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ISSUE 213 Date: 11th November 2011

Words

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BOOK ORDERING To order : Cheques payable to Rising Brook Writers, please. (Do not send

cash through the post.) All are plus £1.20 P&P Order via Rising Brook Writers c/o Rising Brook Library, Merrey Road, Stafford ST17 9LX Back Stock List Available: FARE DEAL (£5.00) STILL WATERS (£5.00)

Thoughts & Quotes ... André Georges Malraux

Wiki

Quotes

And

Image

André Georges Malraux (November 3, 1901 – November 23,

1976) French novelist, adventurer, art historian and politician.

He served as a Minister for Cultural Affairs from 1958 to 1969.

No one can endure his own solitude. : Author's commentary, se-

rialized version of La Condition Humaine in the Nouvelle Revue

Française (1933)

The human mind invents its Puss-in-Boots and its coaches that

change into pumpkins at midnight because neither the believer

nor the atheist is completely satisfied with appearances. : An-

timémoires, preface (1967)

What is man? A miserable little pile of secrets. : Antimémoires, preface (1967)

Our civilization … is not devaluing its awareness of the unknowable; nor is it deifying it. It is the

first civilization that has severed it from religion and superstition. In order to question it. :

Picasso's Mask (1976)

If a man is not ready to risk his life, where is his dignity?

The great mystery is not that we should have been thrown down here at random between the pro-

fusion of matter and that of the stars; it is that from our very prison we should draw, from our own

selves, images powerful enough to deny our own nothingness.

The attempt to force human beings to despise themselves… is what I call hell.

The sons of torture victims make good terrorists.

Freedom is not an exchange — it is freedom.

One cannot create an art that speaks to me when one has nothing to say.

There are not fifty ways of fighting, there is only one, and that is to win. Neither revolution nor

war consists in doing what one pleases.

Once the masterpiece has emerged, the lesser works surrounding it fall into place; and it then gives

the impression of having been led up to and foreseeable, though actually it is inconceivable — or,

rather, it can only be conceived of once it is there for us to see it.

All great religions stake a claim on eternity, but not necessarily on man's eternal life.

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pandemonium n 1. Chaos; tumultuous or lawless violence.

2. An outburst; a loud, riotous uproar, especially of a crowd.

temerity n

1. Reckless boldness; stupid bravery.

innocuous adj 1. Harmless; producing no ill effect; innocent.

2. Inoffensive, not provocative, not exceptional.

curtail v 1. To limit or restrict.

2. To shorten or abridge the duration of something; to truncate.

specious adj 1. Seemingly well-reasoned or factual, but actually fallacious or insincere.

2. Having an attractive appearance intended to generate a favourable response; deceptively at-

tractive.

cheval de frise n 1. (military) An obstacle made of wood with spikes, for use against

attacking cavalry. 2. Protective row of spikes or broken glass set into the top of a wall

and used to prevent intrusion.

3. (fashion) The jagged edge of 18th century women's clothing.

deify v

1. To make a god of something or someone; to treat as worthy of

worship, as a deity.

LIFE OBSERVATIONS ... Bollards! Have you noticed the new ones. No lights inside and coloured deep yellow with a spring and circle reflector — cheaper and safer. Good design at work. No matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be different tomorrow. Regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone. Making a 'living' is not the same thing as making a life. Sometimes life gives you a second chance. If it does. Take it. You shouldn't go through life with bound hands you’ll need to throw some things away. Whenever one decides something with an open heart, this is usually the right decision. When one has pain, one doesn’t have the right to be one to others. Every day you should reach out and touch someone with praise. People love a pat on the back... No matter how old we become there is still so much to learn. People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people never forget how you made them feel.

Cheval de frise at the Confederate

Fort Mahone defences at Siege of

Petersburg (Wikipedia article)

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My neighbour hasn‘t been home for eleven months.

Now, before any of you assume I reside in some bohemian backwa-

ter where scant regard is afforded to the conventions of family life, I

should add that his nearest and dearest hasn‘t been home either. Neither

has returned since Christmas on account of the pipes bursting while they

were visiting friends. Boiler malfunction, I heard, no doubt brought on

by the high cost of gas.

Strictly speaking the poor man has been back; amid the drone of

dryers, the repartee of plasterers and the relay of skips taking his

worldly goods to the tip, he‘s been to cut the grass, apparently not hav-

ing found a way to turn that off. I don‘t think we‘ll be seeing his better

half, though, until she can visit without the need for a snorkel and a wet-

suit.

My other neighbour, Den, regularly updates me, what with him being an expert on

gas boilers — and more or less everything else. ‗I used to work with a guy who did

some of the early work on central heating,‘ he told me as he settled into October‘s epi-

sode.

‗Roman, was he?‘

‗Nah, from Stafford,‘ he said, pressing on.

I mention all of this merely to put my own domestic setback into perspective. I

know not being able to open the backdoor pales into insignificance compared with find-

ing hearth and home imitating Waterworld but, when the only other route to the garden

involves an assault course through the garage it‘s more than mildly annoying.

It happened on Monday night. When I came to lock up the backdoor key was nei-

ther in the locked backdoor nor on the shelf where it‘s always kept. I did the obvious:

checked the floor and under the freezer, had a glass of red, went through the pockets of

the trousers I‘d been wearing earlier, searched the kitchen, had a glass of red … but no

sign of the offending opener.

Fuelled by Australian shiraz, the grey cells began to work. I stood before the back-

door and recounted the key events (‗key events‘: Every one a gem!) since I‘d arrived

home. Unusually, just as I‘d been into the garden to shut the greenhouse, Den had ar-

rived with a case of wine that had been left for me. Shortly before midnight, I fetched

the box from the garage and placed it where he‘d put it earlier … I remembered getting a

knife to open it. I couldn‘t have … yes, sitting in the knife draw was the backdoor key!

As I relaxed with another (small) glass, it struck me how writers use exactly the

same process to unlock their memories: revisiting the place they want to write about,

making a timeline of important events before writing about each episode, and using arte-

facts, images or music as memory triggers.

Finally, lest you should think my experience is the start of a sad decline, I‘m

pretty certain that, given the busy lives we all lead, forgetting where you‘ve put the

house keys isn‘t a serious problem. On the other hand, forgetting you‘ve got a house …

Chapter 1. Seaside Capers. “Murder? We can‟t have a murder here! I hate to think what it‟s going to do to our reputation! Just look around you and see.” It was the idyllic seaside scene. The sun shone brightly from a sky sprinkled with small puffy clouds. Fronted by golden sands and an azure sea there was a row of brightly coloured beach huts set back from the promenade and an ice-cream kiosk decorated with lots of brightly coloured signs. Gulls perched on the railings, floated on a gentle breeze, and the wind ruffled the flags. The only thing out of place was blanket-covered body in front of the kiosk. “Sorry sir, but that‟s what it looks like. “Murder Most Foul” I‟d say. However, I would wouldn‟t I? It‟s all to do with me being a Literature Detective.” “Literature? Surely you mean a literate detective.” “Well, but not necessarily. I mean, I‟m not usually on these cases, not with me being the Literature Detective. No, I‟m much more at home finding out who killed the blands on pages 3, 5, 7, 12 and 78 of the latest Trim Shovel epic.” “Blands? Don‟t you mean blonds, Inspector?” “No! Not the way they‟re written I don‟t. Definitely Blands. They‟re only generic characters of course, just there to fill in the background you may say. But even generics need protection.” The Inspector sat down on one of the chairs in front of the kiosk, got out his notebook and started to make a sketch of the scene. His ruminations were interrupted by the owner of the cabins who gave him a cup of coffee and said. “Anyway, Inspector, we can‟t have a murder in the middle of „Mary and Paul go to the Seaside‟. It‟s not in the plot line, and, it‟s against the rules of children‟s books; the Under Sevens‟ subsection, as laid down by the High Committee for Characterisation Preservation. You know the one I mean, HCCP rule C3, the one that says no rough stuff, thieving or bad language.” “Good idea, sir,” replied the Inspector, “but no Surfboard I‟m afraid. Besides which; have you been into the early editions of the books about that taxi driver who wears a yellow hat with a bell on it?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Nice and easy on the surface of course, but when you look underneath that! Oh nasty it is.” “Well, Inspector, I did take a peek; some while ago and purely for research purposes you under-stand. Sexism, ageism, racism, scandal with a capital scan, violence, theft and burglary all over the place and not decent locksmith for at least two genres in any direction.” “Got it in one sir. Of course, the HCCP are having those particular volumes rewritten to the new standards. Or so they tell me.” “Don‟t you believe them, Inspector?” The owner said in a shocked tone. “Oh, I‟ve no doubt that it‟s being done, sir. But what are they doing with the old copies and the origi-nals? They can‟t be destroyed, not after that “Terrible Affair at Omelettes Castle” fiasco when great chunks of literature were threatened with being swept out of existence. That‟s definitely against the rules.” “You don‟t think they‟ll be embargoed do you, Inspector?” whispered the kiosk owner. “I know that they could do that.” “Wouldn‟t think so, sir. Wouldn‟t think so at all. No, I think they‟ll just let them go out of circulation. Of course, they‟ll be keeping the master copies as training grounds for new Literature-Policing-Agents.” He stood up and put his book away. “Now what we need is some Margarine so that I can slide the body into the LPA van and then it‟s into the back story of Uncle Tanya for disposal.” “Chekov? You use Chekov!” “Well sir, as I see it is; it‟s into Chekov to Check-out.” “Sorry, no margarine in this book, Inspector. Have to be animal- friendly you see, but we have some Butter in the sandwiches on page 5. Would that do? Mind you, we‟ll need to have them back afterwards. We share them with the off duty cast of Tom Sawyer.” “That‟ll do nicely sir. Very nicely indeed. The LPA of the HCCP thank you for your co-operation. Have a nice day now.” “Really! I‟m surprised at you, Inspector! As you know full well, that‟s an American phrase. You don‟t use it in an English book!” “Ah yes, sorry sir. That‟s the trouble you see, I‟m too used to working over there. Still many a slip they say. Nice place you have here, sir. A tad faded though, you should see your caretaker about getting a lick of paint about the place. Do wonders for your attendance figures it would.” The inspector looked around, noting the pink and blue seagulls and the “This Way to the Beach” sign pointing inland. He decided that he‟d ignore them. “And, if you don‟t mind me saying so, sir,” he continued, pointing to the kiosk, “K-O-F-E-Y isn‟t the way you spell coffee. By rights it should have two F‟s, and T-E-A with isn‟t right either, there should be two E‟s with an A in the middle.” “That‟s were the problem is. I‟m the caretaker as well, Inspector. Understaffed and with funding problems you see. I‟m thinking about registering as a charity.” “Best of luck there, sir. Tough one that they tell me. Right, I‟ll be off then. Nice working with you Mr?

Issue 213

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What did you say your name was?” “Todd, Inspector. Sweeney Todd. Not the famous one of course, can‟t do the haircuts. I bake a good pie though.” There was a wet plop. Sweeney, on his tod again, hummed the Toreadors Song from Carmen, and then muttered, “Darn it. I didn‟t get the sandwiches back. Again!” Turning to the background, he started to repaint page three. He‟d never been happy with the sea-gulls and the beach was very litter strewn after last nights party by the cast of Pride and Prejudice. “That‟s the trouble with hiring the old homestead out to out-of-genre books,” he said to himself, sadly, as he picked up battered buckets and spades. “Can‟t put these back into the beach kiosk! This lot‟s for recycling.” “Hoi, Sweeny”, came a well-known voice from over the page. “Don‟t clear the sand of those half eaten buns and old what‟s-its before me and the flock have had a chance at „em! Best load of left-over food we‟ve had in a long while is that.” “Okay, Reg. You get the other gulls in before the next page is turned and it‟s all yours. Mind you if a book club happens to come along you‟ll have to get out quickly.” “Ha!” said Reg, “and when was the last time that happened”.

“Well, it could. Couldn‟t it?” Sweeney said, plaintively. “Not a chance!” Reg, an overweight, pink, and blue gull, replied, flopping down from the top of the page. “Let‟s face it old son, we‟re old hat. Not been read for a decade or so. Only six copies left and all of those are in the legal collections.” “Well we could always be rediscovered,” Sweeney said, with hope in his voice. “At least we‟re still in existence. Not like those poor folks in the sequel my dad was in.” “The Trial of Sweeney Todd the Pie Shop Owner and Demon Barber!” Reg declaimed. “Never did get beyond the manuscript and the Printer only knows where that is now.” “I know exactly where it is,” Sweeney replied.” You know as well. That place! The place outside the boundaries of the known universe, where the spirits of every unpublished book ever written con-gregate.” “Yes,” said Reg with a shudder. “Been there! Just once. Got lost on my way to see my cousins in Moby Dick. It‟s a strange place. Full of the autobiographies of politicians and similar tales of low life, dark shadows and bright laughter, evil magicians and good fairies, heroes, heroines, shipwrecks, parties, and the gibbering of unfinished tales by would be authors. I don‟t want to go there again, I can tell you. Near

scared me out of my artwork.” “I know,” Sweeney said. “I‟ve been talking to the cast of “The End of the World”. They‟re the best when it comes to that sort of thing. The real theorists amongst them say, “Once Upon A Time” - but they would wouldn‟t they - there was nothing but space. A space so big and so full of nothing you couldn‟t see the end of it; not even with a telescope from the top of Blackpool Tower on a clear day! They‟re trying to sort out what kept it all together and so far have come up with the Big Ooh theory.” “Sounds good, Sweeney”, said Reg. “Any meat left on the bone I could pick over do you think?” “Don‟t think so Reg. They say this wasn‟t just a mere nothing. Anything, they say, can be a noth-ing. Being a nothing they say, is easy…they say. This nothing was different! This was a nothing with an attitude, a GOTHIC HORROR NOTHING, one with a spiky hat and fangs and drooling: DROOLING GREY, GREEN, GLOWING, GOBS OF GRUE. “Sounds like my Great Aunt Mabel over in „Seaside Stories‟ does that, Sweeney. Especially the drooling bit. Doesn‟t go much for fangs doesn‟t Aunt Mabel. Says they get in the way when she‟s doing acrobatics.” “Acrobatics, Reg? Surely you mean Aerobatics; what with your Aunt Mabel being an avian and everything.” “You‟d think so, Sweeney. You‟d definitely think so wouldn‟t you? Not my Aunt Mabel though, got a bit of a problem with the flying she has. She gets airsick at anything over knee height and that really lets the family down.” “Never heard of that, Reg. An airsick avian! Humm. A real problem when it comes to finding food I suppose.” “No, not really, Sweeney. I mean she‟s pretty good at running and anyway there‟s always the odd dropped burger. Especially after a party night. Anyway, you were saying.” Sweeney shuddered, “They say that then…then there appeared in the bottom left hand corner, as it were, a mist. A mist so faint that you could almost see it. This was the start, the beginning of “Story Telling”! Stories swirled around each other, looking for company I suppose. Some died out from lack of tell-ing and new stories appeared. The well-known idea of 'The One That Got Away' is thought to have appeared about then.” “Cor!” Reg exclaimed. “Was it? Cos, well, according to my Great Aunt Matilda that it was invented

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IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE ???

―Gather round Brothers and Sisters, gather ye around. For I bear the word from on high. In the beginning was the fir-

mament filled with folks of the flock but then the Great One said, and I quote his exact words.‖

―Stuff this for a lark! I mean, fish is okay in moderation but we need something else. We need…‖

―But the Great One didn‘t have the words to describe what we needed, he‘d run out of words, which were in

short supply then, so he went off into a corner and thought about it for a bit.

―Yes!‖ he said, ―what we need is something different to eat‖. He had a quick nibble at a whale or three and

came up with THE IDEA. Unfortunately, the idea was short of hands so he had to make do with mankind. All round,

this was a pretty poor second go at it.

―Come forth‖, said the Great One, but they came fifth and won the booby prize, ―Fill the earth and bring us

many fine things to eat‖.

―What shall we bring, Oh Great One?‖ asked the leader of mankind, a rather weedy chap with a lot of facial

hair and bad hygiene.

―Sandwiches, chips, donuts, Chinese take-aways and meat pies‖, said the Great One.‖ Pizza and Peas Pud-

dings, all in abundance.‖

―To hear is to obey!‖ said mankind and fell to squabbling over what the Great One meant by these strange

words.

After a little while, they devised a special kind of man called a ‗TV chef‘, who did as the Great One had com-

manded and lo, the world was filled with all manner of good things to eat. That is the word of the Great One.‖

And the flock answered with the great battle cry of, ―Yeah Man. Right on!‖

―Right,‖ Said the speaker, ―I‘m off to the dump to eat some rubbish. Any of you gulls coming?‖

by her Great Uncle Freddy to explain the disappearance of a shoal of tinned sardines. In olive oil they were, as well.” “This is the theory, Reg. Seems to work right as far as we can tell. They found the washed up carcass of a book, well I say book but it wasn‟t. Not the way WE understand book anyway. It was the ghost of a ClayTablet and it proved to have changed things for good! Now the stories didn‟t fade away they kept on going; they say, and, mind you, I have my doubts about this, that the old-est story, 'The Epic of Gilgamesh' is still about somewhere. “Yer! Heard about him on the gull-net.” Reg said, as he pecked viciously at an escaping toffee apple. ”Of course, it‟s not invited to parties now-a-days, and anyway it‟s probably tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a soothing drink somewhere. Gull-lore that is.” Sweeney resumed his peroration. “Then, naturally, the scroll came along. Longer stories and more of them, which introduced „The Back Story‟ and the dreaded „SERIAL’. After this, there was nothing for it but „THE BOOK’ of course and this is where things got interesting. It seems that somewhere about this time „Genre‟ was born. Books of like kinds seemed to clump together, a sort of coagulating or magnetic thing I‟d suppose?” “Ha”, Reg interrupted. “The „First Great Split‟ schism! Heard about that on the net as well. Fic-tion and non-fiction dividing the Books between them. Doesn‟t work with trans-genre books of course; but you can‟t have everything, and anyway most of them soon got the idea and moved to one side or the other of the split. Even so, Sweeney you need to be careful out there. Rumour has it that there may still be a few books that haven‟t made their minds up yet!” “Feral books? I though they kept them in special places, Reg.” “On the run aren‟t they, Sweeney. Broke out last Thursday. Last heard of cornered in an old scroll in Old Time Murder Mystery I believe. Relax they‟ll never get this far. Now! Talking about mysteries when are you going to repaint us gulls? I mean pink and blue! Not proper colours for a gull, not at all. Pink‟s okay for Flamingo‟s and blue, that blue especially, is right for hats on race days. Makes a good target it does, but not for gulls, please!” “Advertising, Reg, that‟s advertising. Visit the ONLY book with pink and blue gulls. Got to be good for trade has that.” “Well; yes. You‟ve got a point there, Sweeney, but what you really mean is that you did the un-dercoat and then ran out of top coat.” “Spot on old bird. I should be able to afford to redo you with the fee from last night. Now you get your flock together and have an edible clean up while I go to the shops.”

CMH

Issue 213

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Random Words PMW

―Albert! Where is that stupid dog?‖ Carol complained about her Labrador pup.

―When you let him loose, he went off like a bullet from a gun. Probably half-way back to

Canada by now!‖ Doug grinned.

―He‘s so disobedient!‖ Carol added.

―Well, if you will always insist on recycling everything, it‘s to be expected.‖

―But Sue works at the dog‘s home on a voluntary basis. She‘s had a succession of pets from

there, and they‘ve all been fine!‖

―There he is… digging in those trees!‖ Doug pointed.

Albert had made a large hole.

―Wow! Look, he‘s found something. Come and help.‖ Doug began scraping the earth away,

using his hands like a spade. Several medieval coins, buckles, primitive sewing items and other arte-

facts emerged from the soil. ―There may be a fortune down here!‖

―No way! I‘ve just I spent a fortune at the manicurists, having my nails and cuticles done!‖

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Monday morning in the fruit and veg dept. was usually a quiet day for customers

as by unwritten law it would be washing day in most homes.

So our work was a routine straightening out of all the displays from the previous

weeks trading. The senior assistant was in charge of dismantling those attractive

pyramids of fruit and the flat wall displays.

Customers were served from these displays only on Saturday afternoon, the

it was not the custom then to help yourself shopping as these stacks were an

attraction when properly done. It took patience and skill for this job, each apple,

orange or pear was wrapped in appropriate coloured tissue like a nest to fit

snuggly on the row below.

Fruit was delivered in boxes each fruit separately wrapped in case of over ripeness,

the tissues had a further life after leaving the shop, customers made good use of them

in various ways.

The shop window pyramids were the trickiest to build, starting with a small box and

straw until the shape was right and firm. Oranges were good as their rougher skin held

them more firmly and their bright colour stood out from the green or white tissues.

Apples came in various colours as the year progressed, bright red was popular for

display like Macintosh Red a Canadian apple very shiny, Blenheim Orange was large

good to bake or eat raw, Beauty of Bath was another large one but didn't keep well.

Egremont Russet discovered growing in Yorkshire, hence it's name, it had only a short

season and a nutty flavour, quite an acquired taste. then there was Newton wonder,

Ellison orange and, of course, Worcester Pearmain one of the earliest to ripen in August.

Stacking pears was difficult as they soon ripened and could ruin the display, English

conference were best for being a consistent size and firm, the Italian Commis were

softer and were not often used.

The most popular cooking apple was the Bramley seedling a large green English apple

first discovered growing in a butchers garden early in the last century.

One apple we all know by name is Granny Smith, although it is thought to be an English

apple the OED. says no, it was late 19th. century from Australia grown by one Maria Ann

Smith. (EH)

EXTRACTS: Information from the BBC writersroom newsletter. New Writing Talent Search: Heartlands Passionate about writing television drama for the BBC and live in the ‘heartlands’ of England? BBC writersroom and the Doctors team at BBC Birmingham are searching for exceptional new and emerging writers from the Midlands who want to write drama for television. Heartlands will provide an industry training and development opportu-nity for writers with some of the most experienced producers in the country. The talent search opens on 14th November – find out how you can enter: http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/heartlands_new_writing_talent_search.shtml Heartlands Launch event: To mark the launch of Heartlands, BBC writersroom will be hosting a very special Q&A event at the Library Theatre, Birmingham on Monday 14th November at 6pm.Will Trotter (BBC Executive Producer) Peter Lloyd (Senior Producer) and Paul Ashton (Development Producer, BBC Writersroom) will be on hand. Book your FREE place at the Heartlands launch: http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/heartlands_launch_event.shtml Scripts Our scripts are in PDF format - if you can't read them, download Adobe Reader from http://www.bbc.co.uk/webwise/categories/plug/acrobat/acrobat.shtml?intro Hidden - Episode 1 by Ronan Bennett http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/insight/downloads/scripts/hidden_ep1.pdf Merlin - The Wicked Day by Howard Overman http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/insight/downloads/scripts/merlin_s4_ep3.pdf Outnumbered - Series 4, Episode 5 by Guy Jenkin & Andy Hamilton http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/insight/downloads/scripts/outnumbered_s4_ep5.pdf Torchwood - Miracle Day: Episode 1 by Russell T Davies http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/insight/downloads/scripts/torchwood_miracle_day_ep1.pdf Don't forget you can browse through all of the scripts in our script archive. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/insight/script_archive.shtml Submitting your script to BBC writersroom Want to write for the BBC? Script submissions page. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/writing/submissions_writersroom.shtml Blog : Death in Paradise writer Robert Thorogood shares his advice on securing your first TV commission, top tips on how to submit a short story for the forthcoming Opening Lines series from Radio 4’s Gemma Jenkins, and an update on the Salford Sitcom showcase. http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/writersroom/ Opportunities : Everyword Festival: BBC writersroom workshop Deadline: 18 November 2011 Book a free place on our script writing workshop at the Liverpool Playhouse. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/everyword_2011_workshop.shtml Immersive Writing Lab Competition Deadline: 21 November 2011 Create a cross-platform storyworld and win a £6k development fund. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/immersive_writing_lab_2011.shtml Brockley Jack Studio Theatre: Write Now Deadline: 25 November 2011 New writing festival in SE London which gives emerging playwrights the opportunity to see their work performed. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/brockley_jack_write_now_2011.shtml Cahoots Theatre Company Deadline: 26 November 2011 Opportunity for writers in the Midlands to have their play produced and performed at the Century Theatre, Leicestershire. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/cahoots_2011.shtml BBC Comedy: Jesting About 2 Deadline: 28 November 2011 Are you a writer, performer or comedian? BBC Comedy are searching for the next generation of comedy talent. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/jesting_about_2.shtml BBC Radio 4: Opening Lines Deadline: 02 December 2011 The BBC Radio Drama Readings Unit welcomes unsolicited submissions for their annual series, Opening Lines. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/radio_4_opening_lines_2011.shtml Steyning Festival Theatre Trail 2012 Deadline: 02 December 2011 Steyning Festival Theatre Trail 2012 is seeking 6 new plays from playwrights in the South East.http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/steyning_festival_theatre_trail_2012.shtml TC Brian Way Award 2012 Deadline: 09 December 2011 £6,000 prize for a play that stimulates the imagination of young audiences.http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/tc_brian_way_2012.shtml Circalit: Get your film made Deadline: 15 December 2011 Submit a 3-5 minute original comedy script and have it produced by award-winning filmmaker, Jason Wingard. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/circalit_get_your_film_made_2011.shtml New Writers Awards for Playwrights 2012 Deadline: 19 December 2011 Bursaries and professional mentoring for new playwrights based in Scotland. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/new_writers_awards_scotland.shtml Theatre Trail Writers Competition 2012 Deadline: 31 January 2012 Have your play performed at next year's Arundel Festival Theatre Trail. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/theatre_trail_2012.shtml One Act Playwriting Competition Deadline: 31 January 2011 The Drama Association of Wales' One Act Playwrighting Comp now open. http://www.bbc.co.uk/writersroom/opportunity/one_act_playwrighting_comp.shtml

FOR MORE DETAILS AND TO SIGN UP FOR THE FULL VERSION OF THEIR E-BULLETIN VISIT BBC WRITERSROOM WEB PAGE

Assignment Topic: shoes or talking to a stranger Random Words Exercise: Mr. Cruickshank, fastidious, complicated,

Ajax, discover, pantomime, northern, triumph, laughing, constancy, story,

blackmail Issue 213

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UPDATE FROM THE POETRY LIBRARY Latest Competitions: Swale Life Poetry Competition November 2011 | Closing Date: 10-Nov-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1097 The Print Express Poetry Competition | Closing Date: 30-Nov-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1095 Hungry Hill Poets meet Politics Competition | Closing Date: 16-Dec-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1096 The Gregory O'Donoghue International Poetry Competition |Closing Date:18-Dec- http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1098 Flash 500 Humour Verse Competition | Closing Date: 31-Dec-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1093

New Magazines: Bare Hands Poetry http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=622 Buddhist Poetry Review http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/magazines/emagazines/?id=619

Latest News: Poet for President | 29-Oct-11**** http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=860 Poetry Library Book Club - T. S. Eliot Prize Shortlist | 28-Oct-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/library/?id=859 By Leaves We Live: Scottish Poetry Library's annual fair | 22-Oct-11 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/news/poetryscene/?id=857

**** Irish poet, Michael D. Higgins, has been elected 9th

President of Ireland.

Born in Limerick and brought up in County Clare Michael Higgins has declared his inten-

tion to be a president 'for all the people'. The former Mayor of Galway, President of the

European Council of Culture Ministers and as a Minister for Arts, Culture and the Gael-

tacht, Higgins is known as a staunch defender of human rights. He was awarded the Sean

MacBride Peace Prize in 1992.

The Poetry Library holds two of his collections, The betrayal (1990) and The season of fire

(1993).

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What do you think about this bulletin?

Should the default text size be 14pt?

Could you write a weekly column?

What topics would you like to write about?

Are there any RBW collectors, artists, gardening, cooking, travel or sports

writers itching to contribute a regular column?

Please let us know. Many thanks.

Issue 213

Page 15

National Short Story Week : 7th to 11th November 2011 National Short Story Week providing treats for short story fans.

One of the UK's most experienced and well known broadcasters, Sue Cook, has brought her radio

programme The Write Lines online for three exclusive shows to tie in with this year's National

Short Story Week. The three programmes cover British Short Stories, Women's Fiction and Chil-dren's Fiction. Hear lively discussion and writers' top tips now: http://

www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/thewritelines.htm

Listen to stories from eleven of the UK's best loved women's fiction authors, including our patron

Katie Fforde, in the audiobook, Women Aloud. This double CD has more than 2 hours of stories

and all proceed go to educational charity The Helena Kennedy Foundation. http://

www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/women-aloud.htm

Take a look at our website for our recommended reading list and a selection of events that are tak-

ing place around the country. Best wishes National Short Story Week (email press release)

National Short Story Week ... CAMPAIGNING against cuts

http://www.nationalshortstoryweek.org.uk/noshortstorycuts.htm

BBC RADIO FOUR cuts affecting short story broadcasts

Petition: http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/noshortstorycuts/

BBC press release extract: Autumn changes to Radio 4 schedule

Date: 06.07.2011 Category: Radio 4 Radio 4 Publicity

In her first reorganisation of the BBC Radio 4 schedule, Controller Gwyneth Williams is to extend

The World At One by 15 minutes, with effect from the 7 November. To facilitate The World At

One extension and to streamline the schedule, the broadcast times of some programmes will

change .

From November, the short stories (currently running at 3.30pm, Tuesday-Thursday) will be

rescheduled with some broadcast at 3.45pm on Friday and some at 7.45pm on Sunday. From next

spring, the number of short stories will be reduced from three to one a week on Radio 4. There will

also be readings on Radio 4 Extra.

http://www.writersguild.org.uk/news-a-features/radio/190-guild-joins-protest-against-radio-4-short-

story-cuts

http://www.societyofauthors.org/soa-news/r4-short-stories-letter-bbc-trust

http://www.equity.org.uk/news-and-events/equity-news/lobby-bbc-radio-4-to-reverse-short-story-

cuts/

Online Petition against the cuts has over

9,000 signatures to date.

Fiction Project: ARE WE THERE YET?

Editor’s notes. A message from the manuscript

editor:

Character list: Charlie Witters and his brother, Brendan They own the coach company

Angelo Driver FC Tours Coach No: 666 – Anglo-Italian – diamond smuggler

Samantha Goodright Courier FC Tours – niece of the Witter brothers

Ted Fetler Relief driver FC Tours

Vera Pensioner - bladder weakness (Coldwynd Sands and Fare Deal)

Gloria Pensioner - tubby companion to Vera

Dan Forthright Inept, pompous PI – former rank DCI (Coldwynd Sands and WTAWTAW)

Pete Ferret Sidekick to Forthright PI— insurance agents for stolen jewels

Tudor and Dewi Davies Welsh sheep farmers won a ticket in a raffle

Cyril & Muriel Pinkney Pompous Headmaster and long-suffering wife - hots for Henri

Henri, Comte de Monte Donne - French aristo (?)

Henri’s unnamed brother – a black sheep

Mrs Richardson (Fare Deal) carrying Dickie’s mortal remains in a carrier bag

Bobby Owen (Fare Deal) accompanying Mrs Richardson

Jason Ratisson (JR) and Jacqueline Gardien (Jacqui). Lovers having a preliminary honeymoon.

Martin Man of Mystery — go-between for jewel thieves and buyers

Mick and Meg Dale Mick has wandering affection

Mrs Grace Ferret

Pete’s wife and partner in the PI business. Doesn’t see eye-to-eye with Mavis.

Mrs Mavis Forthright

Dan’s wife and partner in the PI business. Doesn’t see eye-to-eye with Grace.

Lady Antonia Garibaldi Italian grand dame – diamond smuggler in cahoots with driver

Miss Wainright Mousy companion to Lady Garibaldi (might be a man, as yet undecided)

Barry and Beryl Smith Pools Winners. Parents to Harry and Cilla

Sandy Rathe, and his friend, Julian, Grapes of Rathe Guesthouse

Sister Margarette and Sister Bernadette – the fake nuns on the run from One Legged Eddie

Sister Ignatius and Sister Teresa - the real nuns

Issue 213

Page 16

More funny pieces needed

for Rome and Sorrento please, asap.

Ta!

http://www.literacytrust.org.uk/blog/3999_new_political_group_to_focus_on_literacy

08 Nov 2011

New political group to focus on literacy

Meg and Dewi in Paris CMH

‗Where the devil‘s he got to?‘ murmured Meg to herself as she stood outside the hotel. Mick, in his fancy

dress outfit as she‘d called it was missing from the scene. I suppose, she thought, that the idiot has got lost.

Here we are in Paris, the most exciting city in the World and he gets lost! After another ten minutes, she gave

up and went back inside to wait.

Plonking herself down on a tatty sofa in an alcove, she was fuming, quietly, when there was a polite cough

from the next alcove and a voice with a Welsh accent said, ‗Lost him have you?‘

‗Definitely,‘ she snapped. Then, ‗Oh sorry, Mr. Davies, I shouldn‘t have said that but I‘m hungry and

Mick has gone and got lost again‘.

‗Not lost, Mrs. Dale. He went out of that door with that Lady Biscuit and Miss Wainwright about thirty-

five minutes ago. All dressed to kill they were. I thought that they were meeting you somewhere.‘

‗He was supposed to be meeting me, HERE!‘ she pointed imperiously. ‗Then we were going to a restau-

rant for a slap up meal.‘

‗Look. Suppose I take you out for a meal, just next door, there‘s a good restaurant they tell me, while you

wait for Mr Dale to come back?‘

Meg was undecided but thought, Well, what‘s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander uncurled herself,

took a big breath to show her cleavage to its best advantage, smiled, and said ‗I‘m Meg, and for tonight, I‘m

just Meg a lonely, lost soul in a big, bad, wicked city. Do you think you could take pity on me?‘

Dewi laughed as he stood up and presented his arm. ‗I‘m Dewi Davies, maidens rescued twice nightly,

dragons slain to order, except for Welsh one‘s of course, rights wronged and meals provided. Allow me to es-

cort you to suitable table.

By the time they‘d reached the Bistro, they were Meg and Dewi and had their arms around each other. The

half-inch gap that had separated them had shrunk nothing and they were trying to get it down to even less.

Meg pretended not to notice that Dewi had long arms and that his hand was cupping her waist, and she quite

liked it. She felt ‗safe‘ with Dewi, in fact she felt more than safe and sort of squirmy inside, and that was

something she‘d never felt before.

The Bistro had tables and banquettes, curtained tables set off to one side. Some of the curtains were drawn

with waiters going in and out. Meg was sure that she could hear two voices from one of them. One was a voice

she knew well, it was their driver, Angelo, the other was Lady Garibaldi. What they were discussing wasn‘t

cricket scores either.

‗Messieur, Madame, you would like a private booth? Yes?‘ asked a hovering waiter.

‗Darned right we would‘, Dewi answered. ‗Meg and I have some serious discussions to get through before

we leave.‘

‗Ah, a business meeting. I understand absolutement. I think a Salon Privé would be better. This way if you

please.‘ The waiter took them through a curtained doorway into a small room with a table and chairs. ‗This

room has all the conveniences you will require,‘ he said, pointing to the doors at the far end. ‗La salle de bain

is through the right door and the left is the rest room. I will be back shortly to take your order.‘ He half bowed

and departed.

‗This is marvellous, Dewi,‘ Meg said. ‗I didn‘t think things like this existed outside of the films. I think

you deserve a reward for getting it organised.‘ Before she could stop herself she leaned forward and kissed

him. She was awash with things she‘d never felt before, her knees trembled, her heart was beating so fast she

felt faint.

If this is what romance feels like it‘s got my vote any time she thought before diving back into an emo-

tional whirlpool for a larger, helping. Their romantic interlude was interrupted by the waiter returning for the

food order. They didn‘t know what they wanted and the waiter, a helpful man, made suggestions, which they

accepted.

‗Dewi, we‘ve got to be careful,‘ Meg said.

‗Would you want to stop, if you could?‘ Dewi asked nibbling her neck and shoulders.

Events stopped with the arrival of the food.

Next morning as she was hastily repacking her suitcase, Meg, all thoughts of the still missing Mick out of

her mind, couldn‘t remember how they had got from the bistro to the hotel and Dewi, when challenged in the

queue for breakfast, just grinned.

After a sleepless night worrying where his kid brother had sloped off to, Tudor, brooding under knotted

brows wasn‘t so happy. Married women and young lads was not usually a happy mix. These dark thoughts

melted into insignificance when the door opened. Miss Wainwright entered carrying an oversized handbag

following in the wake of Lady Garibaldi, a vision in canary yellow.

Issue 213

Page 18

Debut Dagger 2012 Competition:

22nd October 2011 – 21st January 2012

Previous winners: You can read the previous winning stories on our website. Just

go to the Debut Page and click on the „year‟ buttons on the right hand side. You‟ll

be taken to a page with details of that year‟s winner and find a link on the page that

will allow you to download the winning story. By all means study them and try to

work out what it was that appealed to the judges – but please don‟t copy them. The

last thing the judges want to read is a clone of a previous winning entry. Be your

own original self.

Previous bulletins: We put previous bulletins on line fourteen days after they‟ve

been sent out to subscribers. Bulletin one will now be up on the website. If you‟d

like to read it, or any of the 2010 and 2011 Bulletins, you can find them here:

u.thecwa.co.uk/?bulletin

Question: I don‟t have a Paypal Account. Can I still enter on line? Answer: Yes.

When you get to the „payment‟ page you see a sentence reading “Don‟t have a Pay-

pal Account”. Just click on this and you‟ll be able to pay with your card. However, if

you are planning to enter on line you might like to know that Paypal are currently

running two competitions, offering account holders the chance to win money back

and/or the contents of their „Wish List‟

What if she was all wrong?

Always remembered are the words of a song.

Where in the passage of precious time did she go wrong?

Unknowing, does she drift with the crowd? Rolling, rolling along.

Headscarf and wellies, talking and laughing in her own way

Longing and staring at a jewellery shop window display

‘Oh isn’t it lovely?’ Hear her whispered: ‘Hooray. Hooray.’

Unkempt and unloved, Netty treads her own path,

Singular conversations, questions and answers, and sometimes a laugh.

She’s there on the corner hoping for pennies to go to the caff.

SMS 2010

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Issue 213

Page 19

THE POETRY SLOT

Paul Verlaine, French poet, was a founder

member of the symbolist movement.

Verlaine was born March 30, 1844, in Metz.

The son of an army officer, he was educated in Paris.

In 1870 Verlaine married, but he left his wife two years later to live

with the poet Arthur Rimbaud then aged 17 years. Verlaine shot and

wounded Rimbaud during a dispute and was imprisoned for two

years in 1873.

The 1874 collection, Romances Sans Paroles (Songs Without

Words), is said to be based on his life with Rimbaud and was written

while imprisoned. Verlaine returned to Roman Catholicism. This reconversion was probably the

reason behind a collection of confessional works, Sagesse (Wisdom, 1881).

Verlaine taught French in England (1875 to 1877), then returned to France. Following the death

of a favoured student the remainder of Verlaine's life alternated between periods of debauchery,

drunkenness and abject repentance. With the publication of the critique Accursed Poets,

(1884), and of Long Ago and Not So Long Ago, (1884), a collection of verse, Verlaine emerged as

a symbolist poet, his works mainly being concerned with dream and illusion.

Verlaine exerted considerable influence on later poets. Difficult to translate, it is said the sound

of his poetry when read aloud is as important as the meaning. Other works include autobio-

graphical pieces My Hospitals, (1892), My Prisons, (1893), and Confessions (1895).

Verlaine died January 8, 1896.

The Young Fools (Les Ingénus) by Paul Verlaine

High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress

So that, between the wind and the terrain,

At times a shining stocking would be seen,

And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.

Also, at times a jealous insect's dart

Bothered out beauties. Suddenly a white

Nape flashed beneath the branches, and this sight

Was a delicate feast for a young fool's heart.

Evening fell, equivocal, dissembling,

The women who hung dreaming on our arms

Spoke in low voices, words that had such charms

That ever since our stunned soul has been trembling.

Les Ingénus

Les hauts talons luttaient avec les longues jupes,

En sorte que, selon le terrain et le vent,

Parfois luisaient des bas de jambes, trop souvent

Interceptés--et nous aimions ce jeu de dupes.

Parfois aussi le dard d'un insecte jaloux

Inquiétait le col des belles sous les branches,

Et c'était des éclairs soudains de nuques blanches,

Et ce régal comblait nos jeunes yeux de fous.

Le soir tombait, un soir équivoque d'automne:

Les belles, se pendant rêveuses à nos bras,

Dirent alors des mots si spécieux, tout bas,

Que notre âme depuis ce temps tremble et s'étonne.

Educational n-f-p source: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-young-fools-les-ing-nus/

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© Rising Brook Writers 2011 — RCN 1117227 A voluntary charitable trust. Issue 213