Category Archives: short stories

Poetry Makes Nothing Happen

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In his poem, In Memory of W B yeats, the poet, W H Auden wrote

“For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives

In the valley of its making where executives

Would never want to tamper, flows on south

From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,

Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,

A way of happening, a mouth.”

 

Auden is one of the 20th century’s greatest poets, I do, however take issue with his view that poetry (and writing more generally) makes nothing happen.

In Oliver Twist Dickens portrayed the English poor law in all it’s brutality. He laid bare the cruelty of the workhouse and the corruption of those who, like the fictional Mr Bumble the Beadle grew fat by abusing the system. Oliver Twist is unremitting in it’s highlighting of the abuses perpetrated by Bumble and his ilk, however Dickens humour also helps to ensure that the novel remains widely read to this day. Who can forget his description of little Oliver daring to ask for more gruel in the workhouse? Dickens was not responsible for bringing about the abolition of the workhouse, however Oliver Twist undoubtedly stirred the conscience of Victorian England, indeed the novel continues to move our conscience in the early years of the 21st century.

To take another example, George Orwell’s terrifying portrayal of totalitarianism in Nineteen Eighty-Four, a world in which much of the population of Oceania is constantly observed by the telescreen, influenced and continues to influence those who oppose totalitarianism. Although a man of the left Orwell has been cited by people of both left and right in defence of pluralism. Auden’s view that “poetry makes nothing happen” was not shared by the regimes who banned Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and his much shorter novel Animal Farm. The former Soviet Union and other authoritarian states believed that writing can make things happen, why else would they have prohibited the works of Orwell and other critics of authoritarianism?

Doubtless the greater prosperity enjoyed by democratic societies had a profound impact on the populations of Communist societies. Despite the attempted jamming of western media pictures of life outside the Communist bloc did penetrate behind the iron curtain. The inhabitants of Czechoslavakia, Poland and other states which came under Soviet influence wanted consumer goods, however the intellectuals among the populace desired freedom and the writings of Orwell, Kafka and others kindled in them this desire for democracy.

In conclusion it can be said that Auden is right in the sense that writing in and of itself makes nothing happen. However the influence of authors such as Dickens and Orwell should not be underestimated. When combined with political and economic forces words can (and are) powerful tools  for good or ill.

Bath Time

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They found him lying face down in his bath. Donna, the barmaid in the Grapes where the elderly man had been drinking on that fateful Saturday afternoon,informed WPC Margaret Thomas that, to the best of her recollection he had consumed at least 10 pints of lager. The post mortem revealed a blood alcohol level consistent with Donna’s testimony and there being no suspicious circumstances surrounding the incident a verdict of accidental death was returned. As his friends remarked

“Poor Stan must have banged his head on the bath, lost consciousness and drowned”.

 

—

 

George hated the bathroom. Nothing unusual about that one might say and, indeed as a small boy he shared with his friends a detestation of cleanliness. Playing football, getting caked in mud was all tremendous fun but washing constituted barbarism perpetrated on children by unsmiling adults. In the case of his friends bath time meant gentle cajoling to enter the water. If they refused to wash then their parents driven to distraction might, to howls of protest take hold of the recalcitrant child and soap him from head to toe with imperial leather. Years later George’s friends smiled as they recalled bath time, not so George.

Have you ever felt the cold enamel of a basin as it touches your face? Yes very possibly you have my dear readers. Let me rephrase the question, have you ever felt strong hands holding your head under water? Have you felt the panic rising in you, the terrible unspeakable fear that you would drown? Have you wondered why man does evil unto man? I hope that the answer is no. Little George could unfortunately answer yes to all these questions. He lived in terror of the man. Outwardly charming, the life and soul of the party. He was such a charmer was Stan, no one would have dreamed that he was abusing his step son. Oh reader is that really the case? Shouldn’t someone have seen the terror in George’s eyes when Stan was in the room? Some no doubt remarked on the fact that when Stan was absent how George seemed happy and relaxed. Had someone acted then would Stan’s fate have been averted? Would he have died peacefully in his bed rather than struggling for breath as his lungs filled with water? Perhaps we should ask George but he, like Mccavity wasn’t there, or was he?

Sabrina Part 2

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Below is part 2 of my story Sabrina. For part 1 please visit http://newauthoronline.com/2013/03/31/sabrina-part-1/

 

Tony buried his nose in the bowl of fragrant purple hyacinths. Their exquisite scent filled his nostrils. He could almost imagine himself in a beautiful garden on a summer’s day with the birds singing and bees buzzing lazily as they flitted from flower to flower.

“Hyacinths are my favourite flowers. Roses are lovely but I’ve always had a thing about hyacinths ever since I was a little girl”

Tony turned to see Sabrina half concealed by lush foliage as she watered the plants which occupied a small section of the large supermarket. Her green eyes peered out from behind the throngs of a large potted fern. God she looked so beautiful, just like a woodland nymph Tony thought.

“I’d buy that one Sabrina said” pointing to a bowl who’s flowers had not yet opened. The hyacinths lay concealed within their green cases which would, in a day or so break open to reveal beautiful purple blooms.

“But these are already open. They will look and smell wonderful on the window sill in my kitchen” Tony said pointing to the hyacinths which he had now transferred into his shopping trolley.

Sabrina walked across to where Tony stood.

“Excuse me” Sabrina said leaning down to retrieve the plants from Tony’s trolley. As she bent down her foot slipped in a puddle of water which had dripped onto the floor from one of the hanging baskets. Sabrina would have fallen had it not been for Tony’s instinctive reaction in holding out his arms to catch her as she fell forward. Sabrina’s body was warm and soft against his chest, her scent composed from myriad wild flowers mingled with that of the hyacinths making him feel giddy with desire. Tony wanted to say so much, to pour out his feelings but instead he released Sabrina and said

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah, thanks to you I’m fine” Sabrina replied shakerly.

“You need to sit down” Tony said looking with concern at Sabrina’s pale face.

“No, honestly, I’m OK, just a bit shaken” Sabrina said smiling up into Tony’s eyes. She leant forward once more taking care not to step in the puddle which had nearly seen her fall unceremoniously flat on her face a few moments past. Sabrina retrieved the hyacinths from Tony’s trolley

“Look here” she said pointing to the purple flowers, “They are already turning brown at the edges. In a few days time you will have nothing except dead flowers and green leaves. If you buy the flowers which haven’t opened yet you will enjoy them for far longer”.

“Yeah you are right!” Tony replied taking the bowl from Sabrina’s hands, replacing it on the shelf and putting a pot of hyacinths which had not yet bloomed into his trolley.

“Thanks for the advice. You seem to know a lot about flowers” Tony said.

“No, very little. its just common sense really, if you buy flowers which haven’t opened then they will last longer than those which are already in full bloom” Sabrina said.

“Well you know more about plants than I do” Tony said laughing. “I was surprised to see you in the plant section, I thought that you always worked on the tills?”

“Usually I work on the checkout but today one of the girls who the supervisor had listed as being off came in to work which meant they had more checkout girls than they knew what to do with so I ended up in the gardening section. It makes a nice change from the checkouts. Don’t get me wrong I have a laugh and a chat with the other girls but it can get really boring just checking bar codes all day” Sabrina replied.

“Are you part time? I don’t see you here that often”.

“Yeah, I’m at uni studying sociology” Sabrina said.

“Really! I’m a social worker, what a coincidence!” Tony said.

“I’m considering going into social work” Sabrina said.

“Don’t, you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If you take a child away from it’s parents because of concerns that he is being abused and it is shown later that no abuse was taking place, the media will crucify you. But, if you don’t take a kid into care and the parents go on to harm them then you will be crucified! Whatever you do you will never be right” Tony said.

“But someone has to do it” Sabrina replied.

“Yes of course they do. I’ve had a horrible day in work so don’t take anything I say to literally. Anyway its nice to talk to you properly, I’ve been wanting to chat for ages but you can’t do that here because you are always on the checkouts” Tony said.

“I’m employed to work here not to chat to the customers”  Sabrina said grinning mischievously. “I suppose that I had better get on with my work otherwise I will have the supervisor on my back”.

Tony hesitated. If he didn’t ask Sabrina out for a date now he might never get another opportunity to do so. Blushing like a school boy he said

“Sabrina I have two tickets to go and see Hamlet. It is only an amateur production but would you, err would you come with me?” Tony could feel his face burning like a furnace. He wished that the ground would open and swallow him up.

“When is it?” Sabrina asked.

“On Friday evening at 7 pm in Saint Hilda’s church hall. It is only a 20 minute drive from here. I could pick you up”  Tony suggested tentatively.

Sabrina hesitated. This guy seemed nice but one never knew.

“I’d love to come but I’ll drive their. I don’t want to put you to any trouble. It starts at 7 so shall we meet at the church for 6.45? I finish here at 6 so I can easily be with you by then. Have you got the address?” Sabrina asked.

Tony scribbled the address on the back of an old receipt and handed it to Sabrina.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday then. I know that you have to get on now. See you later” Tony said as he headed for the checkouts.

“Thanks” Sabrina called after him.

With a start Sabrina realised that she didn’t even know the name of her date. She kicked herself. She couldn’t very well go rushing after the guy to ask his name. She glanced at the piece of paper in her hand. Underneath the address of Saint Hilda’s was written, Tony followed by a mobile number. Thank heavens the guy haden’t been as dippy as her Sabrina thought as she returned to her watering.

Samantha by k morris book review

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On visiting the page for my book, Samantha today I was delighted to see that it has received a review which awards Samantha 4 stars. You can find the review here http://www.amazon.co.uk/product-reviews/B00BL3CNHI/ref=cm_cr_dp_see_all_btm?ie=UTF8&showViewpoints=1&sortBy=bySubmissionDateDescending. If you have read Samantha then I would love to hear your views

Silence is Golden

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I like listening to a wide variety of music and on occasions (particularly when I am in the bath) I turn the volume up to the maximum degree possible without, of course annoying the neighbours! Despite my love of things musical I find it impossible to have music playing, however softly while writing. I find my ears concentrating on the words being sung or the beauty of the music rather than on my writing. My need for silence while working goes back to my school days. Other children could listen to music, watch television or do a whole variety of things while revising for their O and A levels, not me, I needed quiet to concentrate.

My need for quiet entails turning off my mobile, logging out of e-mail and disregarding the landline, yes I am an antisocial beast while writing! Once my concentration is broken I find it difficult to focus completely on writing again as that conversation with my mum or the e-mail from my friend is competing for attention with the story I’m composing.

I will pause while writing to make a cup of coffee or to enjoy a few moments stroking my dog, however I do not perceive these breaks as distractions, rather they help to keep the creative juices going (the coffee keeps me alert and playing with my four legged friend helps to relax me). On this basis I think that I am an antisocial coffee drinker who loves his dog, well I can think of worse things to be!

 

Kevin

Sabrina (Part 1)

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Have you ever desired something so intensely that the lack of it positively hurt? Tony’s waking thoughts where filled with Sabrina. Her long black hair and emerald green eyes dominated his consciousness. At times Tony fancied that he could smell Sabrina’s delicate scent, a wonderful cocktail of wild flowers comingled with the apple shower gel with which she soaped her lithe young body. The lack of Sabrina’s presence only served to entensify his desire for the girl. He longed to lose himself in Sabrina’s beauty, to bury his nose in the girl’s long black hair. He would drink in her scent his hands softly exploring Sabrina’s face. There lips would meet and then …

He pictured the two of them strolling hand in hand through the woods in springtime. The birds are singing and flowers line the woodland path. They enter a secluded glade shielded from the footpath by high oaks. Without speaking they fall as one to the woodland floor, Their love making being accompanied by the singing of many birds.

On other occasions Tony pictured Sabrina as a beautiful woodland nymph. At a little under five feet in height and being of slim build she was the living personification of the nymphs who populated the myths of which he was so fond. Tony saw Sabrina walking ahead of him in the depths of the forest. He quickens his pace, however the girl without ever appearing to pick up speed remains forever just out of reach.

“Sabrina” he calls.

“Catch me if you can” floats back to him on the spring breeze.

“Sabrina wait for me” he shouts but his voice is lost among the calling of the birds and the babbling of the woodland brook.

But what if he did possess the girl? What then?

“The rose is a thing of beauty much desired by man but, once picked it’s fragrance soon fades leaving only withered petals”.

Should he ask her out for a date? Where she to say no the intricate fantasies which Tony had woven for himself would vanish like snow in springtime. No more moments of delight with Sabrina flitting through the woods , just a big fat “no” to sap his confidence. Tony guessed that he could maintain the fantasy for some considerable time yet. He had a vivid imagination and his occasional encounters with Sabrina only served to heighten the intensity of his fantasising. Where Sabrina to say yes what then? Would growing familiarity start to breed contempt? He thought of his friend Jack. Some six months earlier Jack had, helped by the dutch courage provided by several brandies taken the plunge and asked Lucy, the barmaid in his local pub out for dinner. Their relationship had blossomed like the summer flowers but come winter it had fizzled out and died.

“Mate Lucy and I should have stayed friends. We had great laughs together, she was one of the lads but now she can hardly stand the sight of me” Jack had said sadly, slurring his words as he and Tony sat drinking cider in Jack’s house.

“I can’t go into the Fiddle (Jack’s local) anymore as Lucy can hardly bring herself to be civil and everyones either sniggering behind their hands or feeling sorry for me. I don’t know what’s worse” Jack said.

Maybe it was better to continue to worship his Venus from afar Tony thought. He took a sharp intake of breath. What if Sabrina chose to date someone other than Tony Juniper? Tony’s stomach turned over at the very thought. So far as he knew Sabrina was unattached. Certainly she wore no ring to indicate that she was in a relationship although the lack of a ring was not an infallible sign that a girl was available as Tony well knew.

“I’ll ask her out” Tony said to Smudge his black and white cat. The cat seemed decidedly uninterested not even deigning to acknowledge Tony’s announcement by so much as a sswish of his tail.

“Be like that then” Tony said lifting the cat off his knee.

Smudge rubbed himself against his owner’s legs craving attention but Tony’s thoughts where elsewhere. He was remembering the first time that he had set eyes on Sabrina.

“£30.37 please sir”.

Tony raised his eyes from the belt which had just conveyed his shopping to the cash register and came face to face with his goddess. A pair of green eyes gazed expectantly back at him

£30.37 please” the girl repeated glancing over Tony’s right shoulder at the growing queue behind him.

“Sorry” Tony said fumbling for his debit card while, at the same time trying to read the girl’s name badge. By craning his neck he managed to decipher the name. Sabrina the badge said.

“Sir can I help” Sabrina said annoyance fighting with mirth to gain the upper hand on her face.

“No I’ve found it. Sorry to keep you waiting Tony said extracting his card, inserting it into the card reader and punching in his PIN.

“Have a nice day” Sabrina said as Tony took his shopping and headed for the exit.

Tony knew that she said that to all the customers. It was, almost certainly company policy for the supermarket’s staff to offer this formulaic farewell. None the less Tony left the store with a huge grin on his face.

Ever since the day when he had first encountered Sabrina Tony had increased his twice weekly visits to the supermarket. He now visited at every possible opportunity. He would run out of milk and rather than popping into his local corner shop Tony would visit the supermarket in the hope of seeing Sabrina.

“Just the one item?” the girl said raising her eyebrows at the sight of Tony’s single pint of milk.

“Yes” he replied disconsolately. This girl wasn’t Sabrina. Tony had scanned the checkouts searching for her however following searching looks from the security guard he thought it prudent to go to the nearest till and pay for his milk.

Incidents such as this became increasingly common. On occasions Tony would strike lucky and find himself being served by Sabrina, however in most instances he paid for his single item at a checkout staffed by someone other than his Sabrina.

“His Sabrina”, of course the girl wasn’t his but try as he might Tony could not shake off the view that he and Sabrina where meant to be together. Like a moth to the flame Tony was drawn with ever increasing frequency to the store.

Does the devil still ride out?

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On 23 March I wrote “The Collector” (http://www.freeproxy-us.appspot.com/newauthoronline.com/2013/03/23/the-collector/) which tells the story of an encounter between Brian and a satanic presence. Ever since reading “The Devil Rides Out” by Denis Wheatley I have had a passing interest in the supernatural. Wheatley as with many other Christians believes that the devil or Satan is a being or force capable of manifesting itself to those who worship Satan. In “The Devil Rides Out” there is a struggle between the forces of good (the right hand path) and those of evil (the left hand path) resulting in the triumph of the former and the destruction of the Satanist coven.

One might think that Satanists believe in a horned god who bestows power and prestige on his followers. There are certainly Satanists who hold that Satan is an actual force or being to be worshiped in return for wealth and power. However there are also so-called atheist Satanists who hold that Satan does not exist. To such people Satan is a symbolic figure representing the struggle of humans to be free from constraints, to live their lives as they choose. The main organisation promoting this view is the Church of Satan which was founded in the mid 1960’s. Yesterday evening I spent a couple of hours watching a documentary on the Church of Satan (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlQTLovsKaI).

The adherents of the Church of Satan believe in sexual freedom between consenting adults an idea with which many non-followers of the organisation would agree. Of concern is the organisations belief in a form of social Darwinism in which “the strong” have the right to laud it over “the weak”. As one believer expresses it in the documentary the “bum” on the street is of less importance than the CEO of a major company and society should be organised to promote inequality. Of course most people accept that to varying degrees inequality is inevitable and that a certain amount may be desirable  in a free  society. However this view is tempered by a belief in the moral obligation of people to assist the less fortunate via welfare programmes and/or personal charity. So far as I can ascertain there is no such belief among the adherents of the Church of Satan. Their rituals place emphasis on “tooth and claw” for, as animals we are part of the process of natural selection in which the weak will either perish or become subservient to the strong. Most religions emphasise compassion, not so the Church of Satan.

According to the Church of Satan there is no hell. They may well be right in this view. However the doctrines of the Church with it’s emphasis on the Satanic elites could result in the creation of hell on earth.

Take a Break

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On 16 March I published Sting In The Tail (http://newauthoronline.com/2013/03/16/sting-in-the-tail/). The story attracted positive feedback with 12 bloggers liking it. I was delighted with the likes (who wouldn’t be?!), however on re-reading Sting In The Tail I noticed the following errors all of which have now been corrected:

  1. The main actor, Matthew (a fraudster) never reveals his real name to his potential victims. He tells Laura a blind lady he meets in a hotel bar that his name is James. Unfortunately on looking through the story as it appeared on my blog I found that Laura addresses Matthew by his real name rather than his fake name (James). Oops and double oops!
  2. On looking through Sting In The Tail as published on my blog I discovered that Matthew and Laura drink whine. While a guide dog does make an appearance in the story it neither whines nor wines, hence I have corrected the published version to reflect the fact that Matthew and Laura drink wine rather than whine!

How did these ttypos find their way into the published version of Sting In The Tail? Writing Sting In The Tail took some 4 to 5 hours. Having finished I was extremely tired. Instead of making a cup of coffee or going for a walk and returning to re-read my manuscript at a later point I instead read through the story straight away. I corrected a few minor typographical errors and as everything else seemed fine went ahead and published it on my blog! My resolution so far as future writing is concerned is to not publish in haste and repent at leisure. Rather I will save my manuscript, go and do something wholly unrelated to writing and return bright eyed and bushy tailed, at a later time to re-read my stories prior to publishing them. One can never wholly avoid mistakes when writing as even proof readers may miss errors, however it is always best to come at one’s work with a clear mind rather than a brain befuddled by tiredness.

 

The sun light on the walls

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Does the fact that I am blind impact on my writing? This question pops into my head occasionally and it is one which I have been meaning to address for some time. First let me describe my level of vision. Sitting in my spare room (where most of my writing takes place) I can see my computer screen. The screen appears blank to me although I know that words are gradually populating it’s surface as Jaws (my screen reading software) announces each time I type a letter). IF I raise my eyes I see the outline of a poster with writing at the foot of the picture. I wouldn’t know what the poster is except for the fact that friends tell me that it shows rather a nice representation of a dolphin. To my right and left are book cases full of braille books. I can see the outline of the books but nothing else. The sun is shining, it’s light on my wall and the quilt make me feel happy. There is something about the gentle rays of the sun which I love and I’m grateful that I have sufficient vision to appreciate the sun.

The fact that I am registered blind does, I believe mean that senses other than sight feature more prominently in my writing than would perhaps be the case where I fully sighted. For example when describing Sam’s visit to Woolton Woods in my book “Samantha” the sound of Sam’s feet crunching through the leaves features prominently due to me loving the noise made when walking on newly fallen leaves. The crunch of freshly fallen leaves coupled with the gorgeous scents which rise from them make for a heady cocktail of sensory delight. Passing through Woolton village Sam is delighted by the fading splendour of the flowers in the hanging baskets which festoon the cottages. I can’t see those baskets but I know through having passed often through the village and having had the baskets described to me what a wonderful display they make. This is not the same as seeing objects oneself, however I do, I hope still manage to impart Sam’s pleasure as she looks on the fading blooms.

For me what is fascinating  about people is what makes them tick. Why individuals are as they are and act in the manner they do is a subject of endless interest. I am more interested in a person’s personality than in how they look which does, very possibly arise from the fact that I can not see people very clearly. Where a friend to pass me today in the street I would see a passing shape. Only when my friend speaks to me do I know that it is John, Brian or Jeff the identification being made by the distinctive sound of my friend’s voices. Living in a sighted world I do, of course fully appreciate the fact that most people are interested in the physical appearance of persons both in real life and fiction. Looks self evidently play a significant role in explaining what initially attracts one sighted individual to another. Talking to my sighted friends I know that physical factors are what first draws them to a person of the opposite sex. All this is not to say that looks are the be all and end all of attraction. Once most people fall into conversation with a person to whom they are physically attracted factors other than appearance come into play, for example does he/she make me laugh and does he/she have similar interests to mine.

Returning to the issue of writing, as a blind writer I find that I sometimes have to remind myself to describe the physical appearance of the people who populate my stories something which I suspect does not happen with writers who are fully sighted. As pointed out above, I am well aware that I live in a sighted world and physical attributes do play an important role in life as in story telling. In certain instances physical attraction is central to my stories. For instance the fact that Becky (a young graduate who enters the world of escorting in order to pay off her debts in “The First Time” is slim and blonde) plays an important role as many customers of sex workers like slim blonde ladies. Consequently it is important that Becky’s appearance is described as “The First Time” would lack authenticity where the central actor’s physical attributes to be overlooked. Having said that the primary point of “The First Time” is to explore the psychological effects of prostitution on Becky. I am more interested in how Becky’s engagement in sex work impacts on her emotionally so once Becky’s description is provided the story concentrates on Becky’s emotional state which is, in my opinion as it should be.

In conclusion my writing is no doubt influenced by the fact of my blindness. I do not believe that this is to the detriment of my craft I do however need to keep in my mind the fact that I live in a sighted world in which vision plays a pivotal role and ensure that where appropriate the visual aspect is reflected in my story telling.