Salute for the Fallen Brother

As I sit in Cyber Italia, one of the two Cafe’s on my university campus, I flick through my phone at the Facebook message that just popped up from a friend that I was consoling, while considering the rant-ish response to the text message I had received a little while earlier. As well as letting the German speech from the two girls talking to each other on a table nearby wash over me. The usual “assignment procrastination” tactics that one normally would apply when they have no idea what to write.

Mid-response, I notice the two on a table across from me. A man with dark hair, mussed up as if it had just been lifted from a pillow was talking to a bleach blonde haired girl. At first, I thought them a couple, as they both wore similar jackets; leather and fake-leather. If they weren’t, the girl was definitely interested as she leaned towards him in her yellow plastic seat, one arm resting on the back of it while the other rested on her crossed knee, the arm straying close to him and then pulling away, while she listened to what he had to say.

What he was talking about, one could only guess at, however I noticed that his hand was moving quite close to his nose in his gesticulations, fingertips occasionally flicking across the tip of his nose. The girl nodded every now and then, shifting in her seat, turning towards him more, opening herself up, decreasing the void between them.

His hand movements became more extravagant, his facial expressions showing the passion behind the words I cannot here, as to me, they have a German, feminine quality to them as the two girls’ conversation overrides it in the hubbub of the natural ambiance of the room.

My eyes become more glued to his hands, I don’t know why, maybe premonition? But fingers get closer and closer to the nostrils with each flick. Then a thumb decided to have a go. Then finger and thumb make a pincer attack. They pull away from their assault of the nostrils and rub together disposing of potential loot. They make a second charge, and then a third. Thankfully, the girl seems to either be non-plussed or to have not noticed, he is still in the game.

Then his finger and thumb make one final desperate attack on the offending foreign object, rummaging the cave. His hand pulls away, they rub together and then, fatally, trails to his mouth and finger scrapes against teeth and the mouth closes.

The girl straightens in the seat, turns away and hunches over towards the table, pulling out her phone and scrolling through messages, or Facebook. As I reach for my laptop, I salute my brother, who fell at the last hurdle.

The Problems With Fantasy

Now, for all those that know me, will know that I like to delve into the world of fantasy when it comes to writing. There are less rules and such that I need to follow in order to do what I want to do… Tell a good story.

However, upon embarking on this degree, I have found that there is a wealth of factors that my story telling seems to have overlooked and then I came upon a book that wasn’t really ‘coming upon’ at all… as it has been sat on my bookshelf for well over 8 years. maybe a decade now, without being read.

It is David Edding’s “The Rivan Codex”. David Eddings has long been my favourite author. It is possible that he will remain so until my own death as it was his writing that made me realise that this was the life for me. That I wanted to tell stories that gave future generations as much escapism as his gave me. I had thought that this book was another story from the world of Belgarion, Begarath and Polgara. That I was going to be reveled by one final, one of adventure. I completely overlooked the subtitle at the bottom of the front cover which said “Ancient Texts of the Belgariad and the Mallorean”. I would hate to think that had I seen this subtitle that I would not have bought the book, and that is probably true measuring the amount of disappointment I felt when I read the introduction back then and realised that I had been wrong. I wish more than ever that I had persevered because I found more answers to the questions I had been asking that anywhere else, and I valued them greatly due to the fact that it was in the words of my literary idol…

The book itself is all the notes he made when creating the world in which the two series are set, as well as the races and main characters and such. I re-picked this book up a few days after realising that in order to flesh out my story properly and give it a degree of realism. I was going to have to create a world that was almost tangible, rather than winging it like I normally do.

And the thing that spoke to me most, which would have been handy in my darkest times?

“I was in my mid-teens when I discovered that I was a writer. Notice that I didn’t say “wanted to be a writer” – ‘want’ has almost nothing to do with it. Either it’s there or it isn’t. If you happen to be one, you’re stuck with it.”

Learning Café

Being back at university is oddly soothing after the last four months of inertia. I would like to put that down as the reason why my writing has been so erratic, however laziness and the need of a break from being creative were needed. For those who have been following the series… Yes it would seem that the institution had knocked me down for a while. For those who didn’t know that was the underlying theme with it, apologies for the spoiler.

Sitting here with such peace, however, is bizarre to me. I should be bricking myself shouldn’t I? Dissertation year. Conclusion to this massive gamble I took a couple of years ago in order to shove the boulder into the river and divert the course of my life. So I should be panicking, wondering whether I’m up to the challenge. I mean, the penalisations are seriously heavy this year. Ten mark loss if I don’t use enough sources in the critical peace on one of the modules as well as a further 10 if I don’t accompany it with an analysis of each of the primary texts.

But I’m not. Instead, I’m trying to do the reading for the lecture in a couple of hours and the soft fabric-covered sofas are being abused by Ranger hurling a slime covered demon through its back and shattering the glass of the vending machine behind it. It slumps down the shelving showering itself in Fairtrade crisps that were used as a makeshift airbag. Gabriel is standing above a large beast that he had just countered and driven through a table.

The silver wolf darts around the outskirts of the room, looking for the right angle into the fray while Paul tries to avoid the conflict, bearing the wounds of Waya’s most recent scrapes. The waitress blindly pours a coffee for another student that has just arrived to the battlefield and unbeknownst to them another monster of darkness lunges through the pair of them to be parried away by the Elf King Juan (need to think of a better name for the poor guy, eighteen year old me did not do him justice) and had its head severed by the mighty swing of his two handed sword, a great feat in such a cramped area as he managed to miss the waitress completely.

So it’s fairly safe to say that any hold the institution of life may have had over my writing has now been loosed by the freeing sensation of sitting on Uni campus and I am ready to take on the task of becoming a graduate.

(Now who honestly saw that coming? I sure as hell didnt…)

Maybe Yesteryear

I want to say a few years ago, but it really isn’t. It was eleven years ago that we went as a family to France, one of our visits to the Dordoigne area. It’s beautiful, for any pondering a visit. Lush green scenery, a beautiful river that meandered between towering cliffs. It’s a place that I would happily visit again, unfortunately the year that we went, I was an 18 year old lout with little appreciation for the subtleties that the region had to offer me…

Namely, I was a lout, a teenager of sixteen / seventeen and the last place I really wanted to be was on a family holiday in the middle of a caravan site in France. It was run by the Keycamp people, and the ones who helped the customers and looked after the houses were close to my age so I began talking to them. They were cordial at first, however after the first few days of me hanging around the site being bored off my tits as I refused to go anywhere with my family, they dropped the supplier / consumer proprieties and invited me along to their nights out and campsite gigs.

The one I can really remember was one evening a short while before we left for home. They asked if I wanted to join them offsite and a short car ride later found ourselves in a local pub. It was a low beamed hut which had a bar and a stage facing each other across three rows of tables and booths. The tables themselves were bare, save for the coasters to set beer glasses on. A tribute band had been setting up when we arrived and we were well into our beers by the time they came to play their set.

This was my first experience of pub culture with my peers, OK, I’d been with family and also with work colleagues, but this was the first time that I’d allowed myself to go out with people my own age. (My track record with that age group had not been to great to date.)

However, they didn’t disappoint. It was a lovely evening and the memory that sticks with me most was when they finally played something that I liked, Maybe Tomorrow and I was so pissed by that point that I went jumping up and down the aisles of tables demanding that people clap along whilst shouting out the words to the song and one scared looking blonde woman meekly complying…

The next morning, we left for home.

Role Reversal

The ding of the doorbell roused Laura from her doze with a start. The end credits of X Factor were rolling with the numbers people had to phone to support their favourite singers.

Dammit, she thought with a frown as she stretched out from her awkward position. Slept through it again!

The doorbell dinged again and she irritatedly looked around herself. “Where is that useless man,” she muttered under her breath before hollering, “Gary! Gary, get the fucking door, will you?”

Over the other side of the house, Gary sighed. Why do I have to answer it? The living room is nearer! Still, he dropped the towel that was in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and downstairs to the door. He poked his head through the living room door briefly, with a “Too much for you to move for it, huh?” and reached for the latch.

Laura grunted in response and resettled herself into her chair, while rewinding the show back to the point that she last remembered seeing while Gary opened the door. “Bob!” he said, inwardly wincing at the almost bedraggled state of his best friend’s face. “And Claire, you’re early, we’ve barely begun to get ready!” He pointed to his bare chest and suit-trousered legs.

“It’s alright mate,” Bob replied, toying with the lapel of his jacket. “You know how Claire hates to be late, so we left a bit earlier.” He ruefully ran a hand over his face as the couple stepped through the threshold. “In fact, a little too early for me, I don’t suppose you have a razor I could borrow.”

“Of course, of course.” Gary said nodding emphatically, “let me take your coat Claire, Laura’s just in the living room, should still be awake, you know how she can be at times, such a dear.” Claire nodded and pushed the door open to the living room open just as Laura stopped rewinding and played it from the new position. “They’re just up here mate,” Gary finished, nodding up the stairs, “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks. Hey,” Bob said, running a hand against the wall, “hallway’s different, redone the walls have we?”

“Yeah,” Gary replied, “did some over the summer. Claire loves her projects, but you know who ends up doing it.”

Bob nodded in agreement.

“Just through here mate,” Gary said when they reached the top of the stairs, and opening the bathroom door. “Top shelf of the cupboard there.”

Return of the RP

Today, I was brought back to my roots. The place where one of my greatest creations was born. About eleven years ago, I went onto a forum for those who loved Square Enix games, or more to the point, it was a fan base for Final Fantasy. There, in the boredom of a Computing class that was really not for me, I started a story in Square Enix Forums’ Creative section.

It was an experiment using the second person where I made the reader the evil character and any sections that involved the antagonist became about what you were doing. Safe to say, it failed miserably. Mainly because second person is so difficult to write believably. In addition, you are telling people what they are doing and no one likes to be told that. However, this is beside the point, I had from this experiment a character that I then carried into the Roleplaying section of the site.

The people I met there helped me craft not only that character, but my skills as a writer. The thing people don’t necessarily get with Roleplay writing, is that although you may come up with the original idea for the narrative, you have no control over the general flow of the story. It is in the hands of all those that wish to participate to help craft and guide the story, not losing sight of possible plot points but everyone writing the story from the perspective of their character. So you would have different avenues, different perspectives, different methods to achieving the story’s aims and many of them were ways that you as the original creator could not have thought up to begin with. It also created intense character dynamics as not only were you learning your own character, but how to write with other people’s as well.

It was with a heavy heart, all those years ago, that I saw that hobby pass away. Firstly I focused on my own writing, and then before I knew it life had taken over. In addition, many of my writing friends fell to the wayside, their own lives taking them away from the realms of writing and creativity, the dreams of the characters they created falling into the abyss of ‘childhood play’. Before I knew it, I was very close to the only Roleplayer from that period of my life, still writing.

However, recently, there has been a resurrection. With a couple, it has been my writing of these 400 words and the story of Creativity where I revived some characters long thought dead to their creators. Others, had been focusing on their own works, believing the same as I that the passion for writing had perished in the hearts of the others.

So, tonight, on a site I thought had long since died, but kept alive by a good friend of mine in the hopes that we would all one day return, I gave my character, Ranger, back to the lands of nostalgia and threw him into the vortex for a new portal entrance into a brand new roleplay.

And to be honest with you all, it felt good to write with him in a manner that didn’t need to have a devised plot or direction. It felt good, to play once more.

 

(PS – Yes, I know this reeks of a filler, however, I felt that it needed to be said. For any interested in reading or even joining in with the fun. Go to http://z11.invisionfree.com/Mao/index.php?act=idx

Apologies

Currently flaked out on a camp bed in my shed, I’m left with the startling revelation that I’ve let things pretty much slip this last month. I say startling revelation in the loosest sense of the phrase possible as I’ve had someone continually remind me that I’d been letting days slip away. However, I really couldn’t build the effort required to write anything with everything that was going on.

I had work, yes, however, I’d taken on the odd shift here and there that was beyond my normal remit as I was struggling to make the bills and with my daughter’s visit on the horizon, I wanted to at least be able to do something with her during my stay. So my body clock has been severely fucked over by work at both ends of the day.

I will also admit that with the considerations that I’m putting into my dissertation that I have been severely burning out in the creative side of things. Struggling to amass even the most basic sentence let alone anything remotely creative. I also had what I tend to call laptop burnout, that state where you get fed up of looking at a computer screen and even the thought of sitting there staring at it repulses you.

And yes, for those of you who are reading and re-reading the first line over and over, rather than crashing on my single bed in my box bedroom that I rent, I am currently camped out in a shed, on a camp bed, that I have kitted out with its very own bedspread. The reason for this is that the last remnant of my family unit, and I’m not on about the mother and father with sibling family unit. I mean my family unit that fell apart a good four and a half years ago now.

Although I think if you ask everyone concerned, all would agree was for the best. I will admit that there is a part of me that has been missing these last handful of years. The part that had a purpose. The part that knew when he had a shit day, that it was all worthwhile because he came home to smiles and the soft sound of contented snores. My wife, now an ex of a few years, my daughter, now two hundred miles away and my two cats, who were being looked after by my mother after I had lost my flat.

But as of Sunday, I have recovered a part of my family. My cats are with me once more, and I camp out here in thankfully mild weather despite the rain to keep them company and for them to know that even though the situation has drastically changed from our flat, our home. I still love them and will do my best to repair the situation in times to come. I just need to get through this interim and to do that I need to burn off the burnout and renew the challenge and catch up with the eighteen missing days.

Not saying this will be easy.

Or done overnight…

But it will be done

Belgian Memory

I bought a Belgian bun today.

That, in itself, is not really worthy of note, however I realised that I hadn’t bought one in a while, although that too has little point. I wasn’t even thinking about the last time I had one when I got it, it was closer to “Meh, why the hell not…” and took it up to the till.

I then sat in the staff area and opened the case. The crack of the plastic stirred a memory from my childhood. Saturdays always used to be my favourite day. Not just because it released me from the hell of school but because on Saturdays Mum and I would go shopping. Now I will point out that I must have been quite young as I don’t remember either Natalie or Julia in the recollection.

Mum would drive us out to Badger Farm Sainsbury’s and we’d do the weekly shop. I remember the blue crates Mum would grab out of the boot of her car and we went towards the store’s entrance and collected one of the “new style trolleys” as mum would say, which were shaped in a kind of a zee with holes for the boxes to sit in. Mum then scanned her Nectar card and waited for me to pick up the hand held scanner out of its holder, which glowed a bright white.

We then proceeded into the store, Mum picked up the bits we needed, while I tramped along rather bored of the whole thing until we got to the chilled and bakery aisles. I remember running over to the fridge and grabbing a Frijj milkshake… back when the chocolate one used to be extremely thick and froth when you poured it into a glass and then we’d wonder down to the bakery aisle and the cakes.

I’d always be torn between two choices. The Chelsea with its raisin and doughy texture with sugar frosting making it mourish and sticky. Or the Belgian with it’s icing and cherry, still mourish but less sticky to eat. Normally, Sainsbury’s would be easier as they never seemed to have the Chelsea bun and that day was no different and I’d happily scan the packs that had the most icing on the buns before putting them in one of the blue totes.

The rest of the shop would pass in the blur until we got home. Mum would also buy an uncut loaf from the bakery, tiger bread. So lunch would consist of wedge sandwiches from the uncut loaf filled with the thick tinned Princes ham (because it always tasted nicer than the chilled regular packs), equally wedged cheddar cheese with a glass of Frijj milkshake. Followed by the treasured taste of the Belgian bun for after.

Later in the evening, I’d curl up on the sofa, watching whatever was on the Saturday night prime, Bugs, Spooks… countless others that I used to enjoy watching, even one year Crimetravellers with another glass of the milkshake before packing myself off to bed…

People Watching

As I walked away from the till today, Yaz took a phone call. Innocuous enough I know, however what amused me was how she stood while talking away on it, phone to ear, feet crossed at the ankle and her free hand on her hip.

I watch people for a number of reasons, the first and foremost is to help with my writing. To give that added edge to a description or a scene. Those tiny things that make the story or piece that little more authentic. It also reminded me of other people who’s mannerisms when they… let’s say … have “conversations with those who cannot be seen”.

Reason for that phrasing is the first example. I was at St John with a woman once who had quite amusing mannerisms. Her name was Lyn, and to me she was always a rather pleasant person to talk to. She was short and on the plump side of things. She had short hair that on the occasion of this memory was red and circular lensed glasses. We were doing radio work at the division that evening, with someone inside being control and we were basically playing a game of hide and seek but using radios to relay areas that we had searched and other information. A game designed to make us more comfortable with using the comms radios.

The radioes had crackled before Mark, the ‘Control Officer’ for the exercise began communication. “Foxtrot Delta 495, Foxtrot Delta 495 from Control are you receiving? Over.”

Lyn took the radio in her hand, the other positioned on her hip like a teapot handle. The hand containing the radio slowly raised towards her mouth, her arm curving like the spout of the pot in the process while her legs were positioned like someone doing the Egyptian dance.

“Foxtrot Delta 495 receiving, over,” she said and then tipped the radio in her hand, holding it between thumb and index and turned her head to look over the shoulder of her ‘handled’ arm, lips pouted as if posing for her close up.

Another person who amuses me, is my mate Dean. Whenever he is talking to someone on the phone, he treats it like he’s having a face to face conversation… and he’s an illustrator. I remember one time, I was playing a game on the console he was merrily talking away to someone on the headset, describing the box he received for his edition of Elder Scrolls Online.

“It’s this big,” he said outstretching his hands to twice shoulder width. “Fucking huge mate, I’m tellin’ ya. No idea how I’m going to fit it on my shelf.”

In my defence though, even though I was sniggering at the sight of his illustrations, I did try and point out that they couldn’t actually see him.

And finally, although it’s not strictly under the banner of “conversations with people who cannot be seen” I can’t talk about postures and how people are subconsciously without mentioning Holmsey. A mate of mine from cricket. Us as a club have a habit of filming stupid situations or games that are played. Normally the drinking type. I remember one in particular, where we were having a few beers at the White Horse in Ampfield after a match. They were coming up with a repetition game where we all had a call sign and Gunner decided that he was going to film a round.

Holmsey was slumped in his chair, one hand resting idly on his knee while the other propped his chin, laughing as the game moved around the players. And then his call sign snapped to him and Gunner’s camera followed. He sat bolt upright, chest puffed out with a camera smile pasted across his face and did his go. He remained in this position until the camera was finally off him, where he slumped back into his original position, and lit a cigarette.

Musings in Traffic

Travelling home from work today, I found myself sitting in really heavy traffic on the motorway. It was my own fault really, as there are warning lights at the junction’s entrance warning you of speed restrictions, which normally means trouble on the road ahead. However, as I normally head home around lunchtime, the signs had been known to be lagging behind events so would still be showing the restrictions set for troubles long since cleared.

Today, I thought would be such a day as I drove towards the roundabout before the motorway entrance. The amber lights of the sign flashing fifty did little to make me adjust my speed. I crossed the roundabout, onto the slip road and under the bridge, rounding the bend to take my first look at the motorway lanes,.. and then took my foot off the accelerator.

The lines of nose to tail traffic crawled along the speed highway and I felt my spirit drop with my speed and began the slow, arduous process of trying to edge my way into the nearest column. A guy in an artic-lorry decided not to crush my small punto and allowed me to glide into the left hand lane and crawl along with the rest of them. The guy in front of me was gesticulating wildly while edging from one side of the lane to the other, obviously wondering, same as most of those around me, what was wrong ahead.

I thought of all of those who were morbidly excited about what they were going to pass. How many cars this time? Was anyone seriously hurt? Ooh, would there be those fit firefighters there as well?

I, on the other hand, had a good idea and wasn’t particularly looking forward to the approach. Two police cars sped down the opposite carriageway, blues and twos wailing. I didn’t have to be psychic to know that they would come off at the junction I joined, spin round the roundabout and head past me. Sure enough, minutes later, the wailing returned and the police blitzed it down the hard shoulder, the area where broken down cars can pull over in relative safety, quickly joined by an ambulance.

Seconds after that, another ambulance sped up the opposite side, lead by a quick response car. With each new build up of emergency vehicles, my stomach dropped. I suppose I could have been hopeful that the ambulances had their ‘cargo’ already on board, which would mean that they were stable enough to be transported, a relatively good sign. If that was the case then the fact the lights were flashing was also a better sign than not. Live patient, not dead.

However, if they were heading with their patients on board, then they’d more than likely have gone in the opposite direction, to the nearest major trauma unit, not to one of the lesser priority hospitals behind me.

I shook my head, these kind of thoughts were never good. I stuck the jack into my phone and began to play some music, immediately setting my playlist to random. Stereophonics’ ‘Maybe Tomorrow’ started to play and I winced at the inappropriateness of it, however did nothing to change the track and instead put my wipers on as the light drizzle that had coated the roads and probably caused the crash started once more.

The lanes ahead of me slowly crawled onwards, so I sat there, singing along to my music, pretending my steering wheel was a drumkit. Eventually, as I crested the hill and began to gaze down into the valley below, the police’s lane constrictions began to take effect and the cars began to filter from three lanes down to one. I couldn’t see much from my perspecitve, vans and high rise cars were in front of me, however through their windscreen I could see the flashing lights of the emergency services.

The cars began to filter down again and I had a better view. The highway maintenance crews were out, repairing the damage to the central reservation. The police were racing back and forth, taking statements. The damaged cars were already onto tow trucks and the ambulances had all but gone.

Only one remained. Stationary with its lights still flashing away, despite being about fifty yards away from the rest. As if they had pulled away only to have to stop suddenly. There were no ambulance crews amongst the police so they had to be on their truck and my stomach sank. I slowly passed the remnants of the scene, staring sadly at the damage to the reservation as my mind replayed the possibilities.

Now that we were all single file, the traffic began to ease and as I passed the ambulance, ready to blast into fresh air and onwards to home, the lights on the ambulance went out. and the vehicle slowly pulled away…