Category: shan

Starter for Ten is a daily writing exercise where the aim is simply to write for a full 10 minutes. No editing or revision is allowed after the 10 minutes is up. The aim is to try new things, experiment with voices and styles and be bold. Suckage often occurs.

**********

The lance pierced the breastplate just below the heart and the knight fell with alacrity as the weapon broke his spine. It was swift and brutal enough to snap three feet of the lance off. A jet of blood pulsed several feet out of the hole, suggesting that some vital connection inside had been severed.

Body and Wretch waited until the victor had circled back to loom over his competitor’s prone form, wave at the crowds and then spur his mount away. They had to be quick, Cecil liked to keep the jousts punctual and a bored crowd was a dangerous crowd. They had all seen the master of ceremonies dragged onto the field to be beaten or savaged by hounds just to keep the audience amused. They raced out from under the stands and assessed the body.

The weight of the knight was obviously multiplied many times by his heavy battle armour. It really didn’t help that he was a deadweight either. However, for Wretch the real difficulty was that the lance had gone entirely through the knight and protruded by a foot on the back and two feet on the front. This meant dragging him would be akin to ploughing the field, which would see them beaten. He selected the mallet from his belt and Body lay on the floor and using both feet, rolled the knight onto his side so Wretch could access his back.

Body brought the mallet down onto the tip of the lance several times, until the laquered wood split and he was able to work the tip around in a circle and so break the piece off.

“Help…me…” the voice was liquid and quiet but loud enough for Body to look up from his position on the floor and see that it had emanated from the helmet of the knight on the floor. This wasn’t good. They had already been at their removal job for seven minutes and they had three left if they were to avoid the lash.

“Help…”

Body brought the mallet down on the side of the knight’s helmet from a height of about a metre. The metal crumpled in on itself and the sound of a scream was tinned within the helm. Wretch watched the body for a second, alert to any further noise. He jumped to his feet with relief when no further sounds were heard.

He grabbed one gloved hand and Wretch grabbed the other and they leaned backwards and started to heave as the herald flags of the next jousters were raised.

Starter for Ten is a daily writing exercise where the aim is simply to write for a full 10 minutes. No editing or revision is allowed after the 10 minutes is up. The aim is to try new things, experiment with voices and styles and be bold. Suckage often occurs.

**********

“I’d like to speak to the manager please,” the lady said.

The words dropped like turds onto the floor. Customers within earshot briefly paused and angled their heads so that they would be able to follow along. Battery displays near the checkout suddenly became fascinating.

“He’s going to tell you the same thing that I told you ma’am.”

“I don’t care young lady, I said I would like to speak to the manager.” The lady’s breath smelled of coffee and something I couldn’t place – sin maybe.

I knew there was no winning the argument so I pulled the store mic closer to my mouth and called Gary to checkout 4.

There were customers waiting behind the lady and other checkouts were open but they wanted to see how this played out. People love a bit of free drama.

Gary wandered over. Long legs, teeth buckled like broken spokes. When he saw the jut of the lady’s hip he correctly guessed that it was a TOAC. That’s a Twat Of A Customer if you’ve never worked retail – and if you’ve not, God bless you. He started a flop sweat as he came near that I could see was going to drip onto my conveyor.

“How do you do madam, I’m Gary, the deputy manager of the store, how do you do?”

Fucking Gary. He’d have lost an argument with a plate of cheeses.

“You’re the deputy manager? I asked to speak to the manager.”

Classic TOAC. She’d be writing down names in a second and asking for head office’s email.

“Well, I’m the highest ranking staff member in store. Our manager is not currently in store.”

“Where is he?” Wait up, check your privilege TOAC.

“Well, she – actually it’s a she – was a she rather – is dead.”

From that height you could barely see the people or the history – you could just see the geography and that felt more comforting. I finished my poo.

I might have mentioned this before but for an occupation that mostly involves sitting in a chair* it’s amazing how much vertigo I get when I’m attempting to write fiction. I think it’s because within the space of two sentences you can go from feeling a colossal, world-beating confidence to knowing nothing but the terror of the truly fraudulent. That’s the sort of 60-0 that pulls a few Gs.

Interestingly, I read an interview with the excellent David Nicholls who said that his terror of writing has never left him, even after significantly knocking it out of the park on a number of occasions (Starter for Ten aside, which I always felt was a bit puerile, and I like puerile). What a ridiculous profession for anyone to choose. I suppose it adds credence to the idea that writing is something you feel you have to do, rather than something you opt for.

I’ve had to grind out the work this week. I’ve had no energy maybe because of the heat and as the last vestiges of the anaesthetic and antibiotics work through my system. On Wednesday, I think the most I achieved was to look at a wall. On the rest of the days I still got chapters banked though and we now have another four chapters of Shut In done and dusted. Given that one of them includes the quotation I started this post with, there’s some evidence of the quality, or lack thereof. Still, as the recurring theme of David Nicholls, tweeted this very week:

Sally, I may have overstated it with 'terrifying' but I do wish you all the best with yours. Keep telling yourself, it's only a first draft, it's only a first draft…

— David Nicholls (@DavidNWriter) July 5, 2019

“IT’S ONLY A FIRST DRAFT.”

Crack on.

Don’t whinge. You’re not going down the mine or into battle.

*fwiw I mostly write at a standing desk I cobbled together myself, here it is:

The white bowl on the right is a sound bowl. When you strike it with the little cushioned hammer it came with, it sounds out an F. You can also wear it on your head and beat it and experience washing your mind in F, although it’s slightly muffled by the fact that your head is in contact with the bowl. If you really wanted to do it properly you could get some of those anti-gravity boots and then bang the bowl and lower your head into it, without touching the sides.

I’m going to stop writing now.

Starter for Ten is a daily writing exercise where the aim is simply to write for a full 10 minutes. No editing or revision is allowed after the 10 minutes is up. The aim is to try new things, experiment with voices and styles and be bold. Suckage often occurs.

**********

Handclaps added to the track. Beats rippling along the back. The tempo increases and a stamping percussion drops in.

The bass slaps in hesitant rhythm, punctuating the drums. A pause and the song resumes with the rhythm guitar playing along.

The high-hat hints at a peak approaching. The volume and tempo are punched, quicker and louder. It pulls back from the explosion that’s coming. The song builds again and once more fades back – a tease. The third time the audience is baited and held in perfect position as the music ceases.

The stage is dark, black curtains with a minimum of light picking out the industrious musicians creating this rising froth of sound. A single spotlight picks out a serious, serious cat. His jeans are crisp. His shoes shiny. His hat tipped back at such an extreme angle that it frames the man’s face like a halo that hasn’t decided if it’s going to stick around.

He raises his kazoo to his mouth and blows. The light catches the gilting along the instrument’s edges and his cheeks inflate like twin pufferfish until you can see the veins straining in the light, you could pick out any number of magical words in those veins.

The music billows from his kazoo inside a stream of vape that fills the club and onto the street instantly addicting those it reaches. The band straps in and tries to hold on for another night jamming with Chubby Delmonte.

#YOUDIALATELEPHONENUMBER

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Thank you for pressing option #5 and selecting: REPLAY PREVIOUS MENU.

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For international sales, press 1.
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#0

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Greetings, thank you for your call. Your call is important to us. You will now hear a menu of seven options, please listen carefully and select the appropriate number.

For sales, press 1.
For international sales, press 1.
For European sales, press 3.
For international sales, press 2.
For all other options press 6.

#1

Thank you for pressing option #1 and selecting: INTERNATIONAL SALES. Your call is important to us and we will shortly transfer your call, which is important to us.

Saludos, gracias por tu llamada. Tu llamada es importante para nosotros. Ahora escuchará un menú de siete opciones, escuche atentamente y seleccione el número apropiado.

Para ventas, presione 1.
Para ventas internacionales, presione 1.
Para ventas europeas, presione 3.
Para ventas internacionales, presione 2.
Para todas las demás opciones presione 6.

#3

Gracias por presionar la opción # 3 y seleccionar VENTAS EUROPEAS. Su llamada es importante para nosotros y en breve la transferiremos, lo que es importante para nosotros.

Por favor mantenga.

Your socks were shiny at the heel.
Your briefcase was important to you.
Your whiteboard was imprinted with previously deleted thoughts.
Your beard was patchy.
Your stomach was paunchy.
Your holidays were hard work.
Your ability to draw a duck was important to you.
Your sweat was familiar.
Your car was overly warm.
Your barbecues were excessive.
Your eyes urged comprehension.
Your relevance ebbed.

The pinch was the start of it, the punch was the end of it.

This was the conclusion that historians reached years later. Historians, such as they were. For a historian in our current understanding implies learning. It implies places of study. It implies pubished books and a critical readership. A historian in the future sense simply referred to someone who remembered things from before. Of course, they tried to write things down and curate something beyond an oral tradition, but the times had become too itinerant – the wars too frequent to worry too much about assembling anything beyond the necessities to survive.

The telling of it was that the summit was supposed to be another footstep on an unlikely journey towards peace between North Korea and the United States of America. In truth though, the real movement was between the two leaders Kim Jong Un and Donald Trump. Trump was the architect of the relationship in the same way that a boy melting ants in a back garden with a magnifying glass and choosing to spare one ant can be said to be the architect of a relationship. Donald was a narcissist and unable to interpret the usual tones of emotion, but he sometimes thought that he felt something for Jong Un. He recognised another face that looked blankly at the world and perhaps struggled to understand things. Donald thought about that often. The boy let the ant run over his fingers and inside he felt the swelling of his greatness. Looking at this ant he felt important and momentarily real.

The summit was scheduled for the first of the month. The first time a leader from North Korea had crossed the threshold of the White House. It was truly a framed second of history as Trump waited with a freshly-botoxed Melania at the top of the red carpet. Jong Un’s laughably muscular limosine deposited him at the bottom of the red carpet. The two men stepped in choreographed fashion towards each other and exchanged a long, long handshake. Trump smiled. Jong Un smiled. Banalities were mouthed.

Trump’s mind conjured an unplanned thought, which he gave voice to.

“Welcome to America Kim – pinch, punch first of the month.”

As you’ll know if you read any of my garbage, this week was a significant one in that I produced an infected gallbladder from my body, as well as some more chapters. I did the first with the help of a surgeon and I’m now convalescing, although given the heat it’s perhaps a bit more like congealing. The latter accomplishments was all me though.

Somewhat remarkably the pull of the story kept me cranking out chapters despite the occasional twinge and the first draft folder now looks like this…

Nine chapters actually represents the first third of the story. There are 26 chapters in total, which is split into three sections Shut Off, Shut Up and Shut Out. So that’s Shut Off done in first draft form – go me!

Doing the maths I’m also 26,647 words into the book, which I estimate will be around 85,000 words which means I’m 31.3% of the way done. Huh, that’s impressed me!

It’s funny but I’ve found myself being drawn back to the story and excited to tell myself what happens next. A few characters appeared this week who weren’t planned and that’s always intriguing – where do they come from? What blackened bit of my subconscious has these things ready and waiting for me? What else is in there? Who else is in there?

Things that surprised me during writing this week:

• Ben, the main character has a dog called Brown (he’s black, Ben didn’t name him). As I was writing the dog it appeared that he couldn’t bark and it turns out that he’s been debarked. This is an actual grotesque thing. I thought long and hard about leaving this detail in because I didn’t want to even acknowledge it as a practice, in case it put it in some lunatic’s mind to get the surgery done. Fortunately, it’s mostly illegal now, but it really fits Brown so I’m afraid it’s stuck. Poor thing, he can bark but he’s totally mute.
• I actually really enjoyed writing some of the more gruesome parts. I’m usually pretty squeamish, but I fear my recent Google search history is possibly flagging me on some government list: “Cross section of diabetic leg” “Mouth ulcers with blood” “Amputated leg images”. I’m not going to link those, you can go ogle yourselves.
• Music continues to be essential to what I’d reluctantly call my “process”. I’ve got a Spotify playlist that I keep adding things to that I’m listening to when I write the book. If you want to have a listen then feel free! Suggest tracks too – I tend to prefer instrumental tracks when I’m writing as otherwise I just think about lyrics or try and sing along.
• I did a brief pass over the first three chapters in between writing chapters. The positive news is that I wasn’t immediately sick in my hands. There’s a lot of work to do but then that’s not a surprise really. I think the biggest question mark is whether the chapter structure (one chapter post-apocalypse in first person, one chapter flashback in third person) will be too jarring, or if it works in the way that I want it to. Frankly, I don’t know yet, but that’s the question I have.
• There was good stuff in there too though, so that’s a relief.

I hope you’ve had a good week and that your weekend is sunny and bright. Stick Get Off My Rock on and crack a beer/near beer and let’s see what happens next.

PS I started watching Toast on Netflix this week and now can’t stop saying “Yes, I can hear you Clem Fandango.” Watch this and see if you catch the bug too.

Seven Rocky Film Facts

1. “Rocky” is short for Rockinald.
2. In the abattoir scene where Rocky trains by punching cow carcasses, this was originally supposed to be set in a Wacky Warehouse.
3. Rocky wears shorts in his fights but wardrobe wanted him to wear a pant suit.
4. Rocky climbs 12,498 steps in the famous running up steps scene. This has become a famous landmark for fans to recreate a scene. There is now a defibrillator on every third step.
5. Pound for pound Rocky Marciano’s punch was hard enough to shell a hard-boiled egg.
6. Sylvester Stallone both wrote, directed and acted in Rocky. He also played the parts of Adrienne, Creed and Mickey the coach. This later inspired Sylvester Stallone to take on the part of Eddie Murphy to take on multiple parts in The Nutty Professor 2: The Klumps.
7. Burgess Meredith who played Coach Mickey in the film also appeared as The Penguin in the Adam West series of Batman. Stallone devised the character as a retirement story arc for The Penguin character and asked West to accept Rocky as canon in the DC universe. His request was approved.

I had my gallbladder removed yesterday. Even though I currently feel like I’ve been hit by a medium-sized truck (say one of those Morrisons’ home delivery vans) overall it’s been a really positive process. Because I was feeling rather ill with it, I chose to pay to get it done privately; I was told by the consultant afterwards that my gallbladder was in a sorry state and was a) completely blocked so it was effectively dead and b) quite badly infected*, which means if I’d elected to wait the current six months standard on the NHS then I would have been exceptionally lucky for it not to become septic. Given that the gallbladder is closely connected to the liver and the pancreas, then it’s likely one or both of those might have become FUBAR as those in the army would term it.

Clearly, this is something of a “what if…” and I could have been fine, but I’m feeling exceptionally blessed and even a little tearful today. Maybe it’s the Tramadol speaking but I’m trying to see this as a point to audit all of those incredible things around me and be grateful for every blessing. It’s a beautiful day – my ineffably wonderful wife is coming to pick me up and if I fake that I’m in more pain than I am she’ll probably kiss me and hug me. I get to return to a warm and loving (and messy and loud) home where I can eat ginger biscuits. A place where I can exercise free speech and nonsense speech and joyful speech and put that out into the world for people to enjoy or ignore. I have friends who if I ask really nicely will post photos of themselves making silly faces. I get to watch The Lionesses smash Norway into a weeping pulp on telly later on, holding my Frank’s hand. God is great.

It’s right that there is a current focus on privilege at the moment, of which I am undoubtedly a beneficiary, but in my opinion too much of the discussion is focused on identifying and arguing about the points of privilege in others (gender, race, class, sexuality, etc). This then sets an accusatory tone that others wrongly feel obliged to defend. Look at how politically-charged #metoo became when really it was simply saying that one human being shouldn’t sexually impose on another human being. How is that even a discussion!? There’s simply not enough energy spent on accepting that we all enjoy a truly unlikely privilege simply by existing and that in acknowleding that fact and being grateful for it, we can reach a point where we don’t want to selfishly safeguard the privileges that we enjoy we want to increase rights for all and work together to find equality.

I hope you are feeling well today. If you’re not I hope that you can be supported with that. I hope the sun shines on your face. I hope you have tea and ginger biscuits and kisses.

*Some people like gross stuff. This link is undeniably gross stuff. It’s what an infected gallbladder looks like. TRIGGER WARNING: you’ll possibly never eat olives or avacados again if you click this link and look at this picture.