tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35560067756551263132024-02-01T19:00:49.555-08:00The Makings and Musings of Mr. Pondersome...Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.comBlogger276125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-12765123718829466642021-03-04T15:22:00.005-08:002023-03-31T10:35:32.015-07:00The Fluffy Book Above the Pool (a.k.a. A Textured Anecdote for World Book Day)<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUTJzmvJZN4wh3-YJfn-9bglU2RRZvti9GowFbxCPvJWkzcEyHArky4Wj4x1-V5U5yS_QScChB531o6JfRJf7edTd4MMOZ-xt2C4KcsxxCSb2P1MohU-RLwj1PirA91XLcCptRnhVXgo/s592/The+Fluffy+Book+Above+the+Pool.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="592" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeUTJzmvJZN4wh3-YJfn-9bglU2RRZvti9GowFbxCPvJWkzcEyHArky4Wj4x1-V5U5yS_QScChB531o6JfRJf7edTd4MMOZ-xt2C4KcsxxCSb2P1MohU-RLwj1PirA91XLcCptRnhVXgo/w400-h313/The+Fluffy+Book+Above+the+Pool.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>During my early work days, I
attended a course to become a Reading Friend. This was held at a local sports
centre.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">In
order to get to the session, we had to notify the front desk and
then turn abruptly up an unexpected stairwell. As I ascended, the lights became
more artificial and the smell of sweat and chlorine was smothered by lavender carpet
cleaner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When I
arrived at the necessary floor, I had to cross a long thin burgundy walkway
with windows on the left, looking down on the swimming pool below. Every now and
then, I turned to observe a hasty splash of some childish swimmer, hoping to
startle an adult who was focusing hard on her butterfly stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At the
end of the walkway was a conference room with white tables, at the centre of
which sat a man and a woman amid an assortment of board books and picture books.
The most important book of all was at the centre: the one in which we signed
our attendance.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Throughout
the two-hour session, the man and woman held up different books and showed how
to coax the interest of a young child, the importance of asking questions about
what they think might happen next and drawing attention to the
background detail of the consistently impressive illustration. Then, when they
both ran out of puff, the man and the woman told us to turn to the person
immediately to the right of us and practice. Pretending that another
grown-up was a baby was immensely weird until you had to be the baby yourself.
I had fun with it until I heard myself actually say, ‘goo-goo ga-ga’.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Then
after a quick and energetic feedback,
the man and woman brought out the pièce de résistance: a pink fluffy board
book. This was to show the tactile nature of reading with babies and how it
helps early development. We all got to stroke the woolly cover and flip a
couple of fabric pages before hastily passing it on, fearing that a thorough
inspection might seem like outright fetishism. It was just a shame that the dyslexic
teenagers I would be dealing with wouldn’t benefit from such soft
tomes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Once everyone had tickled their fingertips with book fluff,
the man and woman moved the precious touchy-feely book out of sight,
never to be used again. When I left the session, I glanced under the
table and noticed a thin metal case between them, the kind you expect to carry precious cargo. I imagined the book inside, strawberry-scented wool and feathers pressed
between two pads of protective foam.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36pt;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Years later, after working in libraries, I learnt more about tactile baby books and how well they last. A metal case isn't nearly enough.</span></p><br /><p></p><p></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-41222245867137118892021-01-01T14:31:00.007-08:002021-01-02T12:21:29.596-08:00Little Daunting (a.k.a. A Guide to a Place We All See at the Start of a New Year)<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVD5aP0o_KHlQZ6Qe4_XeMfGKdsCkEErrA600heTPxVlyhMEymiUHNkx_oTWgWE54XxmMxbMMhha3TrnBGkFg6syc2qlYmpS5RhrLZ4SghK6hAY2l3y1ngkYN6cVdXomdmLFuvvEv4lY0/s807/Little+Daunting.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="807" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVD5aP0o_KHlQZ6Qe4_XeMfGKdsCkEErrA600heTPxVlyhMEymiUHNkx_oTWgWE54XxmMxbMMhha3TrnBGkFg6syc2qlYmpS5RhrLZ4SghK6hAY2l3y1ngkYN6cVdXomdmLFuvvEv4lY0/w400-h309/Little+Daunting.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><p class="MsoNormal">So you’re off to Little Daunting.</p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">A lot to take in for such a small
village. Some might call it a hamlet though they’ve had their chance to go up
and down all its paths and trails, taken in the full scale of this awe-inspiring
place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">It’s hard to say what’s so
intimidating about Little Daunting. All you or anyone else can really know for
sure is what you see on arrival, how the village appears to you. It has been
described as crammed full of towering structures, having deceptive proportions
when you're stood at the road sign. This sign reads ‘welcome’ but that’s not
quite the meaning conveyed. All descriptions of the place from returning
travellers vary but remain at some level indecipherable and untrustworthy. You
distrust your own faculties most of all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Little Daunting messes with the
head but there’s a reason why it’s called ‘Little’. Any fear you might have
drains away as you tread its grass, dissipates with every echoing footstep
along the modest cobbles. It’s true when they say this place doesn’t quite look the
same with every hour you pass within its limits.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">Whether you stay or not depends on how easily you feel settled. As such it’s rarely crowded for long.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large;">You may or may not return from
Little Daunting. This village might even break you down but know that we have
all been there for a while and some of us can remember it well.</span></p><p></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-89696502351932898762020-12-25T16:05:00.002-08:002021-01-02T12:20:37.203-08:00The Boxing Day Grotto (a.k.a. Santa Receives Feedback)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvUecT4v2Stmfcah0UpK0EIQTdAK6H8rLe2gnLLzdL8GA8ip9mTs3cPx6h_zBvZvW9HusLznJXTUuTmio2P9Lf6QDMuxWQKxSvHWHfwhE9OX5Xdkzw0tG9hIbhfeoxbvofAHB8qnBbdM/s451/The+Boxing+Day+Grotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvUecT4v2Stmfcah0UpK0EIQTdAK6H8rLe2gnLLzdL8GA8ip9mTs3cPx6h_zBvZvW9HusLznJXTUuTmio2P9Lf6QDMuxWQKxSvHWHfwhE9OX5Xdkzw0tG9hIbhfeoxbvofAHB8qnBbdM/s320/The+Boxing+Day+Grotto.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Richard loved being Father
Christmas. It was the highlight of his year to don the red velvet suit with
white cotton trim, to squeak around in weighty black boots and take the
light-adorned seat in the local mall grotto. Alas this period of work lasted
for only two thirds of December before ending rather abruptly on the 24</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then again Richard didn’t do it for the money. He had
received a decent retirement package from his years working focus groups at
Ruddlesden Superstore, plenty to live on in his dotage. It was just lovely to
be able to listen to what kids wanted for a change. They certainly had a better
grasp of such things than their parents.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Regardless Christmas Eve soon came around again and he
found himself especially broody. One thing that had always bothered Richard was
how nobody ever followed up on these kids, checked that they got what they
wanted or else were happy with what they received. Perhaps it was his old
business brain working overtime but he saw a definite opportunity here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So it was that he set up a new grotto in the communal
field round the back of his cottage, just far enough away so that the local
kids didn’t get too suspicious. Richard didn’t officially open for business
till Boxing Day morning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The first person he saw was Aneesa, the nice girl from
two doors down. He had mentioned to her what he was thinking of doing when they
crossed paths in the park and she was keen to help out. Seeing her jingle
across the grass, adjusting her pointy elf ears was a sight to behold.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Excellent elf costume, dear,” Richard said. “Hope you
didn’t go to too much trouble?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Aneesa shook her head. “My brother leant me these ears.
He’s a big Trekkie. As for the costume, I improvised with one of Mum’s old
dresses.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard regarded the rather vibrant red and green swirls
that came to a glittery halt at the hem of a rather short skirt. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Aneesa
shrugged her shoulders. “She wore this stuff in the 60’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Richard
nodded, wondering if his electric pink bell bottoms were somewhere in the back
of his wardrobe. “I’m not sure what to expect today. Could be nobody comes. If
you get bored, feel free to head back home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Thanks
but Dad’s on with making enough Peshwari Naan for the neighbourhood. At such
times, it’s better to be out of the house.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Right.”
Richard put on his Santa hat. “Let’s see who turns up then.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">True to prediction, the first
two hours were incredibly quiet. Their only visitor was Mrs Ashcroft from
Hogarth Lane, dressed in her orange Mackintosh while exercising her fox
terriers. Aneesa flinched at the sudden appearance of a furry snout so Richard stepped
outside. As soon as seeing him in his outfit, Mrs Ashcroft chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You do know what day it is, don’t you, Richard?” She
spoke slowly though this was mostly a tease.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The fairer terrier, Sandy, scratched at the toe of
Richard’s boot. “Yes, Imelda. Did you not receive the note I posted through
everyone’s letterbox?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I did. Our Wesley is a bit too old for this sort of
thing now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really? He came to Ruddlesden last year.” Richard
squinted as he remembered. “Asked for the full latest Power Ranger set if I’m
not mistaken.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mrs Ashcroft’s eyes shined with surprise. “You’ve got a
good memory.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I do my best.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sandy had now taken to sniffing the behind of her darker
brother, Brody. Richard thought the intensity with which she did this a bit
indecent but Mrs Ashcroft wasn’t at all fazed. She just tucked a stray lock of
white hair back beneath her hood and chuckled again. “So what is this then? Customer
feedback?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“In a way.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, I suppose if any Santa can ask the right
questions, it would be you.” She winked. “I’ll remind the Fosters and the
Brickleys. One’s to the left of my bungalow and the other’s to the right. We
often have little back garden gatherings.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard smiled. “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mrs Ashcroft set out again, pulled by both Sandy and
Brody who apparently wanted to investigate a nearby fencepost. “I’ll look
forward to your eventual presentation at the next town meeting.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She was a snarky one but Mrs Ashcroft had a kind nature.
Though she obviously didn’t believe in his project, she wouldn’t see Richard
sat out in the cold for nothing. Once she and the dogs had disappeared, he
returned to the grotto. Aneesa was watching from the window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Still not a dog person then?” Richard asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know it’s silly.” she grimaced. “Mum loves dogs but
Dad still doesn’t trust them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Parents give a lot of themselves to their kids. More
than they’ll ever know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With a reassuring pat on her shoulder, Richard got his
portable kettle boiling. They both had their tea strong, fingers wrapped around
thick mugs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not long after the steam had dissipated, Richard set his
tea down and answered a small but firm knock at the door. Little Tommy Brickley
stood in the doorway, eight years old and scowling. Richard gave his loudest
ho, ho, ho but the belly laugh did nothing to appease the stiff-lipped lad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello, Tommy. How are you this chilly Boxing Day?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy ripped off his black bobble hat and stuffed it into
the pocket of his silver puffer jacket. “A Snottyhead.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard adjusted his half-moon spectacles. “Pardon?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I asked for a Snottyhead,” Tommy spoke slowly, a rumble
to his voice. “You gave me a Grinspan.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard glanced at Aneesa for help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Father Christmas, aren’t Snottyhead and Grinspan from
the same line of action figures? The ones with green goopy hair?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After a moment Richard nodded. “Yes. I believe Snottyhead
is the goodie and Grinspan is the baddie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,” Tommy snapped. “Grinspan is Snottyhead’s partner!
Grinspan has a big smile but no bogey hair. He’s smaller too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard locked eyes with Aneesa but she just shrugged.
With a huff, he knelt down to the boy’s level.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, I am sorry, Tommy. Unfortunately Snottyhead didn’t
have any toys to spare me this year. However Grinspan was kind enough to pass
on one of his.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tommy grunted. “Snottyhead and Grinspan aren’t real.
They’re on TV.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is that what they tell you, eh?” Richard tried a wink
but he had the feeling this wouldn’t quite work. The boy was now shaking with
anger. “I am sorry, my boy. We’ll see what we can do next year, eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re Santa!” Tommy shouted. “You’re supposed to make
the toys yourself!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With that he stormed back out onto the frosty grass,
crunching all the way home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Blimey,” Richard said, sinking back into his grotto
chair.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not sure what Elaine was playing at there,” Aneesa
replied. “Snottyhead figures are in all the supermarkets as well as the toy
shops. I even saw one on Christmas Eve.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes. Dad needed me to pick up some ingredients.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard was downcast for some time after that. Of course
it wasn’t his fault that Tommy’s Mum didn’t buy the right action figure but Tommy
didn’t know that. He honestly thought Santa handled the entire arrangement
himself, as if he were contractually obliged. The more Richard thought about
this scenario, the more bizarre it seemed. Food for thought but certainly not
the kind he had expected, at least not at first.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fortunately there was another half an hour or so of
quiet. Aneesa got up to stretch her legs out on the field and when she
returned, it was with Mr Foster and his twin daughters Ophelia and Katie in
tow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard did his best to perk up, even pinching his cheeks
to add colour.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The girls went silent when they saw him so Mr Foster
tousled their long black hair to get them to talk. Instead Katie burst into
tears. Her father looked momentarily powerless, glancing at Richard as if he
might be able to fix the mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now, now, petal,” he said. “What’s wrong?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katie sniffed and wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her
woolly overcoat. She then turned to Ophelia, lifting one white fluffy ear
warmer to whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once she was done, Ophelia cleared her throat. “You
forgot our puppy, Santa.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard locked eyes with Mr Foster who shook his
close-shaven head. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I see,” Richard replied. “Well, there’s a funny story
about that. You see, the elves and I were about to make you the cutest puppy
ever but unfortunately we ran out of stuff. We had plenty of lovely soft fur
but couldn’t fetch the right sparkle for the puppy’s eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Silly me,” Aneesa added. Richard smiled his thanks for
alleviating the responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But puppies aren’t made,” Ophelia said. “We saw one
being born.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard paused. “You did?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard wasn’t quite sure what to say. He could stick to
his story but then that might complicate the life lessons the girls had already
been taught. Judging from the wide-eyed look on Mr Foster’s face, he had no
idea how much they already knew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That must be where we’re going wrong then,” Richard
replied conversationally to Aneesa.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ophelia gawped at them while Katie set off crying again.
At last Mr Foster took the initiative to lead them both out before any further damage
was done.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard reached for a handkerchief and mopped his creased
brow. “My goodness. It’s all go today, isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m afraid so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He turned to Aneesa now who was still watching the
Fosters from the window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do you think this was the right idea?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, Santa does have a lot of explaining to do. All
those kids asking for things their Mum and Dad can’t give them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I never say yes.” Richard straightened up. “It’s always
been my understanding that Santa only ever says ‘I’ll see what I can do’.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Aneesa wrinkled her nose. “Doesn’t he also talk about
them being good?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I hope you’re not suggesting I indulge in emotional
blackmail.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not you.” Aneesa chuckled. “Santa. One way or another,
Father Christmas has always been about giving gifts to only good kids. Still it
all comes down to what their Mum and Dad can afford or are willing to do. The
whole philosophy runs the risk of good kids feeling punished for trying their
best but not quite succeeding.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard massaged his temples. “I’ll agree it’s not a
perfect system. All I can say is that I try my best to represent the better
part of Father Christmas. The open ear.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And you do. Which begs the question, why check up on
what kids got or didn’t get when the answer is taking such a toll on you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard needed a moment to think about this. It was
dawning on him that the grotto idea might have been a little selfish. He was
hoping for satisfied customers or customers who recognised the efforts he had
personally gone to. Really years of focus group work should have taught him
that you needed to take the rough with the smooth. There are many reactions to
even the simplest transaction. There is a danger to pretending to be
responsible for a moral decision that really comes down to money.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He fell quiet for a while but then Aneesa didn’t pressure
him for an answer. Instead she gave him some space and set about making them
another cup of tea. As the kettle began to hiss behind him, he raised himself
to his feet and began peeling the Christmas lights off his grotto chair. There
was really no point carrying on with all this. Whatever happened next would
just disappoint him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard didn’t notice that the girl had wandered in till
he turned around. He gasped, clutching his chest. “Deary me! You’re light on
your feet!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The girl giggled. Something told Richard he was on a good
wicket here so sat back down. The girl looked about eleven or so, tall for her
age and rubbing her pink mittens together. Aneesa appeared behind Richard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello, Kelly!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah yes. Kelly, pet. How are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m okay,” she said. “Just want to say thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank you?” Richard couldn’t disguise the shock in his
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.” Kelly pulled the toggles on her red trapper hat.
“I got what I wanted.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard smiled carefully. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Unfortunately he could not recall what ‘it’ was precisely. That was one of the
other issues of doing this, he was accepting thanks for other Santa
impersonators.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Okay,” Kelly replied, turning back towards the door.
“Have a nice day, Father Christmas.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Before you go…” Richard began. He was going to ask what
she had got for Christmas. His desperation would have had him come right out
with it. Then again that would have shown that Santa did not know what he had
gifted Kelly with. It would have completely dispelled the girl’s already
fragile belief system. In a year she might very well no longer believe. Did he
really have it in him to ruin that so early?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No. To hell with customer service appraisal or whatever
this was. For now Richard was Father Christmas, one who had apparently
delivered. Better to leave the dream alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Merry Boxing Day, Kelly,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kelly giggled again. “Thank you. You too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“See you, love,” Aneesa added.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once the girl had gone, Richard turned to Aneesa. “Well,
that was something, eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Aneesa patted him on the shoulder. “Are we packing up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard took in a refreshing breath of air. “Yes. We’re
done here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>True enough, there were no further visitors as they took
down decorations. Though Richard huffed and puffed with the work, he was
quietly relieved. He wasn’t sure about the presentation at the town hall that
Mrs Ashcroft suggested but he was content with the overall results. So long as
one in three little customers left satisfied, he was too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-88340853623414460422020-12-20T11:48:00.004-08:002021-01-02T12:20:21.547-08:00Pompier (a.k.a. A Whiff of Commercial Nightmare)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZi1z5fZJOOeWQ5Mehyphenhyphen20s5ImSd2tgbboxBk90NMfvasDXB1_PtCY9Hcd7UsX7oWVv2LRxLHA9HO8bHuwd3wVzqI9LOMX5D0VFd2UNzG8R7c-zQYhdsfeizbHy85SWKemR2lWZM-xNvk/s590/Pompier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="264" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZi1z5fZJOOeWQ5Mehyphenhyphen20s5ImSd2tgbboxBk90NMfvasDXB1_PtCY9Hcd7UsX7oWVv2LRxLHA9HO8bHuwd3wVzqI9LOMX5D0VFd2UNzG8R7c-zQYhdsfeizbHy85SWKemR2lWZM-xNvk/s320/Pompier.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Perfume adverts have extraordinary artistic license. Normally they get a fair bit of playtime throughout the year but this intensifies on the run-up to Christmas.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Diana tends to sit through advert breaks, unless she has a hot chocolate on the go. She did marketing at university ever so briefly but now she is certain that she can decode what these companies are trying to stimulate with their non-sequiturs and manipulation of nostalgia. She also enjoys the occasional nonsensical advert, one that is so bizarre that it can only be striving for ‘high art’.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Some of her favourite twenty second motion picture puzzles include the advert where a Frenchman huskily reciting a haiku about ‘her passion’ to flashbulbs and recording equipment, the commercial about a glamorous Swede stripping off in a tundra with her every line badly-dubbed and, of course, the advert featuring that Hollywood actor whose name constantly eludes her, being splashed in green paint while fondling a gas station pump. The real joy of these isn’t in definitively solving them but figuring out how on earth they might relate to a glass bottle full of pretty scents.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> The only person Diana makes chuckle with her often ridiculous suggestions is herself. She lives alone and has done most of her adult life, spending her evenings wrapped in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and steadily draining the bottles of Chardonnay her workmates buy her every Christmas without fail. She takes a swig every time one of these baffling perfume adverts plays which, as previously mentioned, happens a lot.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> After the eleventh sip of her night, she gasps and waits for the latest ad break to end which it does with a light and fluffy laundry detergent infomercial starring a comedian known for her bitterly sarcastic stand-up. It is as if her paradoxically white smile triggers the blackout.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Tapping the remote, Diana rises to her slippered feet and shuffles over to TV to check if it’s still properly plugged in. As she reaches for the main cable a pensive piano solo begins.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Glancing behind her, Diana sees that snow has started to fall on her sofa. Not only this, it trickles down slowly, long enough for her eyes to take in the shimmery intricacy of each individual flake. Breath catching, she gazes up at the ceiling to see if the rooftiles have somehow fallen loose without her noticing. What she sees is a giant human hand reaching down towards her, as if asking her to dance.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> Against her better judgement, she takes the forefinger and is raised out of her living room and up into a starry night sky. A sun draws in close behind her and the hand but it burns neither of them. In fact she reaches out to feel for any kind of warmth only to receive a flare to her chest. This turns her robe to cinders and reveals a tight-fitting platinum ballgown underneath. Diana can see that she looks a vision from the mirrors that are now surrounding her.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> With a single gasp, these shatter and she discovers that the giant hand has disappeared though a normal-sized version has taken its place, proffered by a suave gentleman who looks the spit of that Hollywood actor. Oh, what’s his name again?</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> They dance through outer space till he falls to his knees and sinks into an invisible floor. Diana glances downward and gravity soon takes effect on her too. Shutting her eyes a little too late, she lands in a varnished red cedar canoe in the middle of a gorgeous green ocean. Reaching for a diamond paddle, she begins to move on to destinations unknown. The sun returns but now it is distant and steadily melting a painted blue sky.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> As she rows towards it, the water's current becomes viscous and she feels her grip on the paddle slipping. When at last it falls completely out of her grasp, she peers down into the crystal-clear depths till her own sight ripples and fades.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> At last Diana stirs from her sleep, noticing that her show is back on and has been for a couple of minutes now. She is dressed in her usual pink robe and can see no hole in her roof, let alone snowfall. Shaking her head, the dream lets go but not totally. Even as she rubs her eyes alert, Diana can perceive the faint smell of cinnamon and citrus, of mint and melting chocolate. She takes a deep sniff of her robe collar.</span></p><p><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> “Pompier,” she whispers.</span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-77733697247813498842020-11-23T08:50:00.001-08:002021-01-02T12:17:29.261-08:00Incarnations (a.k.a. A Legacy Story for Doctor Who Day)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWTuhS40mUytCzzcO0DbmG3hveavvuOePjlNzyWNxU_yokLlLR941YaBpRPa_TQFkdRbBB7Lu8L2AWCi0eyaBQ_NMk2p8o8Kc8Ou9q0absyqVOGmhK6GNGpP4zLzAeYWUYOygs0I2T2w/s200/Doctor_Who_logo_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWTuhS40mUytCzzcO0DbmG3hveavvuOePjlNzyWNxU_yokLlLR941YaBpRPa_TQFkdRbBB7Lu8L2AWCi0eyaBQ_NMk2p8o8Kc8Ou9q0absyqVOGmhK6GNGpP4zLzAeYWUYOygs0I2T2w/s0/Doctor_Who_logo_1.jpg" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">A</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">t
one point in their lives, both my parents were Time Lords. Well not just Time
Lords, the same Time Lord.</span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As in all things, my mother went
first. Katherine Canavar joined Doctor Who in 2027 as the fifteenth
incarnation. Her costume was not completely unlike her personal style: brown
leather dress and crimson shawl. She did make her hair more extravagant,
darkening the natural red and curling it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"For my look, I turned to past
companions," she explained in an interview once. "I settled on the
sexy savagery of Leela with Mel's fiery head of hair."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her performance was described as
Earth Mother, a look that was generally agreed as being very new for the role.
Nevertheless she managed to strike a balance between witchy and alien, moving
about the TARDIS like it was her own walk-in crucible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The most recurring villains for her
time were the Autons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"It just made sense," she
said. "My Doctor couldn't stand the unnatural getting in the way of the
natural. She was a true environmentalist surrounded by plastic fakery. Of
course, she would try to recycle it into something better."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In 2032 she regenerated into my
father. Bilal Zaro not only met Canavar on set, he did so in the same outfit as
her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"The shawl doesn't suit,"
she remarked, "but the dress matches the brown of your eyes."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He would have laughed more had he
not been so nervous. My Dad was a consummate professional but still this was
his favourite show from childhood. His first Doctor had been Matt Smith but my
Mum had never really followed the show before or even much after.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You'll be fine," she told
him. "The fans will be glad testosterone has finally returned."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At this my Dad did laugh. "Not
quite what I'm going for."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As the sixteenth incarnation, Zaro
was much quieter than most of the previous Doctors, Canavar especially. He
preferred tinkering with machinery to talking and made a fraction of the
rousing speeches that his immediate predecessor had.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His eventual costume featured Paddington-inspired
toggle coats and glasses with extra microscopic lenses. The majority of his
adventures came to feature the Doctor discovering a piece of tech that he
fiddled with until the third act where its use became apparent. He needed an
intellectual sparring partner and, with the Master on a well-earned rest, the
Rani returned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Part of me thinks that the
show runners saw an opportunity with my casting," he once mentioned to me.
"An actual Asian in the TARDIS to make the Hindu Queen relevant and not racially
offensive. However I was raised Muslim and I'm not even that anymore."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When my Dad called Mum up for advice
on the role, they got to talking about a lot more than method. To this day Mum
insists that she asked Dad out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The announcement of their love
affair was, of course, a coup in both fandom and media. Mum basked in it, but
Dad was far more reserved. He was still in the role after all and already had
to contend with remarks that Mum was the far better Doctor. And yet this only
proved a point of contention long after he had given up the role and I was born.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"It was your fifth birthday
when we had the idea," Mum explained when I was</span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;"> in my early teens.
"Your Dad and I still had our respective sonic screwdrivers from our times
on the show."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dad shook his head. "I knew it
was a bad idea from the start."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mum shushed him. "It was a
symbolic gift-giving."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"And an experiment."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She rolled her eyes. "We gave
you them at roughly the same time to see which you would play with more."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"And?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mum glanced at Dad. He sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Your screwdriver was more
tactile. Of course a toddler would want to play with it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Yours was too simple."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"It was a classic design!
Like Troughton's!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She turned to me. "You didn't
let go of my screwdriver for the rest of the day."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> "Well, yes. It was firmly
wedged between the girl's teeth."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mum nodded. "I should have
taken it off you sooner."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> "A choking hazard."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"A choking hazard that would
have paid for your college education. And then some."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had just started college when I
truly began to see my parents for who they were. I had also watched their
respective runs on the show without them eagerly pointing at the screen
whenever they subtly emoted or delivered a brilliant line.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Their performances did actually
speak a lot to their personal characters. The fifteenth Doctor was more than
a little hammy and you could always hear her coming. I couldn't go anywhere in
the house without hearing Mum mangling Dusty Springfield from the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sixteenth Doctor was a little unsettling with his small gestures and rarely saw people for the pieces of the
puzzle they held in their hand. I stopped bringing friends over for dinner when
Dad interrogated Tina about her dental degree studies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You would think I would have instead
focused on the seventeenth Doctor and all who came after her but, well, I
honestly couldn't get into the show. Of course, that revelation made uni life fun: the
theme’s sting playing whenever I walked into common rooms. I should
never have told Julio on that first night in halls. I always made sure the
place was empty before allowing my parents to pick me up in the holidays.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In that time though the cracks that
I'd tried my best to ignore finally spread through their
relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"We need time apart," Dad
said. Still he was holding his head in his hands. "It's just your Mum
doesn't let up about the roles I choose. She keeps interfering with my career.
I know she doesn't mean to, but she does."<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mum's side of the story was
inevitably different: </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">"I don't like his silences
anymore. He doesn't realise how hard it is for a woman my age to find work. The
conventions are a boon. I just wish he understood and gave them a try."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the split was official, the
media had long since moved on. A borderline incestuous sci-fi romance wasn't so
interesting when the stars had faded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They managed to be civil even after
all was said and done. Mum kept living on the convention circuit, Dad found
plenty of character work on ITV primetime.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And while I very much remain a
postgraduate History student, I have finally succumbed to acting. Julio managed
to mount a student production of the lesser-known stage show <i>Doctor Who: The
Ultimate Adventure</i>. Though there were many contenders for the lead, he firmly
believed that no-one would be more appropriate than the lovechild of two
canonical Doctors. </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">My costume borrowed Mum's crimson
shawl and Dad's specialised glasses. I picked my own sonic screwdriver design
though.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They watched from the audience together, laughing, crying, squabbling over whose acting method mine best
resembled. And I watched them in turn, wondering at which point I stopped being
a midpoint between the two of them and became the next incarnation of myself.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: arial;">____________________________________________</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>This is a fan fiction story about Doctor Who. All rights to characters and concepts mentioned are reserved by the BBC and relevant parties.</i></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-71261230011707680362020-10-31T15:11:00.011-07:002021-01-02T12:16:59.720-08:00The Talk (a.k.a. Part Three of My 2020 Trilogy of Halloween Tales)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYNfDGHvusUgj09Y9IdZPrWR6ic2s0p6dmpxidLhTrq4LOpwzerRp5MWCdNOzA4U9-LMlK1yxu2QAWfA7Yaw0TIuVf2HQc22-1o5441TUAFfW0Lt4hafjzwCZfnyYb1DhV37J2VgdSks/s643/The+Talk.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="643" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYNfDGHvusUgj09Y9IdZPrWR6ic2s0p6dmpxidLhTrq4LOpwzerRp5MWCdNOzA4U9-LMlK1yxu2QAWfA7Yaw0TIuVf2HQc22-1o5441TUAFfW0Lt4hafjzwCZfnyYb1DhV37J2VgdSks/s320/The+Talk.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Two
short taps and one scrape of a nail against the door.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Come in, Mr Almond," Peter says.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A man with a green tinge to his
skin enters. He clutches his thick hands together. "Hope you don't mind,
Peter? I realise I haven't caught you at the best of times."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Peter doesn't reply, just</span> sits up and makes room at
the foot of his bed. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> Mr Almond perches on the spot, briefly entranced by October's gloom as framed by the boy's window.</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> With a curt breath, he returns to the moment.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You
remember the last time we hung out, Peter?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"At the park?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Yes. We were
talking and then you saw a couple of girls on the swings." Mr Almond offers a toothy smile. "You got lost there for a moment, didn't
you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Peter shrugged. "Kinda."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You said her name was Mona,
the strawberry blonde. You seemed quite taken with her. Definitely her...developments." Seeing Peter's frown, Mr Almond</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> sighs. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">"Her breasts, Peter."</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>'You were looking?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Not intentionally. I just followed your eyeline."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Peter's posture stiffens. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">"What's wrong with Mona?" </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr Almond catches his eye.
"It's alright, Peter. I get it. I went through the exact same experience that you are now. It was a
long, long time ago but essentially the same. New excitement. Girls changing shape. Impure thoughts. To be honest I saw it coming when you started spending more time with Mark and Adam. Which is also fine. You boys are
facing the exact same discoveries. You need each other's support."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"But..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr Almond raises the hand with the
long black nails on it. "A moment, Peter. This is a tricky subject, yes? I have
to remember how it was said to me before I can figure out how to say it to you." He shakes his head. "There were lots of restrictions back then. Times have very much changed."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr Almond clutches his bony knees and
exhales.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Look, you know I'm going to
eat you next year. Your parents and I told you how it works: when you're of
age, I'll need your virgin blood to stay alive. All of it. And that's just it:
virgin." Mr Almond takes another curt breath, well-practised. "Now I don't want to be the bad guy here but I know there are certain
pressures coming from Mark and Adam. Big talk about who has slept with who, eh? Still none of you have exactly fornicated, now have you?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Peter opens his mouth. Mr Almond gestures it closed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"But therein lies the danger,
Peter. While you chaps keep egging each other on, someone's bound to slip up and lose
that precious virginity. And I really don't want it to be you. I really don't want
all the years of hard work your parents have put in to making you a fine, upstanding sacrifice to be wasted. I don't want any of you to be wasted.
Because then I'll just be devouring three sexually-experienced men and that
would taste disgusting." Mr Almond sticks out a forked tongue and grimaces. "Do you hear what
I'm saying?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Peter nods. "I'll try."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"I know you'll try," Mr
Almond says, reaching for Peter's shoulder but remembering the germs. "But
boys will be boys and I really don't want to have to devour Mona too. She seems
nice and not a part of this at all. Don't you agree?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Peter nods again. "Yes, Mr
Almond."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You just focus on your
education and having good clean fun with Mark and Adam and all will be well.
When the big day comes you might briefly regret not having sex but..." Mr
Almond shrugs. "Then you're gone."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Gone," Peter replies robotically.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Quick and clean, I promise. And
don't forget I'm here to talk if you ever need me." He rises to his looming height.
"I may not be one of your mates but I'm not like your parents either. You can talk to me. Understood?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Yes." Peter is already
turning away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr Almond claps his hands together. "Okay, Peter. I'll say hello to Mark and Adam for you."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Having closed the door, the green-tinged man produces a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his grey wide sleeve and wipes the darkening wrinkles of his palm. Floating downstairs, h</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">e passes Peter's mother.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Peter understands," he says
as she holds the front door open for him. "I will return if he gets
confused again. You know how it is. Sometimes a lad needs a special confidant to get through these complications."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You're sure?" Peter's
mother asks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Mr Almond winks both crimson eyes. </span>"It'll only be for a couple more months.” He then drifts down the garden path.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"Where are you going now?"
Peter's mother asks as he rests a hand on the latch of the gate. A
blast of chill wind catches Mr Almond naked throat where the skin is most
tender. He reaches up to cover it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"To Adam and then Mark."
He lets out a gasping laugh. "In situations like this, it's
important to visit all the lambs as fast as you can." Then, with a sudden whirl of grey and green, Mr Almond joins with the night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Back up in his room, Peter neither
weeps nor warns his friends. Instead he masturbates.</span><o:p style="font-size: 12pt;"></o:p></span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-88986339879204186202020-10-30T14:16:00.001-07:002021-01-02T12:16:43.862-08:00Plaster and Slime (a.k.a. Part Two of My 2020 Trilogy of Halloween Tales)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rq-oOZPu8XirqNg5LlYnkpIiKMCquOn81nPUgg6sOYcCsuXae713Shk3PX1wZw4VwSVWA4p4mwQvNQGVIh06bVIMIzwyU1zTDnXTPdowePz09sBdORsQCGfszkGA-g7ZR-TIqsfbDoM/s354/Plaster+and+Slime.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rq-oOZPu8XirqNg5LlYnkpIiKMCquOn81nPUgg6sOYcCsuXae713Shk3PX1wZw4VwSVWA4p4mwQvNQGVIh06bVIMIzwyU1zTDnXTPdowePz09sBdORsQCGfszkGA-g7ZR-TIqsfbDoM/s320/Plaster+and+Slime.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;"> was teasing weeds from my garden fence when I heard
grinding among the plant pots. These were plastic so I could only assume that
something had disturbed their contents. Most of these pots were empty except for the one beside the lettuce patch.
I have a terrible problem with slugs so it seemed entirely possible that one had
slipped off a leaf and landed inside.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Peering within I saw that the pot
was full of colourful plaster. One of the gnomes had been wrenched loose from
the soil by a gale force wind and dashed against the fence just yesterday.
When the wind died down, I swept up the pieces with a dustpan and brush. It occurred to me that I
might be able to do something with the plaster and so tipped it into the pot
for the time being.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In a
way I was glad the slug had reminded me of the shattered gnome: now I could tip
it into the bin and make proper use of the pot. Still I needed to coax the slug
out first. While they may destroy my lettuces, I’m not the kind of
gardener who poisons. They’re just doing what comes natural to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I grabbed the lip of the pot and was
about to turn it when I noticed a large chunk of gnome shift all on its own. It
was the red cap, showing the white of the plaster beneath the paint. I watched
as a slimy black limb wound itself around this then yank it deeper within the
pot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I took a step back. Something odd
was going on here and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. As I took a moment to
catch my breath, the internal grinding picked up again. It grew so loud that I
worried that the harpy next door would poke her nose over the fence and screech
at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When shame overrode my irrational
fear, I reached out for the plant pot again, this time with the toe of my boot.
It only took a tiny nudge to tip the whole thing over. Still the grinding continued, much louder
than before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I glanced inside and saw the cracked
bits and pieces of the gnome whirling around. When the plaster finally scraped
past the rim, I jumped aside and reached for a trowel. What was once the
crumbling white beard of the gnome stretched out like an exploratory hand. It
pulled the rest of the shattered gnome’s body out of the pot; all the limbs
that it once had, now serving as others. The gnome’s nose and corncob pipe had
become its feet, the torso had split into two to become its legs and the legs
joined together to become the torso. Wherever plaster gnome parts weren’t in
use, slimy black slugs acted as connective tissue, giving the shards' impossible movement an oily elegance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This peculiar hybrid of slug and
garden gnome pointed its beard hand at me. Dropping my trowel, I ran right out of there, pace picking up as I heard the
definite scrape and clatter of plaster on paving slab behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I came back an hour later, my
partner leading the way. He didn’t believe my story, of course, and I couldn’t
blame him. He had to see for himself and I had to know that I wasn’t going round the bend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> And yet</span>, as soon as we had set out
into the garden, we could find no sign of the slug gnome beast, not even in the
guttering above the bins. My partner shook his head at me and went back indoors. I
made one final sweep of the garden, trowel back in hand, then closed the gate that I had left open.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wherever the slug gnome has gone, it has at
least left us in peace. It occurs to me that this beast may not have actually meant
any harm. Even so I refuse to say I overreacted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> I certainly refuse the suggestion
that throwing out the plant pot was a waste of valuable materials. To that I
say, valuable to whom exactly?</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-90125949197074526902020-10-29T14:15:00.003-07:002021-01-02T12:16:05.979-08:00Inhospitable (a.k.a. Part One of My 2020 Trilogy of Halloween Tales)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJgkmphAumGoLvsSUpiOxmRoEEIire-b2OqikkTk2FmWeZWZQ924glQJ8i6FPhpOR775KA_slzeIqLE2XAC4RPMN6D4MERSzngvB41jdkuiMPo2n6Da8gAJxOCqrv_RxY3m-EfPaThN4/s1051/Inhospitable.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="1051" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJgkmphAumGoLvsSUpiOxmRoEEIire-b2OqikkTk2FmWeZWZQ924glQJ8i6FPhpOR775KA_slzeIqLE2XAC4RPMN6D4MERSzngvB41jdkuiMPo2n6Da8gAJxOCqrv_RxY3m-EfPaThN4/w400-h163/Inhospitable.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">Little
red specks on my ceiling fan. Could be blood but I can't get up there to check,
not since my hip replacement.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You can't say anything to her
upstairs. Well, she's young, pretty. A little disturbed, I think. One day I
passed her in the hallway and I swear I've never seen skin look so sickly white.
She wouldn't say a word to me. I don't think she even could. Something to do
with addiction probably.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The blood isn't the only thing, of
course. More worrying are the strange moans that I can hear in the middle of
the night. I never see any suitors go up, like you’d expect, so I suppose she’s
alone. Then again the other voices are far too deep and real to just be her
pretending, unless she’s got one of those megaphones that change pitch and tone.
Still what would possess a young woman to go round behaving like that in her
own flat?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It's absolutely broken my sleep
pattern but I've had to deal with her like before. This block has seen so many
damaged young’uns pass through. Usually they start off well-mannered but then
they go off their medication and start acting up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The lad who lived there before her
had similar troubles though he scraped the floorboards with his well-bitten
fingernails. It was horrific to see him being carted out like that, screeching
through a foaming mouth. Definitely burned in my memory. God forbid if it happened
again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have thought about packing it all in, moving
out but where would I find such a reasonably-priced studio with a view like
this one? The woods look so striking this time of year. It’s all well and good
to have pity but you also need to know when to stand your ground.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don't think it'll be long before this
girl leaves. I just hope she hasn't lost too much blood by then. I'm an old
woman: don't think I could see another child leave in pain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maybe it’s time for a holiday if
nothing else. These days we only ever seem to have stormy nights with lashing
rain and howling wind. It's not at all good for the temperament.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh. She's gone quiet. I'll just
sneak into bed while it's still like this. You’ve got to be quick to get a peaceful
night’s sleep around here. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still, as I touch the light switch,
there it is again: drip, drip, drip on my ceiling fan.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lord above. What must be going on up
there?</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-76896867311765907212020-10-15T15:30:00.004-07:002021-01-02T12:15:11.490-08:00Horror Anthologies for Great Causes (a.k.a. Making Use of the Darkness)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Darkness-Anthology-Dark-Twisted-Tales-ebook/dp/B08K7LB53H?fbclid=IwAR2ECzYiRc8VYMw0vzwb0pP2jGsjX9aLKdCvF30iI4pzcRFIREG8CcDdyGg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUtcSXADAl3b81OJjzAUTDq9H6xlw7aSQ_tB3h5nPWGbrn6A8lO-w__OpwJuTLYXwyuUchvfyix2n9H0JLt-rbIKWdZOgn21lZ7SttVvVTVrDTcXOC4PgifjOT4dk15MxZ8JckMegkV_0/s320/Darkness+by+The+Sons+of+Twisted+Fate.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08L6NG129?fbclid=IwAR1oUJBr8zGMcLq1sURNtX5SK1wE4yeqGvpTkiq3T4bB5rrSng5jkrdmZRE" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY0jwGKfSG8Z40uNElKBiZ0NmDwEYtvjdfolAt6sYE3Jwzc8yczMGthomP0O5Nv2Q9EDu5I0VCf7nLqqan6foO53rsfogb8YZIWYGfnauUZOJURcBYob7F2Fr4Ox80i0GeLlgtPnGbhjM/s320/It+Came+From+the+Darkness+by+Red+Cape+Publishing.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While in lockdown I've been fairly productive. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">2020 is my Year of Horror Anthologies and how appropriate it is that they're both available by Halloween!</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The first book is <i>Darkness: An Anthology of Dark and Twisted Tales</i> from Twisted Fate Publishing. It is a collection of stories ranging from unsettling science fiction to dark fantasy, two of which are mine. I collaborated with six other talented writers and contributed to the editing process.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">All proceeds go to the <a href="https://www.mind.org.uk/">Mind</a> in aid of men's health.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">You can find the relevant Amazon link <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Darkness-Anthology-Dark-Twisted-Tales-ebook/dp/B08K7LB53H?fbclid=IwAR2ECzYiRc8VYMw0vzwb0pP2jGsjX9aLKdCvF30iI4pzcRFIREG8CcDdyGg">here</a>. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The second book is <i>It Came From the Darkness </i>(noticing a pattern here?)<i> </i>from Red Cape Publishing and Phillip Rogers PR 101. It is an even bigger collection of horror flash fiction, all using the title for the first line of their work. I only have one story in this but it's a little bit different.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">All proceeds go to the <a href="https://www.gkcct.org/max-brave-fund">Max the Brave Fund</a>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">You can find the relevant Amazon link <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08L6NG129?fbclid=IwAR1oUJBr8zGMcLq1sURNtX5SK1wE4yeqGvpTkiq3T4bB5rrSng5jkrdmZRE">here</a>. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So that's some of my dark side in print! At least it's for a worthy cause...😉</span></div>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-10156847281021220732020-10-03T01:00:00.001-07:002021-01-02T12:14:50.867-08:00Idle Pretention (a.k.a. Learning from My Lazy Student Days)<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 12pt;">After a bit of a tidy-up, my Mum found this sheet.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpNl0eI3SGYnwP6_QsWOzS2_EYokG-TjZWFU95QYnYs0fCJTZkabwMOlL3ehVViBZOBzakWNZK-5SHfH9-dSDmKb6h-jV7XLVOSWfkIjO01m432yC8OsACropy1NpiMJBVk6a8_yhuSE/s611/Idle+Pretention.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="611" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpNl0eI3SGYnwP6_QsWOzS2_EYokG-TjZWFU95QYnYs0fCJTZkabwMOlL3ehVViBZOBzakWNZK-5SHfH9-dSDmKb6h-jV7XLVOSWfkIjO01m432yC8OsACropy1NpiMJBVk6a8_yhuSE/w640-h296/Idle+Pretention.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Holes with Flaps</i> was a story that I
wrote during my time at university. It was part of a flash fiction collection
that I submitted for a short story module.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The story
itself is curious but re-reading the rather faint pencilled comment from the
marking tutor really struck me. For one thing it is a rather generous critique
for a flimsy and thematically embarrassing piece of writing but it also
includes two words that have followed me around for many years. These are ‘poignant’
and ‘ambiguous’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Poignant’
is one of my favourite adjectives to describe anything that makes me go hmm. Unfortunately
it took me a couple of years to actually learn its precise definition, which is
a strong and often sad effect of feelings. Here I was thinking it meant incredibly
intelligent. Must have got it mixed up with ‘profound’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nevertheless
I have always intended to write stories that are poignant and profound. This is
a foolhardy endeavour but has taken me just over a decade to realise the fact.
I had an inkling as far back as 2010 that what I was putting to paper wasn’t
quite as clever as I hoped it would be. Indeed my love of quirks and gimmicks
in fiction doesn’t necessarily lend itself well to writing in the styles of Raymond
Carver or Alice Munro. I tried regardless and had some occasional successes, <i>Holes
with Flaps</i> not being one of them. Prior to rediscovering this sheet, I had
all but forgotten the story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The other adjective
‘ambiguous’ is precisely the reason why these stylistic experiments rarely
worked. Not enough meat on the bone. At university I learnt that the coolest short
stories were the ones that were plain-speaking with short punchy sentences that
only highlighted details the reader absolutely needed to know. I came to overlook
the nuance of clear character development and mood-changing setting
description. I neglected playing with a unique idea over multiple paragraphs,
for fear that explanation would counteract a Hemingway-like honesty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While
ambiguity was the common complaint, only I knew what it really was: laziness. Pure
and simple sloth. I didn’t want to put in the hard work to make a story truly
meaningful and memorable, I just wanted it to stand out. And it did though
usually for all the wrong reasons. Oh sure, there was a poignance to some of those
stories but it lacked depth and definition. In fact, you could say that there
was a big ambiguous hole in my stories that was disguised with a thin flap of poignant
expression.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now it’s not
for me to say if I have developed much as a writer since then but I like to think
I pad my stories better. If there are any conceptual tears, I try to sew them
up and hide the stitching. It’s a lot of work but worth it. With every story I
write now, I actively move away from idle pretention. It would be lovely one
day to write something that combines gimmick, genre, philosophy and simplicity;
something that sticks in a reader’s mind. Still that could take years. Another
decade perhaps.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once upon a
time I persevered blindly. I genuinely thought that stories like <i>Holes with </i>Flaps
were erudite and enlightened. Since then I have added observation and
self-awareness to that perseverance. I still create tales that fail to connect
but I learn from them. That is the wonderful thing about keeping on with creativity
through one’s life. You slowly shrug off idle pretention and grow up.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-41768428008760580112020-06-24T14:10:00.000-07:002020-06-24T14:11:13.722-07:00Out in the World with a Chunky Blue Jotter (a.k.a. What Actually Happens When You Write in Public Places)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoPgAqeAC7xe_wGgremi75FQSHkzzUVHxDEap78Z6749s3DA7jCsBqjhzb9CG2lwZtZ4NXsLnlH-z2w-RIh9lQ9ZaZBBS3hA7hn7eh1YosOetaGI_CWgKjHVRwDprE9Twgo6ZzoTcitI/s1600/Chunky+Blue+Jotter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1164" data-original-width="810" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoPgAqeAC7xe_wGgremi75FQSHkzzUVHxDEap78Z6749s3DA7jCsBqjhzb9CG2lwZtZ4NXsLnlH-z2w-RIh9lQ9ZaZBBS3hA7hn7eh1YosOetaGI_CWgKjHVRwDprE9Twgo6ZzoTcitI/s320/Chunky+Blue+Jotter.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><b>Pub</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;">I grabbed a seat in a busy pub and waited for a
friend. He wasn’t late, I was early. Still I was concerned we wouldn’t be able
to hear each other over the laddish din. Even the short bar stools were
occupied by people spilling their pints on the varnished circular tables.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Across
from me sat three lads sharing a phone. One in a maroon rugby jersey was holding off about some ‘fat
bird’ he knew in his nasal Geordie accent. He thumped the shoulder of the lad who was
holding the phone, seemingly just for the hell of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By
this point I had taken out my chunky blue jotter and was distracting myself
with a jokey story about the Trolley Problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
took the Geordie lad a moment to notice this. “Harry Potter over here,” he
muttered. He meant the glasses as that was the only similarity between me and
the boy wizard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey,
mate,” he said. “What you writing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Something
for work,” I lied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
it about though?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nothing
of interest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Though
he still had on his open mouth smile he clearly wasn’t happy with that answer.
“Seriously though, what you writing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
paused and looked him in the eye. “Work, you know?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
would have asked a third time had the phone holder not thumped him back. It
occurred to me the Geordie lad thought I was writing about him and
his mates or maybe even the ‘fat bird’ they just had been discussing. Perhaps I should
have been more open and honest but I really wasn’t in the mood to justify
myself to a nosy bar fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
friend arrived shortly after that and supplanted himself between me and Geordie
lad who had fortunately lost all interest. He announced to the whole pub that
they would move on to a nearby alehouse and make a proper night of it. I was
glad to see him go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
frustrating experience but, most frustrating of all, I didn’t get back to my
story. The Trolley Problem had run away without me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><b>Caf</b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><b>é</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;">I hid away in a café that itself was hiding from the
high street. I settled at a granite top table beside an oak staircase and
ordered a hot chocolate with all the trimmings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Having
brought my chunky blue jotter, I started outlining a plan. The idea was thin,
about a printer that printed dreams, but I made it work with two creative characters.
Sometimes that’s all it takes to be inspired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
short blonde manager in a comfortable green hoodie stood behind the counter's cake display and grinned warmly at me. “Are you a writer by any chance?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is
it a dissertation?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No.
I’m not a student.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh.
So you’re a creative writer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Excellent.”
She seemed genuinely pleased. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Such
interruptions can put me off my stroke but not that day. The sun was shining
and the background chatter was moderate. Soon enough I had finished the plan
and had started the story itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
meeting broke up and a tall black-suited man with thinning brown hair stopped beside me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry
to bother you but I’ve never seen anyone write so fast before.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well.
You do remind me of a lad I used to know. He had fast penmanship too.
Hand-wrote his entire dissertation. Is that what you’re doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No. I’m
not a student.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
creative writer then. Published?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Some
places. Not many.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nevertheless
he seemed genuinely interested. He offered me his hand to shake. “What’s your
name if you don’t mind me asking?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
told him. He repeated it though if he was actually committing it to memory I do
not know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Right.
Well I’ll look out for you on the shelves.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another,
more substantial interruption but I didn’t mind. The sun was still shining and
the background chatter had diminished even further with his exit. Besides I had
been rather sweetly complimented. The manager must have noticed the little smile playing on my
lips as I sipped my hot chocolate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Our
own resident writer,” she said with a chuckle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
afraid I haven’t been back since.</span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-45839439146506071942020-06-03T01:00:00.000-07:002020-06-12T15:36:03.190-07:00What I Have Learnt from Writing Guides (and What Actually Sticks)<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">There are so many writing guides out there. Too many,
some would argue.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
personally enjoy reading a variety of perspectives on what constitutes good
writing. While ‘how to’ guides can irritate with single-minded arrogance and even
intimidate with the rigidity of the ‘rules’ they set, all that is really
important is that you find at least one idea that you like and want to
implement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over
the years I myself have come to look on every ‘definitive’ guide as an orchard
from which to cherry-pick the juiciest stylistic suggestion. A lot of these
books contain a variation on classic advice (e.g. show don’t tell, ‘said’ is
the best speech tag, step-by-step plans etc) but sometimes the author shares a
suggestion that is uniquely appealing. These are often small and based on
personal quirk but if it works for you then it’s made for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
being said here are three writing guides that have gifted me with tricks
and techniques that I still use to this day:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Reveal Character or Advance Action – <i>8 Rules for
Writing a Short Story<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWnaNNPM5YCkX1VeFCmpgdv4eECBwUEEPfDYfu_eCt0oqaWbaJqRQY1qQBrIVLE8kgJkezjCSCC1jeDa-48DyFNLBScIJFEjl7fWvoPHiS9xE0kHeLO2CUTuuSMoua8rP_PN1ysyr69w/s1600/kurtvonnegut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWnaNNPM5YCkX1VeFCmpgdv4eECBwUEEPfDYfu_eCt0oqaWbaJqRQY1qQBrIVLE8kgJkezjCSCC1jeDa-48DyFNLBScIJFEjl7fWvoPHiS9xE0kHeLO2CUTuuSMoua8rP_PN1ysyr69w/s320/kurtvonnegut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">While this is strictly speaking a short list, it has
still proven an invaluable guide to the way I approach writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of
the eight rules, the most important to me is ‘<i>4. Every sentence must do one of
two things – reveal character or advance the action.</i>’ It’s obvious when you
think about it: what purpose does a fiction sentence really serve if not to
tell us something we need to know?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Consequently
a big part of my editing process now involves going through each sentence of a
short story or chapter and marking them green if they advance action or yellow
if they reveal character. Then I go back over the sentences left white and get
rid of them. It can get fiddly but it is truly rewarding to see whole
paragraphs of green and yellow sentences, knowing that not one has been wasted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Curse of Knowledge – <i>Wired for Story</i> by
Liza Cron<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrXA5Ln2Qqf3Q3xGfLFA2MXiIgB6MV5Ow2ggEz5id1czHvqeCJv1ArhcEHpLZz-oxyluxdLxiG5EXf-18loZ1zGGV3GIeaPLXfbURu9y6P1XgO01MkxjqWQqx87lHeGQVSp5pXeOTugY/s1600/Wired+For+Story+by+Lisa+Cron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrXA5Ln2Qqf3Q3xGfLFA2MXiIgB6MV5Ow2ggEz5id1czHvqeCJv1ArhcEHpLZz-oxyluxdLxiG5EXf-18loZ1zGGV3GIeaPLXfbURu9y6P1XgO01MkxjqWQqx87lHeGQVSp5pXeOTugY/s320/Wired+For+Story+by+Lisa+Cron.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In <i>Wired for Story</i>, Liza Cron shares a
cognitive approach to reader relationships with the text and how a writer can
make best use of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
of the concepts that she shares is Chip and Dan Heath’s “The Curse of
Knowledge” which they describe as ‘<i>Once we know something, we find it hard to
imagine what it was like not to know it. Our knowledge has ‘cursed’ us. And it
becomes difficult for us to share our knowledge with others, because we can’t
readily re-create our listeners’ state of mind.</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
provides an essential insight into why some writers fail to connect with
readers. It certainly goes a way towards explaining my early years where I
wrote disconnectedly, hoping that the reader would do the work for me. Cron’s
book dismisses such thinking in no uncertain terms: if you don’t convey the
full story, the reader will just put it down and walk away. They are under no
obligation to stick around until it gets better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
like studies that confirm how readers generally interact with a story, they
provide a swift kick in the pants for lazy kids like I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Cosmic Sentence – <i>Why Will No-One Publish My
Novel?</i> By Fay Weldon<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcG8vPMDmNKA08sGFNNimqhLebPWsNOdeqAHm-SBy5K1KFLQDhlBsI0UwRfErDuPsHX3hXIhG9raD271qWYqCHgI4N0IKOlOGIlA-BmtNxe9Kmz0O-EPiNdtpsODNjnAvrRkRHqSvI4oA/s1600/Why+Will+No-One+Publish+My+Novel+by+Fay+Weldon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcG8vPMDmNKA08sGFNNimqhLebPWsNOdeqAHm-SBy5K1KFLQDhlBsI0UwRfErDuPsHX3hXIhG9raD271qWYqCHgI4N0IKOlOGIlA-BmtNxe9Kmz0O-EPiNdtpsODNjnAvrRkRHqSvI4oA/s320/Why+Will+No-One+Publish+My+Novel+by+Fay+Weldon.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Every story needs a reason for existence, something
that can be summed up in a single elegant line. Every fairy tale has a moral and
every scientific study has a hypothesis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
those who are dismayed, I once thought this sacrilegious too. How can one possibly
condense a nuanced story wherein so much is going on? It has taken me a while
to realise that no story is too complicated to summarise. Indeed, if you can’t,
then how will you ever sell it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
realisation was cemented by Weldon’s hype about the cosmic sentence ‘<i>that sums
up the thought that started you off, the idea that caught you all of a sudden,
the emotion you were trying to validate, the point you were trying to prove.</i>’
When put like that, you can’t deny that every piece of fiction has some kind of
cosmic sentence at the heart of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You
might say the cosmic sentence of Herman Melville’s <i>Moby Dick</i> is ‘revenge is fatal for all’.
The cosmic sentence for <i>The Hobbit </i>by J. R. R. Tolkien is arguably ‘adventure enriches
the soul’. Mary Shelley’s <i>Frankenstein</i> has part of the cosmic sentence in its
subtitle: ‘the Modern Prometheus’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I can’t
say how many times I have caught myself wandering off point with a story and
dragged myself back to the original cosmic sentence. It is my best focus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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***</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Suffice to say, most of the inspiration I have drawn
from writing guides is for editing and rewriting. These are the two aspects of the
process that I find hardest and I’m sure I’m not alone in that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Being
disciplined is hard and so the mind naturally seeks distraction. I would argue
that reading writing guides is the most effective way to distract yourself. Still
mind you don’t stop writing because you’d rather be reading writing guides. I
find them oddly addictive and so read them only occasionally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
some point you need to get out of the cherry orchard. It’s tempting to fill your
basket but then you may never fill it to satisfaction. Instead take those
cherries, those ideas, and make something from them.</span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-77500899874036574722020-05-29T12:14:00.004-07:002020-06-12T15:36:25.418-07:00Comma Press Dinesh Allirajah Prize for Short Fiction 2020 Update (a.k.a. Publication!!!)<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Comma Press - Northern Fiction Alliance" src="data:image/png;base64,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" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Following my previous announcement about being shortlisted for the Comma Press Dinesh Allirajah Prize for Short Fiction 2020, I have news.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I did not win this time (that honour goes to JE Rowney and her marvellous short story <i>Protect and Serve</i>), I have been included in a Comma Press ebook publication collecting all five short story on the shortlist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is titled <b>Comma Press Dinesh Allirajah Prize for Short Fiction 2020 AI Stories</b>. As of publishing this post, this ebook is available from the Amazon Kindle store at <b>99p!!!</b> If you are curious to read <i>Protect and Serve, The Problem Unit </i>and all the other excellent stories, please click the following link: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B085S922PM?fbclid=IwAR3D4qs7ESP5Ka8tPMuuapDVRXFMkCANcMgQY9RTvIUrHmim5V9cvOHvjuY">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B085S922PM?fbclid=IwAR3D4qs7ESP5Ka8tPMuuapDVRXFMkCANcMgQY9RTvIUrHmim5V9cvOHvjuY</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you want to hear a bit of my story <i>The Problem Unit</i>, here is a video of me reading an extract from the middle of the story (no spoilers):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdIyAZHCSO0&t=9s">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdIyAZHCSO0&t=9s</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I want to thank Comma Press again for honouring me by including my story in the shortlist and publishing it in <i>AI Stories.</i> It's been an awesome experience!!! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRGo_8JyEs_eMXww8OQmw41G6xhQthU8-aW6oE_kixJZc1wQUxd-ihcx4RzEPrgtdmz8fV254Avw78Uopd04tRAVL8aCXT448Tb0ds4HKXMtXlhyrJk8CEC_WfWLNSNMLcLBG-KSNEGM/s1600/AI+Stories.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="403" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRGo_8JyEs_eMXww8OQmw41G6xhQthU8-aW6oE_kixJZc1wQUxd-ihcx4RzEPrgtdmz8fV254Avw78Uopd04tRAVL8aCXT448Tb0ds4HKXMtXlhyrJk8CEC_WfWLNSNMLcLBG-KSNEGM/s320/AI+Stories.png" width="198" /></a></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-50228578653484053782020-04-12T04:30:00.004-07:002020-04-12T06:21:21.381-07:00WHEN OPENING AN EASTER EGG (a.k.a. A List of Serious Instructions for Approaching Chocolate Ovoids)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7o3xEYzFPCqhStpg1gnF3gC62w2VAAgsKD0fmcvao5s4K0u1Z_vbDkmN_JGDs23XpTSID_3hs72pKKZCsB_wYQQFzwweRauNWFS_oqYaIGn7xocGvOfMUZE1XwgmMp8Bp-brqoPna0/s1600/IMG_20200412_141739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="1230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7o3xEYzFPCqhStpg1gnF3gC62w2VAAgsKD0fmcvao5s4K0u1Z_vbDkmN_JGDs23XpTSID_3hs72pKKZCsB_wYQQFzwweRauNWFS_oqYaIGn7xocGvOfMUZE1XwgmMp8Bp-brqoPna0/s320/IMG_20200412_141739.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Cardboard Packaging</span></span></b></div>
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<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Open at top then, once egg is safely put
aside, open bottom too.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tear off flaps in case a bee needs to
be captured and delivered</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> outdoors.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Put hand through curiously-shaped
window and rattle like bracelet.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Answer puzzles on box or otherwise
decorate with permanent marker.</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Plastic Packaging<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Turn upside down and flap two halves
like filmy wings.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Use scissors on plastic just for click
and wobbliness of cut.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Keep aside in case ovoid mould comes
in handy for later occasion.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Wonder why weeks later and promptly chuck
out.</span></span></li>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Tin Foil<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Peel off carefully and flatten,
cutting off wherever torn.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apply to action figures as shiny face
mask.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Peel off carefully to preserve face
imprint then scrunch up with sadism.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Play catch with precious nugget until bin intercedes.</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Chocolate Egg<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tap against lip of bowl to open.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Break down into chocolatey shards.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Use thin sharp shard to write name on
bigger shard.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Preserve in fridge or devour in one.</span></span></li>
</ul>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-61187020162459086892020-03-08T07:31:00.003-07:002020-03-08T07:33:45.219-07:00HER IMPERFECT MEMORY (a.k.a. Two Poems for International Women's Day) <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxF7yA5AwDLyy-IGSPZu2L2x7d7WOEjIP9v9d9kJ9vVDOFZaYYGm0iga2dM5Mb-PuSfwYfKysx7kOWicFgDP53602P3x5kYNp0kvvesuh13gZwEmmV5q9UEWWXOj-2uxEAgwt5I_hJ_8/s1600/Blonde+in+Profile.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxF7yA5AwDLyy-IGSPZu2L2x7d7WOEjIP9v9d9kJ9vVDOFZaYYGm0iga2dM5Mb-PuSfwYfKysx7kOWicFgDP53602P3x5kYNp0kvvesuh13gZwEmmV5q9UEWWXOj-2uxEAgwt5I_hJ_8/s320/Blonde+in+Profile.png" width="300" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Her Imperfect Memory</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All she is now is a name,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">full name so as not to forget.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes she's her golden mane<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">with curls as memory set.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">With focus she becomes her stance,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">her wrists bent down as she walks,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">little jiggles suggest a dance<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">but soft groans whenever she talks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And yet every morning, she’s there<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">right on the tip of my tongue,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">obsession with absent blue stares<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">soon gone with the day begun.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>She Died at Second Cactus</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary the Sioux,</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">they'll say,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">made a move for their guns,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">those Hamish Boys,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and fired through the brim<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">of a ten gallon hat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The boys so startled,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary shot a boot<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and ran through<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">their screaming,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">caught up by their cursing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Out of breath<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">in an open desert,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary passed a cactus,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">emptying both barrels<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">till the Hamishes<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">were halved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Facing away,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mary the Sioux,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">felt and was felled<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">by a fraction of wrath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Last glance at a second cactus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Yes. The second cactus.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">There is an end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That should be it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Still onward wagon<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">to a foregone conclusion<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">of a White man's devising.</span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-38188769263816452532020-03-04T08:43:00.000-08:002020-03-04T09:40:57.183-08:00Making the Shortlist at Comma Press (a.k.a. Proof that Competitions Are Worth Entering) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOlRoGc4Kgg29LWGBnNe27zUywTKeodDBqWqXWFsxA7qD86yQ25HD1G6JFP7frXrq2GxnwyVLmCv25brZmc-AAT8QyiaQIQ7Bb_A_ukWtl2AeHqj1c2Wnm_3kofBYLCOi2gO_OHyE-O4/s1600/download.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="91" data-original-width="551" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidOlRoGc4Kgg29LWGBnNe27zUywTKeodDBqWqXWFsxA7qD86yQ25HD1G6JFP7frXrq2GxnwyVLmCv25brZmc-AAT8QyiaQIQ7Bb_A_ukWtl2AeHqj1c2Wnm_3kofBYLCOi2gO_OHyE-O4/s320/download.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
A rather marvellous thing has happened to me this week.<br />
<br />
After months of sending out to writing competitions, I have finally heard back something heartening. From Comma Press!<br />
<br />
Towards the end of last year I submitted a short story to them via their Dinesh Allirajah Prize. The theme was 'Artificial Intelligence', a subject I have written plenty for in the past. I am pleased to say that one of these stories has made their shortlist.<br />
<br />
This is by no means the end of the process. A judging panel is currently reviewing all six stories before a winner is announced on Saturday 30th May as part of the Northern Short Story Festival in Leeds.<br />
<br />
I wish the other shortlisters good luck and look forward to us all sharing space in an exclusive Comma Press ebook regardless of the final outcome.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I will do my best to distract myself with more themed posts on here and amusing word observations on Twitter.<br />
<br />
For more information, here is the link to the official Comma Press shortlist announcement page...<br />
<br />
<a href="https://commapress.co.uk/news/shortlist-announced-for-the-third-annual/">https://commapress.co.uk/news/shortlist-announced-for-the-third-annual/</a>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-79495650612926940262020-02-25T01:19:00.000-08:002020-02-25T14:59:25.570-08:00HONEY (a.k.a. A Tender Moment Between Stacks of Pancakes)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0bdWgybiaqMJtW-THX3ubwgoI2RmORMscwG-rJbYyFRswWCyH3ma_afLyaZhLXlMGLbOGeP7d7g1qFJkhtsCrsB0I-phizKZYzvqPRySmqVYt8v9sdVKqHVjbsvdOV4lK3hEw821-eo/s1600/Shrove+Tuesday+Treat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="277" data-original-width="516" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0bdWgybiaqMJtW-THX3ubwgoI2RmORMscwG-rJbYyFRswWCyH3ma_afLyaZhLXlMGLbOGeP7d7g1qFJkhtsCrsB0I-phizKZYzvqPRySmqVYt8v9sdVKqHVjbsvdOV4lK3hEw821-eo/s320/Shrove+Tuesday+Treat.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Each
with a high stack of pancakes, we revealed our hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I wish this wasn’t our last meal,”
she said. This came as quite a shock but I tried not to let it show on my face.
I found that filling my cheeks with blueberries helped. Still she was waiting
on my answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Honesty is good.” I took her chilly
hand as it lay beside her untouched fork. “If only it could have been a little
sweeter.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She pulled away to open out her
serviette on her lap. “You leave something too long and what can you expect?”
She wrinkled her nose at the bananas between her pancakes. Even I could see
they were bruised. I held up some excess blueberries with my fork but she
declined, instead tying back her greying hair as if she intended to throw
herself face first into her meal. I chuckled at the thought. This raised an
eyebrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Just occurred to me,” I replied,
“don’t you normally have honey?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She sighed. “I do but it’s not
really a honey day.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I followed her glance out of the
café window beside our table. The wind buffeted the evergreens as it had done
for the past month. A sandwich board skidded by. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“I must admit, we’re both being extraordinarily healthy today with our
fruit choices.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mm,” she said teasing out a large browning
banana slice and left it balanced precariously on the rim of her plate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was getting harder and harder to
maintain my cheeriness. This may well have been a bad day of definitive endings
but it seemed a shame to waste the Shrove Tuesday treat on our personal mope. I
raised a hand and got the attention of the barista wiping the hot water spout
with a cloth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Can we have some honey on these?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She turned to me. “But what about
your tooth?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll just eat out of the left side
of my mouth,” I said, grinning with a black molar somewhere in the back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She chuckled. “Good thing you’ve got
your toothbrush packed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 105%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hadn’t expected her to say that
but then, by the look of wide eyes, she hadn’t either. We let out nervous
laughter so loud that it startled the barista coming up with her honey jug.
Regaining her professionalism, she drizzled generously over both our pancake
stacks. At last something sweet to sink our teeth into before walking out for
good.</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-89554392789926031052020-02-10T14:27:00.000-08:002020-02-10T14:37:42.880-08:00PUNCH LINE PARTY (a.k.a. A Bad Joke Story for UK Punday 2020)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCw2AEDy4jsoPw67cc-UWQYVg2zClpBuS2OmYrb-J9bRslDbS0pS8mU3RoYgV-yCuP3IcGRyzKP7cJBKEnPEYEaZWBbnrjTlQBgxk_DGGQQah4jUWadyiSugzProaFmZp_FWgtKRHpAk/s1600/No+Eye+Deer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="356" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCw2AEDy4jsoPw67cc-UWQYVg2zClpBuS2OmYrb-J9bRslDbS0pS8mU3RoYgV-yCuP3IcGRyzKP7cJBKEnPEYEaZWBbnrjTlQBgxk_DGGQQah4jUWadyiSugzProaFmZp_FWgtKRHpAk/s320/No+Eye+Deer.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">The pirate sips a Bacardi Breezer. The Spanish footballer bites into a cube of chicken, sliding it off the kebab stick. Multicolour lights dance around them as they stand beside the party buffet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate takes the black hat from his head and wafts himself with it, causing the fake red beard to flutter. His other hand reaches for the steering wheel on his crotch but hesitates, remembering that it is there, that it can't be moved until after the party is over.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer grins at this but itches the tight Astroturf skirt he is wearing. It goes right up to his crotch so at least he is in a more comfortable position than his friend. He starts to feel the heat himself, wafting his Real Madrid jersey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I'm going to kill Derek," the pirate says. "You just know he picked this venue to make the night even more impossible."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer looks around. "Not so many people," he lisps.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Don't do that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Why?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"It's racist."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer shrugs. "I'm just having a little fun."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Well, there could actually be a real Spanish person coming tonight."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"You know something I don't?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No." The pirate finishes his drink. "Ah."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer tilts his head and squints. "Was that argh?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"What?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Sounds like the start of your punch line to me."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No it wasn't."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Admit it! You were so sick of waiting for someone to trip up that you were considering sabotaging yourself." The footballer turns round to peruse the buffet. "You know the rules."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate joins. "Of course I do. Which is precisely why I wouldn't say anything like that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"If you says so," the footballer says, winking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate sighs. "'Argh' isn't even a key part of my punch line."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Oh really? How does it go?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate glares at him. "I don't know. How does yours go?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer laughs this off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate looks over his shoulder. He focuses on a couple at the other end of the room, a man and a woman with things on their head. A paper bag over his face and a small plastic cow wrapped in her hair.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Who are they?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer follows his gaze. He breathes in. "Oh no. You won't get me like that."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Are you seriously telling me their puns are their real names?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Yep. Ingenious, isn't it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Annoying more like."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer turns his attention to the door at the front of the room. "Oh shit."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"What?" the pirate asks, turning around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>They both groan as Quasimodo shuffles up to them. He has a bell glued to his left cheek.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Hello, friends," he lisps.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"That's racist," the footballer remarks, glancing at the pirate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He shakes his head. "In this case it's just offensive."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo grins. "Go on then."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Go on then what?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Say it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer and the pirate look at each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No," they both answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo stomps his foot. "Oh, come on! Where's the fun in that?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"We'll lose if we say the punch line to your stupid little joke," the pirate says.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Really?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"You didn't know the rules?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I knew to dress up as a joke."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer laughs. "That's only part of it. If someone says the punch line to any joke in here then you lose."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I lose what?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"The game."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo frowns. "I thought it was a party."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"It is. And this is the big party game."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo grumbles, grabbing a pig in a blanket. The eye beneath his plastic forehead bulge lands on a woman entering the party. She is dressed as a giant fish. Its eye has been cut out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Now that one is obvious," he says, turning back. "I mean, who would even say that punch line? Doesn't exactly fit into normal conversation."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No disagreement there," the pirate mutters.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"And how about her friend?" the footballer asks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo watches another woman stumble in on all fours, both of her eyes covered up. She has light brown fur and is definitely meant to be a mammal but he is unsure precisely which one. One horn is far larger than the other on her head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Could it be mythical?" the pirate muses out loud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Maybe." The footballer flicks Quasimodo in the arm. "What do you think?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No idea."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Alarms blare. Confetti falls. Streamers fly. Both the footballer and the pirate grin at their fellow guest as he squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. He palms his disfigured face. Everyone at the party cheers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"And that's the end of the game," the footballer says with a glint in his eye.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo groans and looks up. "What do I have to do?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The pirate rests a hand on his shoulder. "Buy everyone a round of drinks."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Quasimodo turns to the bar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The footballer laughs. "Unfortunately the booze won't be quite as cheap as the laughs in here."</span>Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-133459216982502542019-12-31T17:00:00.000-08:002020-01-01T04:20:48.486-08:00THE DICHOTOMY OF CROSSING DISTANCES (a.k.a. Setting Forth from New Year's Day)<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1q2k1vYojLhKFzm2K6QvAJ8guaktEbgtcAGdBkaM_tsM_TQdVVJ2f4li5F6vQHCKf6B1lUVyliSJ-RUF0R5s-z_BvXa5AZBEyCYMt74ewdkzJ4nEs7IEzyA9QidqdbEishDgTaxs6xA/s1600/Dichotomy+of+Distance.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="221" data-original-width="580" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1q2k1vYojLhKFzm2K6QvAJ8guaktEbgtcAGdBkaM_tsM_TQdVVJ2f4li5F6vQHCKf6B1lUVyliSJ-RUF0R5s-z_BvXa5AZBEyCYMt74ewdkzJ4nEs7IEzyA9QidqdbEishDgTaxs6xA/s320/Dichotomy+of+Distance.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
recently been looking into Zeno’s Dichotomy Paradox. To simplify it in an
awkward fashion, imagine walking a distance. Say the exit of a supermarket to
wherever you parked your car. Now that is a set distance with a set time but to
get there you will need to reach the halfway point first. However, if you’re
going to split distances in half, you might as well split that halfway point in
half too, and its subsequent halfway point in half and so on and so forth. Now if
you add up all those new split distances, the sum total would be infinity. After a
moment’s consideration, the overall distance between the supermarket and your
car becomes impossibly long.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now this paradox is easily refuted by
mathematical thinking but that’s not what I’m concerned with today. I’m more
interested in the kind of mindset where the Dichotomy Paradox is almost always
a problem. In short, anxiety.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am an anxious person. I worry
about great distances before I’ve even begun the journey. I imagine every
distance beyond the footpath to town or to work is a great distance. It’s a
journey fraught with potential perils at every step from genuine niggles like
losing my bearings and having to rely on the kindness and accuracy of
strangers, to outrageous fears like my glasses flying off my face and landing
in the middle of a busy road. Like in the paradox, every step of the way
contains a new obstacle and hold-up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Normally all it takes to get over this
fear is to set about moving forward. The thing about the Dichotomy Paradox when
applied to real life is that it is undermined by actually crossing the
distance. Calculations and halving are all well and good but they are nothing
compared to the human tendency to just get on with the task at hand. It’s
really that simple and yet remains very easy to forget.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now perseverance is always easier
when you know what’s at the end of the road, when you ultimately realise that
very little will change as a consequence. You can fight back the concept of the
Dichotomy Paradox if the task is something that won’t take long and won’t
result in the end of a life or a way of life. In those harrowing circumstances there will be days when
the Dichotomy Paradox will just tie you up in knots and paralyze you with fear.
After all, the certainty of disappearance doesn’t bear thinking about.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nevertheless, my suggested
workaround for this is to bypass the multiple potential measurements in that distance with our feet. Change is scary but sometimes we go through the motions of routine behaviour and motor memory and suddenly we're well past the problem. If there was ever really a problem to begin with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I would say Zeno’s Dichotomy Paradox
is something to think about now we’re in a new year and decade. It’s something
to acknowledge and hopefully overcome.</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-15792079219514270522019-12-31T03:18:00.000-08:002019-12-31T15:32:55.782-08:00I NEVER LIKED TWO THOUSAND AND NINETEEN (a.k.a. A Villa-knell to Mark the End of a Rather Unpleasant Year)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHA5JJgZ36gpo3rw6BnL7eHn5MYf62lg5zit3yLUosFzX0JcaaGfHMJTWD-HaAISx52xg3FqeqluYCT03x-7MASc1X2rp1f70gC4N2zKbq2Ri0wW9cfCP3MiGU6zE19xs6e9DZdcXiXs/s1600/2019.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="803" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHA5JJgZ36gpo3rw6BnL7eHn5MYf62lg5zit3yLUosFzX0JcaaGfHMJTWD-HaAISx52xg3FqeqluYCT03x-7MASc1X2rp1f70gC4N2zKbq2Ri0wW9cfCP3MiGU6zE19xs6e9DZdcXiXs/s320/2019.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
never liked two thousand and nineteen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not
just an odd number but on the verge<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of
a brighter twenty-twenty dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
year itself: dull and awkward scenes<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">With
some tough memories I long to purge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
never liked two thousand and nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My
tired eyes have a teary sheen,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Overflowing
with a desperate urge<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For
a brighter twenty-twenty dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And
still how maddening time’s march now seems,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Its
beat so solemn it might be a dirge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
never liked two thousand and nineteen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It’s
become so hard to vent my spleen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For
if I start, I might very well splurge<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Before
the brighter twenty-twenty dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
suppose it won’t be too long between<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The
years, before present and future merge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I
never liked two thousand and nineteen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But
I might the twenty-twenty dream.</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-72672188180841150182019-12-26T04:48:00.003-08:002019-12-26T05:38:47.287-08:00A CHILD'S BOXING DAY IN ENGLAND (a.k.a. A Remembrance of Post-Christmas Transition Days Past)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU61617jBfxwDOv2Wc2SzdC3P_e0jX6yNOC5hqQKcMHD3eWT8rFib2WsrZduUKdX0gPewvrrhbrQRLhiEV6xW_Tj1CRL4mV2lfGE9Aqg5AZV6Vo8ULUzz7Tm1vvcgqiNkkSRJbIc946H8/s1600/IMG_20191226_131620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1186" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU61617jBfxwDOv2Wc2SzdC3P_e0jX6yNOC5hqQKcMHD3eWT8rFib2WsrZduUKdX0gPewvrrhbrQRLhiEV6xW_Tj1CRL4mV2lfGE9Aqg5AZV6Vo8ULUzz7Tm1vvcgqiNkkSRJbIc946H8/s320/IMG_20191226_131620.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">One Boxing Day was so much like
another, in those years of small responsibility and not much to worry about.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All the Boxing Days
roll into one as I remember pitter-pattering barefoot down the stairs to grab a
bowl of cereal and the leftover tangerine from Santa’s stocking. It was quiet
but not exactly peaceful with all the presents scattered around the living room
still to put away but this was still technically Christmas for me and the rest
of the family were asleep so why bother rushing?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I would eat my small
breakfast by the computer table, turning the swivel chair to see the heated
trays on the dining table just behind me, still full of vegetable spring rolls
and prawn vol-au-vents. The greasy smell pervading from the kitchen would
remind me that there was still the Beef Wellington to finish, something I had nibbled
at the previous night rather than scoffed. However, if the stringy brown slices
were to be put in a buttered bread bun that day, I wouldn’t say no.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Once the last segment of
tangerine had been swallowed, down came mother who was then followed by sister and
eventually father. We would find there wasn’t really much left to say after all
the exuberant ‘thank you’s of yesterday so we would instead begin a slow and
steady tidy up of the living room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">All my presents: books,
DVDs and action figures would be dumped on my bed where I would fiddle with
them some more and lose a good twenty minutes contemplating the points of
articulation of this Doctor Who figure or really how little I wanted to watch
this film that I asked for in earnest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then I would dress myself
properly, brush my teeth and descend the stairs to find the kitchen occupied
with the whirr of the oven heating up leftovers and maybe the hob being click-click-clicked
on. The kettle would already be boiled for the parents and perhaps my sister but
I would have what was left of the milk bottle once the teas and coffees had all
been poured.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Food would then be transported
back to the heated trays on the dining room table and we would stack a small
china plate each with those spring rolls and vol-au-vents as well as
mini-pizzas, breadsticks and crisps. I would always fill up with more crisps
than substantial food and had a tendency, when eating battered shrimp, to
swallow the tail too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then, when I was fit to
burst and queasy with all the salt and grease, I would supplant myself on the
toilet for a long stretch, both out of necessity and for the me time. If it
occurred to me, I may have even started reading one of my presents even if that
was only the back of a DVD box.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Outside wasn’t usually
worth visiting, a stiff white sky that occasionally cracked and let through a
fine winter drizzle. Still, with all the hustle and bustle indoors, any chance
to step out was ultimately a good thing even if I only managed to snatch a
handful of shallow breaths of chill air. Then I would return to find everyone
in the living room, watching whatever animated feature was on, Dreamworks often
after Disney. There would be some buzz as the TV guide was handed round, at the
prospect of the special episode of whatever show was popular at the time being
on that evening. We would set our eating schedule around that then break off
from family time, some of us to wash up, some of us to tidy away presents, and
me to visit the toilet once again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I often lost track of time,
Boxing Day being so slow, and I would look up and wonder why I was being called
back downstairs. Then I would wander into the kitchen to find Beef Wellington
slices being packed into bread buns and found that that would be the main
course for dinner. Of course, it did turn out to be dinnertime or perhaps half
an hour earlier than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I would hunker down and
eat, grabbing a fresh plateful of snack foods to fill out the meal, watching
whatever was on the telly before returning to the kitchen to begin washing up. We
didn’t have a dish washer for a long time so it was up to me and my sister to make
sure the fancy wine glasses we only ever brought out at Christmas were sparkling
clean and ready to return to the dusty wooden display cabinet. Then father
would empty out the heated trays and give us them for ‘a quick wipe’ but I
always gave them more attention, at least until there were no visible suds left.
Then, if the snacks were sufficiently depleted, the trays and the heater were
all boxed up and put at the very top of a tall set of shelves. Dad would deal
with this, with some assistance from me when I was tall enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then in the gathering
dark, we would seat ourselves in front of the TV once again and spend a little
more time watching the latest DFS sale advert and glancing around at the
Christmas decorations, determining when they were to be taken down and in what
order.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">By now I had opened my
chocolate selection box and started working my way through a mini bag of
Maltesers and perhaps a single Twix bar because there really was little else to
do. Boxing Day didn’t make much sense when it came down to it, other than to be
a transition day between Christmas and shops re-opening. The older I got the
more I realised the disappointing mayfly that Christmas Day was, after the long
run-up, after the hysteria those same shops and the TV had caused. It seemed a
lot of exhaustion for a short period where presents were torn open and expectations
were met. And Boxing Day? That was merely the day when the wrapping paper was
stuffed into the recycling bin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nevertheless Boxing Day
got away from me soon enough and I was back to bed, watching a film I had recorded
instead of one of the DVDs that had been gifted to me. When that was over, I muttered
some happy nonsense about doing things better next year, and then I slept.</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-19258132164840235552019-12-25T05:28:00.000-08:002019-12-25T05:28:01.466-08:00WHAT HAPPENED TO THANK YOU? (a.k.a. Gifting Games - Merry Christmas)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oH0jantUWLdXA0U1BH5aLhk04zThOXJ_wvD4qv1IZMJ7MQpxjRvuC-jW0sv8-M42ry4RYc8SyXHWqiW5Dvq6txXiikX9FAQNSgXFbRoqlhpCh0ChXHJ82q9_7tGqFBvgwBfwpfkmE8s/s1600/What+Happened+to+Thank+You.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="310" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oH0jantUWLdXA0U1BH5aLhk04zThOXJ_wvD4qv1IZMJ7MQpxjRvuC-jW0sv8-M42ry4RYc8SyXHWqiW5Dvq6txXiikX9FAQNSgXFbRoqlhpCh0ChXHJ82q9_7tGqFBvgwBfwpfkmE8s/s320/What+Happened+to+Thank+You.png" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">This Christmas, Uncle Troy asked me
and my sister, “Whatever happened to thank you?”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of
course, he meant our tendency to get so excited by his gifts that we forget to show
relevant gratitude. Still we do like to make fun. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Afterwards,
when he had gone home full of brussel sprouts and self-satisfaction, my sister
and I answered his question properly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You had some shopping to do,” I started.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You has errands all day,” my sister followed up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You owes a lot of his friends.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
can’t just go around thanking people the whole time. They need more than that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You’s a bit of a layabout when it comes down to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
at least he knows where to get all the best deals. Even on Christmas Day.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
will be back in a while. Thank You gets around to everyone eventually.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You is like Santa Claus in that way. He just comes later.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thank
You comes when he damn well pleases.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Please
certainly thinks so.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
less said about her though, the better.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Please
can be a bit lofty but she does know Thank You best. It’s just they’ve grown apart in recent years.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not
often there at the same time.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
a shame.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
all Shame ever goes on about.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
like that about everyone and everything though.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“At
least he’s always there. Thank You on the other hand...”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’ll
be back.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
that’s where we left the matter. Uncle Troy always hears back from
Thank You, no matter what happens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
for me and my sister, we just get on as we are.</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-88106818314637578072019-12-24T04:53:00.000-08:002019-12-24T04:53:58.538-08:00LISTEN FOR THE GIFT (a.k.a. Your Giving, Should You Choose to Accept It...)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYqw81FxhKbanAblk-aZtVeYlH6z2Xxl34isK7Ewjmeg_tLFY1l4AJvFLpqOAAdxNGfvuNniUBP0jeljjWfLfjFDkUc1hADk90CH9v0EN3pR_3dC0yE257SxKdS4HtjDdLb6qfUY-jtio/s1600/Listen+for+the+Gift.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="455" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYqw81FxhKbanAblk-aZtVeYlH6z2Xxl34isK7Ewjmeg_tLFY1l4AJvFLpqOAAdxNGfvuNniUBP0jeljjWfLfjFDkUc1hADk90CH9v0EN3pR_3dC0yE257SxKdS4HtjDdLb6qfUY-jtio/s320/Listen+for+the+Gift.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you are hearing this, please do
not adjust your earpiece. You are just the person I have been meaning to reach.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I need you to be my arms,
so to speak. My legs too and obviously my eyes. I'm afraid I will have to do as brain for now. The task I ask you to complete is very simple but
profoundly important.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A wrapped present was
left in your house. In fact, you came across it just the other day, threw it
out. Fortunately it was salvaged from your dustbin and can be found up on the
roof, just beside the gutter. Good thing there was no rain this week where you
are! Now I would like you take it down. Use the stepladder: if you hurt yourself,
I would never forgive myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Got it? Excellent. By
all means, weigh it in your hand, press your ear against it. You will see for
yourself that the present isn’t a clear and present danger. However, please don’t unwrap it yet. All
I ask is that you act as courier. Believe me, this is for the best possible
cause.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With that in mind, come
back inside and ascend the stairs. Tread lightly: it is almost midnight. Now,
when you reach the landing, I want you to enter the bedroom nearest to you.
Yes, that will be your child’s room. This gift is for them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You should be proud.
There aren’t many children who get this service anymore. Though technology has
advanced, the old intention remains as vital as ever. Science, magic: they both
pale in comparison to charity and acknowledgement of good deeds well done. We
only intercede to keep an element of mystery for both you and your child.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am sure you will turn
to your partner tonight and tell of the sudden bizarre twittering in your ear,
some jolly stranger giving you instructions that filled you with dread. For
that I can only apologise and ask that you look past it. Think only of the
following morning, the smile on your little one’s face as they see this
present, the smile on your own as you realise that it wasn’t a bomb or anything
nefarious, but just what I said it was. A gift.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now place it in the
stocking, tuck it right down into the toe. Excellent. With that, I will stop
talking and leave you in peace. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Don’t
you just love the final stillness of Christmas Eve? By all means, remove your
earpiece and listen to that quiet. Mission accomplished. Merry Christmas. </span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-53623876447417871462019-12-23T04:33:00.000-08:002019-12-23T04:34:51.616-08:00A CHRISTMAS OCCURRENCE ON THE SHOP ROOM FLOOR (a.k.a. A Festive Moment of Entropy)<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWafHh0Dziq68DOQjz0xO90p1zY9oT0-f5Fm-KaK0rRDfITwRN2p64hwF2T4nn9XPZRHxBe21NfZ-o6r6ojmVITQqVF7zjexcisLPs6hxI6HEsFjV4C7Qyw1dIAMUDS7yjaUUOpsBIOs/s1600/Christmas+on+the+Lower+Floor.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="339" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEWafHh0Dziq68DOQjz0xO90p1zY9oT0-f5Fm-KaK0rRDfITwRN2p64hwF2T4nn9XPZRHxBe21NfZ-o6r6ojmVITQqVF7zjexcisLPs6hxI6HEsFjV4C7Qyw1dIAMUDS7yjaUUOpsBIOs/s320/Christmas+on+the+Lower+Floor.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Closing time was an hour ago. Nobody
is in the department store. The cleaner was in and out within twenty minutes, hastily vacuuming patches of carpet and splashing the main lino path with a damp mop. Since she left, the whole building has been very still.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Then t</span>he
wrapping paper rolls rustle. The thinnest is pinched forward by the combined weight
of the rest and thunks onto the square of crimson carpet beneath it. This green and white roll's bottom half raises two thicker rolls
and together they tip the whole box-stand over, everything spilling out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
all tumbles a short distance to the base of the large Christmas tree by the
tills. Three low-hanging golden baubles dislodge themselves from the feeble plastic branches
and roll far to the left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One clatters against another then another until the last bauble stops in front of a motion
sensor Dancing Reindeer. It shimmies its automated hips, triggering a chain
reaction of shimmying until all the surrounding Reindeer have broken out into a muffled poor-quality version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jingle Bells. </i>They
echo each other and fill the store with life, albeit artificial. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just
as soon as it begins, the song is over. While it lasts, it plays only to
decorative snowmen and caricatures of Santa and his elves on chocolate selection boxes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
security camera won't get a clear view of the spectacle as it happened, just a black-and-white recording of a couple of baubles and the stiff mass swaying of the Dancing Reindeer.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The magic of the instant will be overlooked by the mess.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
it has happened. It all has happened in a glorious moment of unexpected life the Monday before Christmas. The staff will tidy it up eventually, sell all these brightly-coloured trinkets and decorations at discount rates. Except these will be mispriced, the department
store cheating themselves out of their true worth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
again what is the cost of such a Christmas occurrence on the shop room floor?</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3556006775655126313.post-59879289788548253362019-12-22T08:33:00.000-08:002019-12-22T11:49:28.571-08:00SANTA'S LIQUID LUNCH (a.k.a. A Harrowing Break from a Holiday Job)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHqTQ5SFTfscGPr5BCxArVgL1D0bJSAno37UJX-qOdwOQoH1250X86N6iLodzmvt4xgFpIAvksN9kJNepMwzerc-521cldHkGfxQ6WfO9GAbMvMwbchd5w3tuS4QyXeeJzoYUhiCLJ7Q/s1600/IMG_20191222_194636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="886" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaHqTQ5SFTfscGPr5BCxArVgL1D0bJSAno37UJX-qOdwOQoH1250X86N6iLodzmvt4xgFpIAvksN9kJNepMwzerc-521cldHkGfxQ6WfO9GAbMvMwbchd5w3tuS4QyXeeJzoYUhiCLJ7Q/s320/IMG_20191222_194636.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The girl found me out. I thought I had managed to hide
away in this brown and beige bar round the corner from where I was supposed to
be. The place was squat and stank more of lacquer than liquor but I liked it just fine. Not a
goddamn Christmas decoration in sight. Still I suppose it being the only place
in the mall not lit up and draped in green tinsel, I made it kind of easy to find me.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
stopped beside my bar stool and folded her arms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Santa," she said, "You've gotta go back now."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Craning my neck, I could just see that there was a line developing from
the grotto. "Has the creepy kid left?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"A while back."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"I mean the building."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
girl sighed. "Short of checking with security I wouldn't really know, now
would I?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was the mouthiest teenage elf I had ever worked with. She had bright red
chipmunk cheeks and little black eyes that looked constantly bored. Still her
ears were naturally pointy so I suppose she had rare qualifications.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
bartender laid down a neat bourbon for me right on where my fake beard met the
bar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Whiskey for your whiskers," he joked. I forgot to laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
elf girl cleared her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"I'll admit what that little boy said was unsettling but there are
also normal kids about to lose their shit over there."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
threw back the bourbon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Please don't be that guy."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
leaned back on the bar. "Which guy would that be?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Another half-in-the-bag Mall Santa."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
tapped the counter and got the bartender’s attention. He was still chuckling to
himself at his little joke. Getting in the spirit of the season I wouldn’t
wonder. Glad someone still could.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
glared at the elf girl. My eyes were probably bloodshot but I just didn’t give
a rat’s ass. "Did you hear what that goddamn kid said to me?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"To be honest, I've heard worse."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"No!" I smashed my palm against the bar. She jumped and the
bartender stopped smiling. This just made me angrier. "This wasn't just
some sugar rush brat bruising my lap! He knew just what he was saying!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
elf girl looked unconvinced but what did she know? Fresh out of braces and
fresh out of sympathy for some fat old geezer in a red suit. I picked up my
next glass and waved her away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Go on. Tell them Santa won't be
back today.” I stared at the half-empty glass as it shone in the weak light.
“Too tired. Dead tired.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Really?” The girl’s tiny eyes squinted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> She gave out </span>a haughty little huff and puff. This seemed to
perk up the bartender. "Kids say the darnedest things, huh?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both
I and the elf girl stared at the idiot. I could have thrown the glass straight
at his fat head.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"The darnedest." I finished my drink. "How about 'I know
you ain't real, Santa, cos I killed him last night'? That's pretty darn cute,
ain't it?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Except that wasn't it exactly. The boy had told me about his daddy's
service revolver, how Santa's inside red wasn't as bright as his outside red.
The devil is in the details, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Sounded like a dream to me," the elf girl spoke up. "You
know how kids can get. Too many Westerns and War movies. It
probably seemed real for him."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"It sure seemed real to me," I said. The service revolver
especially. My daddy kept one around the house too. Until it went off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
elf girl sighed. “The kid’s gone now. Long gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
caught my eye. I could tell she wasn't about to let up anytime soon so I forced
my ass off the bar stool.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"Come on," I told her. "Santa will tell the kids and
their parents that he’s done himself. Otherwise they might not believe
it."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
left behind a deserving tip to the bartender though I'm sure he would have
thought a lump of coal would be better.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
elf girl crinkled her nose as she opened the door for me. "Your breath.
The parents will smell booze."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"I'll probably smell the same on their's.” The girl turned away in
disgust but I shrugged my shoulders. “After all, it's the most wonderful time
of the year, ain't it?"</span></span></div>
Owen Townendhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02413039981056802845noreply@blogger.com0