They know this all too well. But they do not share those feelings and nor should they. If and when you become an Agent’s client, then I think it is fair to expect a greater amount of attention and appreciation, that’s part of the deal. But do not expect it at the point of query. An Agent I know of received a query advising them in the opening paragraph how hugely important the book was and would be to the Agent. I understand that query did not go well. Be confident in what you have written, like it and sell it by all means, but some humility can go a long way.

5. Do not give deadlines to an Agent.

They are busy people, but people nonetheless. If they are going to read your work they will get around to it when they can. If they are going to reply, they will get around to it when they can. Nothing you can say in your query letter will change that. Do not give them a deadline by which to get back to you (that has happened). It will not go down well. If you have not heard within 8 weeks of sending, then a polite and professional follow up will suffice (that seems to be the consensus among Agents).

6. Give them what they ask for.

If an Agent asks for a cover letter and the first 3 chapters, send them exactly that. If they ask for a cover letter, a synopsis and the first 2 chapters, send them exactly that. They are not just looking for an excellent book, they are also looking to see if they can work with you. If you fail to follow simple instructions at the start, that tells them you may not be able to work with them and potential publishers. Do not send your work on pink paper in a nice, flowery font. Do not send them balloons, confetti or cakes. Actually, on that last point, send me the cakes – email me for my address. I will accept all submissions and will send a response to every submission I receive. I like cake. There, I said it.

7. It’s a business, deal with it.

Capitalism is not for everyone, but until something better comes along, we’re stuck with it. You have to accept that Agents and Publishers must be able to make money, filthy lucre, green, mulah, kerching, bread and dough. If you are not comfortable with this, then maybe you need to think about the traditional route to publishing and is it for you? It may be time to think about self publishing or establishing a self efficient, non-profit, cooperative nation-state of your own that uses exchange of services rather than currency as an economic system and we can all just get along, but that’s just crazy talk. Who would want that?!

8. Think about it, research is easy. In these modern, fancy times of horseless carriages and the internet, research is no great effort. It’s a question of clicking on several buttons, reading some stuff and making notes. What could be easier than that? So before you send off your queries, do some research. You can look people up on their website for submission information and look them up on Twitter to see what they’re like and if you could be a fit. If they seem like someone you could get along with, they’re accepting queries from your genre, you know how they want the query and in what format, then you might be ready to send off your work. Good luck!

I just hope I take my own advice when the time comes.

What is an idea anyway? Guest blog on creativity and research by Wood Dickinson

A great piece about the amount of work required before you can even begin to write your book. There are no shortcuts and as I found and am still finding, the more research and background work you put in, the more the words and creativity will flow.

Creative Writing with the Crimson League

Please join me in welcoming Wood Dickinson today to crimsonleague.com!

Wood is an award-winning filmmaker at renegade Pictures. Today he’s going to discuss a topic as applicable to novels as it is to screenplays: how to develop an idea, and the importance of research to our writing and our creativity.

This post is one of the longer guest posts I’ve featured, but it’s well worth the read!

Recently I was faced with answering the question, “What is an idea?”

I was working with a first time writer, trying desperately to teach him about the formation of an idea. He told me he had tons of ideas and thought he could write movie scripts and make movies like crazy.

After a painful few weeks, I decided to show–not tell–this would-be writer what an idea really looks like. Here’s what I did and said.

“What you call an idea is really just…

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Get On With It Man, Quit Stalling.

As Popeye said, “I can’t stands no more.”

I’ve left my book alone for as long as I can take. I know I was meant to put it away, forget it and get some detachment, which is all well and good. But that is difficult when it’s in my thoughts almost every waking minute and quite a few sleeping ones also.

I timed it all rather well as I had The Ashes to distract me over the last few weeks with another great victory for England against Australia. Huzzar. For my friends on the other side of the Atlantic and further afield, if you wish to understand what Cricket is all about please click on this link.

Aside from watching Cricket, I have used this ‘down time’ wisely (I hope). I have studied self editing books to the point where I can’t take another sentence written by Sol Stein, sorry Sol. I’m sure he’ll be distraught at this news and I hope he doesn’t stop practising, he’ll make it one day.

I have also been tough on myself in terms of what has to be cut from the book, which is a considerable amount. I know what my first draft is and that is, as Hemmingway said about all first drafts, ‘shit’. A literary master at work there, wielding the subtlety of the English language like a 12 gauge shotgun. I have whole sequences to cut. Although I love the writing in some of them, they serve no real purpose in moving things forward, but I will file them away and recycle the bones somewhere else, hopefully. I have characters to cull and some to merge.

I have also settled on the outline for the sequel and have started the research for settings and continued world building, well, more the odd extension here and there. It is certainly easier starting work on the sequel now the world of my book has been established in the first.

I have started to research which Agents may suit me and vice versa, how to write submissions and doing the groundwork on networking. I am beginning to think of myself as a writer, but one that is not yet published. Yet. I have a determination I have never experienced before with any endeavour. It may not happen, but it will not be for the lack of effort or desire. I will not be left thinking in years to come if I could have done anything more to make this work. As a writer, performer or artist of any kind you are asking others to share the belief you have in what you do and you owe it to them and yourself to give your endeavour every chance to succeed and exist in the mind of your audience, especially if you want them to pay for it. Yes I want people to eventually pay for my work. Yes I am comfortable with that.

Enough of this for now. If Hemmingway were alive today, I’m sure he would say, ‘You have a shit load of work to do.’ Wouldn’t he?

Life, The Twitterverse and Everything: Why Should You Use Twitter And How?

It has been kindly suggested to me by my fellow writing blogger Lara Chase that not everyone on here may be familiar with or confident in using the magnificent phenomenon that is Twitter and it may be a good idea to share my experience in how to use it and get the best from it. But to begin with, why would you want to use yet another social networking / blogging site? Well, let me explain why I feel Twitter is a great thing to have at our fingertips before I look at how it can more specifically help us writers.

1: Information Will Arrive On Your Timeline As It Happens.

I follow a guy who lives in Japan, no particular reason other than we share a love for the Terry Gilliam film Brazil. He can hardly speak English and I speak no Japanese at all. But when the awful earthquake and subsequent Tsunami struck the coast of Japan in 2011, he was only a few miles up the coast from the main areas effected. I found myself in the surreal position of my friend describing the horrific events in real-time as I lay in bed at home in Buckinghamshire in the UK. It was terrifying. How else other than through Twitter could that have happened?

2: A Powerful Tool For Democracy And Good.

During the Arab Spring uprisings as oppressive governments tried to restrict journalism to heavily controlled areas and censored reports, much of the only information coming out of those areas arrived by Twitter. The people on the ground risking everything to obtain freedom for their country were not only able to contact the outside world to make sure we knew what was happening but they could also use it to coordinate their efforts.

On a lighter note, in 2011 some areas of London were subject to rioting where property was damaged and destroyed. On the following day, instigated by groups on Twitter and Facebook, the people in these areas took to the streets in large ‘Flash Clean Up Mobs‘ to help those most effected by the damage to get cleaned up and back to normal as soon as possible. How great is that?

3: The Potential To Communicate With Those We Admire

If you’re a fan of Justin Bieber, Stephen Fry, Ricky Gervais, John Cusack or Kim Kardashian (I follow some but NOT all of these people), you have the potential to communicate with people you would never have to the opportunity to otherwise, unless you going to take stalking up as a hobby. I have enjoyed brief chats or retweets from people I admire such as Michael McKean (David St Hubbins in Spinal Tap), Benicio Del Toro and Sam Neil, how cool is that?! But don’t worry, I haven’t hobbled anyone.

4: You Can Get Stuff.

Quite often Twitter gives you access to get stuff. Stuff that you might desire like tickets to concerts long believed to have been sold out. Some examples: My wife and I like the British comedians Reeves and Mortimer. They tweeted they were filming a new sit com and if you were among the first few hundred to follow their new Twitter account you could get tickets to see the filming of it. We did and we did. My wife has had dinner with a restaurant critic for one of our national newspapers as they were ‘at work’ and we got front row seats for another British comedy show. All from Twitter. Bargain.

So How Does This Twitter Thing Work?

It works like most blog sites in that you will need to follow people to receive their posts (Tweets). You can do this by searching for individuals by name or Twitter name, for example my Twitter name is @anglish15 . You can also search by subject or key words, for example Literary Agent. Once you start to follow a few accounts Twitter will make recommendations to you. Like most blog sites. for others to view your posts they need to be following you so it helps to be reciprocal if people follow you and on Fridays it is popular to recommend people you follow by tweeting their twitter names with the Hashtag #ff (Follow Fridays).

Which brings me on to Hashtags. By entering the #character before one or more words (no other punctuation or spaces) it links the tweet to any other tweet with the same Hashtag. If I share by blog in a tweet and use the Hashtag #shortstories anyone who searches this Hashtag can view my tweet. It is a great way of promoting or tagging your tweet. You can also use # to search for subjects and accounts to follow.

Each tweet can only be a maximum of 140 characters long including text, punctuation, Hashtags and link addresses. So in this instance the answer to Life, the Twitterverse and everything is not 42 but 140.

How Do I Use It As A Writer?

I am going to be editing and revising my book so I am researching Literary Agents, Submissions and anything I can learn that could help me get that deal. I follow Literary Agents on Twitter which is a great to research them, what they want to read and who they work with. Some Agents are also happy to answer questions you may have at certain times, but don’t web stalk them, they’re people too! They will tweet when they are prepared to take questions from you, so be patient. It’s also a great way of staying in touch with other writers on a more informal basis. As I said before, one of the joys of Twitter is its immediacy.

So what are you waiting for? Get on there and get tweeting, and if you don’t mind, give me a follow! @anglish15

Don’t Stop, Keep Going : The Devil On My Shoulder

It’s been three weeks since I finished the first draft of my debut novel. I printed it and placed it neatly on a table at home. Initially, there was the euphoria you would expect. I felt I had accomplished something significant, I smiled and did some internal whooping, but not out loud. I also drank some Rum, quite a bit as it goes.

I started this blog which so far, has been a great experience. My confidence is growing, I’m reading some great blogs, it’s introducing me to a community of writers that I would otherwise never have had the opportunity to engage with and I would like to think I am making some new friends on here. I have written a few short stories from the world of my book, which has been a handy little exercise. It means I get my daily fix of writing, I could go cold turkey at anytime but right now, I choose not to. I am researching how to edit, revise and rewrite my book. It’s my first, first draft. I know it’s a bit of a dog at the moment. A good and faithful dog that wont crap on your carpet, but it does smell and needs several good baths and a haircut.

But. My book. It sits on my left shoulder, dressed in a cheap, bright red onesie, clip-on horns and holding a long red fork. It whispers in my ear,

‘Hey, come on. Start rewriting, editing and revising. What are you waiting for? Get stuck in.’ I want to. I really want to. I want to put down the books I am reading, even though I am enjoying them immensely and start rewriting mine. Balls to waiting, nothing gets done by waiting, waiting’s for suckers etc.

I know I have to wait, do the research, the hard work and take time away from my book. I have to keep going and stick with the plan. Writing and revision is the pay off for the work I’m doing now. But lordy, it’s hard. This book has been a big part of my life for so long, I have had the luxury of getting lost in it on an almost daily basis for longer than I care to remember and I am of course desperate to make it the best book I possibly can. I know however, a little knowledge is a very dangerous thing. So that means I must keep working, researching and learning. I will not be fooled into thinking I have done enough when there is a tiny and honest chap at the back of the room patiently holding a hand up saying,

‘Um, pardon me. Sorry. I don’t want to interrupt but I’m not sure you’ve done enough yet. Sorry. Gosh. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to start your edit and revision yet. Um, gosh. Sorry.’ He is well mannered with thick floppy hair, terribly, terribly English and understated. But damn it, that charming, smug bastard is right. Bless him.

And yes, I am aware of the irony in the amount of telling there is in this blog rather than showing. See, I’m learning.

The Versatile Blogger Award

Pay It Forward is not just a saccharin, schmaltzy film with Kevin Spacey and the boy who can see dead people.

Paying it forward is also very much the spirit of The Versatile Blogger Award and having been so generously nominated by Lara S. Chase (if you’re not already following her, I thoroughly recommend you do so) I intend to ‘pay it forward’ by listing the blogs below that I have found to be really interesting, useful and enjoyable. Tradition also requires I give seven fun facts about myself. I will adhere to tradition.

My blogs of choice, in no particular order are:

1. Lionheart Writers – As a relatively new writer, I find the tips and advice on this blog very helpful and reassuring.

2. The Wandering Barefoot Editor – You know how you just enjoy somebody’s style as you read? Well I enjoy his!

3. Valeriu Dg Barbu Blog – We all love a bit of poetry and I find his so rich and full of colour.

4. 300 Stories – For the sheer effort alone of taking up the challenge of writing 300 short stories in a year, this is one blog that deserves your follow. I’m also really enjoying the stories.

5. Rebecca McKeown Writes – Her short story had me hooked, check it out!

6. Writer’s Resource Blog – It does what it says on the tin. A must for anyone with an interest in the world of publishing. Fascinating articles and tips.

7. Street of Dreams – Good thought provoking blog about writing, art and everything.

8. Alan James Keogh – A young writer posting excellent short stories for us to read, for free, gratis, no money required. It’s good stuff!

9. Kurt Rees – Great, accessible poetry that makes me think. I can’t ask for more than that.

10. Thrilling Writing – Andrew marsh’s blog with great tips on writing and the creative process.

And now seven facts about me.

1.  The greatest day of my life was when Jo and I were married in a little snow covered town at the foot of a mountain in Austria.

2. My favourite all time film is Lawrence of Arabia – You could take any frame of that film and hang it on your wall.

3. I have a Boxer called Roxy, she wakes me up at 6am every day to go for a walk, I pick up her poop, I feed her and she has not said thank you once. 10 years and never a thank you. I am not bitter about this.

4. My favourite Cheese is called Epoisses. It smells foul.

5. My favourite book is Catch-22. The film is not so good.

6. I once stood behind John Hurt in the canteen at the BBC. He got a sandwich. I got a black coffee. I do not recall what he had in the sandwich. I am almost 100% certain he does not remember it as fondly as I do.

7. When I was younger (much younger) I was a bad actor. I was in an episode of a TV programme called Dramarama, as listed here. The guy who was ‘The Baddy’ was also the Zombie being beaten with pool cues in this amazing scene in Sean of The Dead. We did not stay in touch, shame.

Take care and all the best,

Andy

Feed Me Seymour

Hi

I just noticed that my email address was missing from my profile.

It’s on here now so if you would like to give me some feedback on any of my stories (I can take it, go on, you know you want to) but would rather send it privately, please feel free.

I would love to hear from you!

All the best,

Andy

The Versatile Blogger Award

A huge thank you to Lara for her very kind words and nomination, it will be paid forward!

Lara S. Chase

Like most writers and other human beings, I enjoy a compliment every now and then.  Sara Evans at A Place That Does Not Exist recently awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award.  I’ve enjoyed Sara’s blog, so it was nice to know she has also found mine worth reading.  I particularly like the spirit of the Versatile Blogger Award in that it encourages you to immediately award it to other bloggers yourself.

I was just conversing with another blogger this week about how writing can be an isolating profession.  Encouragement from other writers traveling the same path can go a long way.  Thanks to Sara for providing that this week for me.  I hope the bloggers I have listed below feel similarly encouraged.  I have followed and enjoyed your writing, and I hereby bestow the Versatile Blogger Award to you.  If you accept, proudly display the award and then share the…

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The Neighbour – A Short Story

Hi,

I’ve been given some great advice and I am going to take it – I should be saving these and developing them further. So, one last story which I hope you enjoy and as before, I would love to hear any feedback you may have for me.

The Neighbour

By

Andy English

“Where do you want these Vagrant Conditioning files, Leo?” Charles stood in front of the desk, his head peaking over the top of the files he was struggling to carry. “I don’t mind telling you my arms are beginning to ache. I can never get my hands on a trolley. The chaps taking files over to the Induced Coma and Deceased Department have so many to take that I can’t get a look in. I put a requisition order in four months ago but I’ve heard nothing back, didn’t expect to, if I’m honest.”

“Anywhere you can find a space, Charles. Thank you.” They both looked about the file laden desk. Manila files filled the in trays, out trays and pending trays, not an inch of desk could be seen. Some thick and some thin, depending on the length of the prisoner’s sentence, the amount of appeals the inmate had submitted, injuries sustained and disciplinary issues.

“I’ll put them on the floor next to your bin.” He bent down and grunted, as men who have reached a certain age had licence to.

“Thank you.” Leo did not look at the balding Files Clerk and focussed on the open file in front of him. He knew if he caught his eye, smiled at him or was pleasant he would be there for hours.

“We’re going to lose you in those files one day.” he chuckled. Leo smiled and nodded in reply without taking his eyes from his desk. Charles scanned the office floor for anyone willing to engage him in discussion but could only see the tops of heads, everyone concentrating hard on the files on their desks. They were all getting on with something, anything. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at lunch? Beef Stew today.”  He walked slowly to the elevator, still scanning the room for a conversation partner, there was nobody. As the lift doors closed, there was a collective sigh of relief throughout the office floor.

“You heartless bastard.” came a voice from behind Leo’s desk.

“Don’t make me laugh Darryl. You would have done exactly the same. Come to think of it, you did do exactly the same yesterday.” Darryl laughed, his floppy blonde hair danced on his forehead.

“But I’m not the boss, you are.”

“I’m only boss of the File Reconciliation Section, for now. I’m not sat in the boss’s office, yet. Maybe next year, if I can get a decent days work out of you.”

“Not if I get in there first Leo, I have youth on my side. When Mr Wilson finally retires, they might decide to inject this office with a bit of young blood and promote me.” Darryl leaned back and balanced his chair on the two back legs.

“How old are you again?” asked Leo as he looked about his desk for the weekly figures folder.

“I’m only 24. I’m so young, that must be hard to deal with for someone of your advanced years.”

“That makes me 6 years older and wiser than you, Darryl.” They both began to laugh out loud but Leo stopped, a sudden look of seriousness appeared on his face and picking up his figures folder, he stood up and looked behind Darryl,

“Mr Wilson, the figures are ready for you here.” said Leo with his ‘talking to Mr. Wilson’ voice on. Darryl simultaneously tried to look behind, correct his chair and give the impression he was working, failing at all of them. He overbalanced and tipped over, landing on his back with a heavy thud. Laughter erupted all around the office. Leo smiled and sat back down, throwing his figures folder back onto the top of his pending tray.

“Every time, every time.” Leo chuckled, “Younger? Yes. Smarter? Not a fucking chance.” He grabbed a handful of files from the floor and placed them directly in front of him. He reached for his ‘Dispatch to Archiving’ rubber stamp and continued to review the prisoner files as Darryl pulled himself up from the floor.

…………………………………………………………………………

“Hold that elevator please!” Yvette called out as she shuffled through the revolving doors as quickly as she could, spilling out into the apartment block lobby and ran down the corridor towards the closing elevator doors.

“Yes, of course.” Leo grinned from ear to ear as he pulled back the sliding lattice door and pushed the hold button.

“Thank you ever so…” Yvette saw who was in the elevator and slowed to a walk, “…much.” She looked up at the spiral staircase that ran around the elevator shaft up to the eighth floor and was tempted to use them. She stepped inside and lodged herself firmly into the corner opposite Leo.

“I don’t need to ask what floor you want.” Leo laughed a little too enthusiastically at his own comment and he immediately felt embarrassed. He pulled the doors shut, pushed the button for the eighth floor and leaned against the wall.

“You seem out of breath Yvette, are you late for something, a date?” There was an awkward pause.

“No, it’s started raining outside and I didn’t want to get wet.” She tried to catch her breath as quickly as possible. She folded her arms across her shirt, covering any wet transparent patches from the warm summer storm.

As always the elevator ascended at a painfully slow rate, every squeak and metallic groan punctuating the silence within. Eventually Leo spoke,

“So, are you off out anywhere tonight with your sister or… someone else?”

“No, we’re staying in tonight. We have work to do.” her face remained neutral and blank.

“What a shame you have to work.” he paused and took a deep breath “I was going to see if you would like to come out for that drink we spoke about, remember?”

“No, sorry, I have to work.” she folded her arms even tighter.

“Maybe another night eh?” she said nothing in response and forced a smile, took a deep breath in through her nose and looked up through the elevator roof to see how close they were. She felt his eyes all over her body the minute she looked upwards. Not far now, only two more floors. She rummaged through her bag for her keys and saw him look away in her peripheral vision.

The elevator squealed and juddered to a halt, Yvette immediately went to the door and tried to open it, Leo came straight to her aid,

“Here, allow me to open that for you. It can sometimes get stuck.” He moved in closer. She retreated back into her corner as he struggled with the lock on the handle.

“Hang on… I nearly… have it… almost.” He tried to force the handle open.

“If you push upwards gently then it…” she offered.

“No… I… have… it.” still no movement, “Fucking… thing… bastard.” Yvette pushed herself further into the corner. There was a loud metallic crunch,

“Aha! Finally!” Leo turned to Yvette and smiled triumphantly as he pulled the doors back, he bowed his head and gesticulated through the door. Yvette looked at the floor as she walked out of the elevator ensuring there was no contact between them. She walked to her apartment door and reached into her bag for her keys as Leo walked slowly behind her and on towards his own door. A shudder ran up her spine.

“So, a quiet night in, working with your sister?” he leaned casually against his door, “What do you both do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but I have a real bad headache and I have a lot of work to do. I’m sorry, goodnight Mr. Harding.” She turned the key, opened the door and entered her apartment without waiting for a response.

Leo sighed and then quickly fumbled in his pocket for his keys and opened the door. He took his coat off, hung it up and kicked off his shoes. He walked down the hall, he stopped at the open bathroom door and listened. There was no sound apart from the occasional creak of a heating pipe. He walked slowly and carefully across the bathroom floor. With great care he lifted one leg and placed it in the bath and then the other. He put both hands flat on the white tiled wall, turned his head to one side and pressed his ear against the ceramic tiles. There was no sound.

Ok, give it until 30. If there’s nothing by then, go and make some food. He began to silently count as he pictured the bathroom on the other side of the wall. A mirrored version of his, but the details in theirs made all of the difference. A floral shower curtain, a soft towel rug on the floor and the smell of Yvette’s perfume throughout. Nice, 26, 27, 28, 29…29 and a half…29 and three quarters… shit…30.

He pulled slowly away and stared at the wall for a few seconds, silence. He stepped out of the bath and stood in the middle of the bathroom floor, still staring at the wall, nothing. He walked backwards to the bathroom door and stopped again, still nothing. He walked down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Before he got there, a sound came from up the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. He stopped, turned around and stared back down the corridor. There was the distant sound of running water. He ran down the hallway and stopped at the bathroom, the muffled sound of a shower. He picked up a small set of folding steps in the hall. He walked into the bathroom and closed the door, shutting out any light. He walked carefully over to the bath, unfolding the steps as he went. He placed them inside the bath at the end by the taps. He carefully stepped up them and took a moment to find his balance. He reached up to the vent that was level with his chin, levered his nails behind the metal overlap and pulled the griddled metal vent cover away from the wall, the screws that held it in place had long been removed.

He pushed up onto the tips of his toes and peered through both the hole in the wall and the griddle of the vent cover to next door. The shower on the other side of the vent was indeed running. The floral curtain hadn’t been pulled fully along the bath yet and he could see the towel bath rug on the floor.

Yvette walked into the bathroom, closed the door and began to undress. Her dark brown hair fell gently onto her shoulders as she pulled her shirt over head and from behind the safety of the vent, Leo breathed as quietly as he could.

…………………………………………………………………………

“Guten morgen.” said Leo. Darryl ignored him as he rushed to his desk and turned on his Telset and Network Console. “I said, Guten morgen, wie geht es dir?” There was still no response from Darryl. “You see,” Leo got up and walked over to the sweating and out of breath Darryl, “I am speaking German to you as I assumed you must be working on continental hours today.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I’m late, but you must have seen or heard the news this morning?”

“No I haven’t. I was… in the bathroom and then left the flat to come in to work. I haven’t heard any news today.”

“Thank you for sharing that Leo.” Darryl looked about the office, “Didn’t anyone else hear? There was another bomb scare on the tube over night, they found a device on the Piccadilly Line by Covent Garden and the whole line is still shut down, it took me bloody ages to walk and get buses.”

“Alright, no problem, just make sure the time is made up by the end of the week or Mr. Wilson will want to know about it.” Darryl rolled his eyes and said nothing. Leo sat on the edge of Darryl’s desk. “Has anyone been arrested?”

“No, they haven’t but a coded message was given so it looks like it was another Resistance attack.” Leo stood up and walked over to his desk, shaking his head.

“When are they going to realise they wont win any friends by turning rush hour to shit? Idiots. Anyway, you’d better get on with some work, here comes Mr. Wilson. Seriously, I mean it.” Leo stood up, smiled and nodded, “Good morning Mr. Wilson.” Darryl looked around and for once saw Mr. Wilson striding through the office and immediately turned back to open a file.

Mr. Wilson acknowledged Leo by making a ‘humph’ noise, his military moustache shrugging as did so.

“Have the weekly figures on my desk by 11.30, Harding.”

“Yes Mr. Wilson.” He waited for his boss to close the office door behind him, he then looked at Cathy, who sat on the desk next to Darryl and he rolled his eyes, smiled and winked at her. She stared blankly at him for a few seconds and then continued with her work.

………………………………………………………………………..

Leo looked at his watch. He had been stood in the elevator waiting for Yvette to arrive for ten minutes, having already told two other tenants that it was out of order and he was looking into fixing it. I’ll give her until 30 and then I’ll go up.

His journey home hadn’t been as bad as expected. The Piccadilly Line had been re-opened which eased the traffic. At lunch he had seen bulletins that… 15, 16, 17… the UDN had apprehended several suspects and had been questioning them regarding others that were involved in planting the bombs… 27, 28, 29, 30… shit. He pulled the doors closed and stared through them at the revolving doors for a few seconds before pushing the eighth floor button. The elevator motor whirred into action and he began his slow ascent.

As he reached the third floor he heard the sound of breaking glass from down in the lobby. It was followed immediately by heavy footsteps running towards the elevator and the stairs. He tried to look down through the lattice metal doors of the elevator but all he could see was outer most part of the spiral stairs below that encircled the elevator shaft. Further down on the ground floor he could see shadows moving very quickly and voices that were muffled by something, giving them an unnerving hollow feel.

The heavy footsteps had now reached the stairs as they clattered upwards, around and around the spiral towards where he stood perfectly still. The sound of their feet bounced of the close walls, Leo could no longer tell where they were.

“Floor three clear.” A male voice shouted directly behind Leo who spun around to see on the stairs behind him, a black rubber gas mask, a black helmet and a black gun nozzle pointing directly at him, “What’s your fucking name?” the masked figure in front of him shouted as other figures all in black with gas masks and rifles ran past him up the stairs.

“Leo, Leo Harding.” He stuttered and threw his hands above his head.

“Don’t move a fucking inch.”

“No sir, no. No.” He stood frozen to the spot as the elevator continued to make its slow climb upwards.

“Shut the fucking elevator off.” The black-clad UDN Guard called down to the ground floor, seconds later it stopped dead leaving Leo stood perfectly still with his arms above his head, in an elevator stuck between floors as more and more UDN guards raced upstairs.

“We’ll get you out soon, stay still for your own safety.” The guard ran up stairs to join the others.

There was a loud crash from above, the sound of wood breaking, voices shouting commands all at once, then silence for what seemed like an age. There was a loud scream from a woman which was immediately drowned out by gun fire that stopped as quickly as it began. The loud voices started again as footsteps from above made their way down the stairs.

He could now see their feet, there were four or five guards and in the middle of them a woman being dragged down backwards. He could hear her shouting at the top of her voice,

“Fuck you. No. Get off me.” As they reached his level he caught a glimpse of the woman, it was Yvette. She was screaming and crying, fighting them every step of the way down. She glanced over at Leo and paused for a second before shouting,

“Leo, help me. There were no fucking bombs. They shot Anna, Leo, help me please, there weren’t any bombs, Leo. It was a hoax. Please.”

She disappeared from his view and she continued to scream and cry all the way down to the bottom of the stairs and along the lobby. Then she was gone.

The elevator started up again and he could hear voices coming from Yvette’s apartment. As it stopped he realised his arms were still above his head and dropped them.

“It’s fine sir, there is no danger anymore.” said the UDN guard stood outside her flat, lifting his gas mask as he did so. “Did you know Yvette Ashbrook sir, or her sister, Anna?”

“Um, no, no, not really. We’re neighbours and said hello to each other out here, but that’s it.”

“Please go inside sir, someone will be along to take your statement shortly.” The UDN Guard shepherded Leo towards his apartment and waited for him to open the door. Leo walked into his apartment and stopped before he shut the door.

“What did they do?”

“Sedition, Conspiracy to Commit Acts of Terrorism, Murder, take your pick, but please, go inside and wait for one of my colleagues sir.”

“Jesus.”

“Indeed sir, but please, mind the blasphemy.”

“Yes of course, sorry.” Leo closed the door and ran to the kitchen, he opened a draw and fumbled through its contents. “Come on, come on, come on.” He finally pulled out a small plastic bag and a screw driver. He ran to the bathroom and stood in the bath. He emptied the small screws from the bag into his hand and screwed them back into the holes of the vent cover on the wall as fast his fingers would allow.

……………………………………………………………………………

“You wanted to see me, Mr Wilson?” Leo leaned his head through the gap in the doorway to the office. Mr Wilson sat behind his large Mahogany desk with red leather trim, signing various documents covered in red stamps. He stopped and looked over the top of his thick, black rimmed glasses and squinted.

“Hmmm, yes, Harding. Come in, shut the door behind you and sit down.” Leo did as he was told and sat down in the wooden chair that always creaked whenever someone sat in it.

Mr Wilson continued to stare in silence over the top of his glasses at Leo for a few brief seconds. Leo shuffled in the chair, which groaned and creaked again.

“I need to have a chat with you, Harding. Now wait just one second while I call up the…” his voice tailed off as he concentrated on working the old console on his desk. He carefully pushed each button on the keyboard with the index finger on his right hand. “Now… hmm… bloody thing… never works… They tried to give me a new one of these bloody things but I told them to forget it, I hardly use it and I am certainly not wasting time on having to learn how to work a new one. You have a new one, don’t you, Harding?”

“Yes sir, I do. It’s very good. I can send file requests directly to another department from it and not have to use the internal post, they get it almost immediately. It’s marvellous.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not sure I like the idea of… ah yes, here we are.” his lips moved silently along to the words he read on his Telset. He stopped and took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, drawing a deep breath in as he did so. “Who was Yvette Ashbrook to you and why have you requested to see her file, she’s not a vagrant or a subject for reconciliation?” Leo sat in silence. “Well? What is it? I have received one of these notification things on here advising that this file is not available for our section. Nothing much out of the ordinary in that, but it was from the Vice Chairman of The UDN Security Division, Christopher Thackeray, no less.” He chewed on the arm of his glasses and waited for an answer.

Leo turned bright red,

“I am very sorry Mr Wilson. She was my neighbour. She was arrested and sentenced for the Covent Garden bombs last year, do you remember sir?”

Mr Wilson leaned forward with both elbows now on the desk,

“Go on.”

“I noticed in the news that my statement appeared to have been ignored during the trial. I said that I saw her as I was getting home from work, but they placed her across town at Covent Garden planting bombs through the night. It couldn’t have happened like that, she was… in her apartment all night long.”

“Did you say that in your statement?”

“Well, no, I didn’t. I was at home and she was next door, I… well… yes. I was…”

“You were what? Were you… you know?” Mr Wilson asked hesitantly.

“No, absolutely not, she’s an attractive woman but… no.” Leo stopped and regained control of himself, “It just didn’t sit right with me when I heard it in the news.”

“Why on earth did you request her bloody file?”

“I was curious, I wanted to see what she had said in interviews, if she… mentioned seeing me, that was all.” He again shuffled in his seat, it again creaked and groaned. Mr Wilson stared at him and then suddenly shrugged his shoulders,

“Well, you’re never going to get that file and I think we should leave it that. Although, I am not happy with one of my senior staff members abusing the department’s resources. But, as long as this remains an isolated incident, we’ll say no more of it and look on this as an unofficial warning, Harding.”

“Yes sir, of course. Thank you.”

“Just remember to keep your mind on your work and managing that lot out there and then one day, you’ll be sat in this office. Is that clear?” Mr Wilson put his glasses back on returned to the documents on his desk.

“Yes sir and thank you again.”

“Well, go on. Close the door on your way out and get on with your work.”

Leo stood up and walked out of the office, duly closing the door behind him. Mr Wilson stopped signing the documents and stared at the door over the top of his glasses. He reached for the phone and picked up the receiver,

“Hello, Christopher Thackeray please.”

…………………………………………………………………………

The elevator doors opened and Charles walked through, straining to look over the top of the files he was carrying so he could see where he was going.

“Beep beep, wide load coming through.” He walked through the maze of desks, occasionally apologising as he bumped into a desk as he passed by, “Whoops, sorry. Oops, pardon me.” He walked by Mr Wilson’s office and quickly glanced in. The old man was sat at his desk, hunched over documents as he signed them.

Charles eventually came to a halt,

“Where do you want me to put these Vagrant Conditioning files?”

“Same as usual please, Charles. Just on the floor by the bin.” replied Darryl without looking up from his files.

“Not in the bin then?” Charles giggled and bent down to put the files next to the bin, grunting as he stood up straight. “How are you settling in to the new job?” Darryl stopped pretending to work and looked up at Charles and smiled.

“Not too bad, thank you.” He paused and took a breath, “Of course it’s been a difficult time for everyone here and we’re all going to have to take some time to get used to… to things being like this now. I always teased Leo and said that I wanted his job or Mr Wilson’s but I’d happily give it up to have him back with us now.”

“Yes, I know. It was no age at all, he was only 31. He was so young for a heart attack. But it just shows, you never know.” They both stared into nothing and nodded slowly for a few seconds. “Well, I’d better be getting on with my work, take care Charlie and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Darryl continued to read through the file on his desk as Charles walked off in the direction of the elevator, for once not stopping to chat with anyone else.

The End