Reading is subjective too.

I came away from our twelfth meeting of the rebel science fiction and fantasy reading group with anxiety. It’s proper name is The Esoteric Bibliophilia Society (TEBS) – just enough to make it different from the Chester Library SFF Group – hah. I, and many others, attend both groups. The Wednesday night TEBS met in Ye Olde Custom House pub in Chester. The name reflects the days from medieval to the early nineteenth century when Chester was a port before the Dee estuary silted up too much for most sea-going vessels. The book under discussion last night was chosen by one of our several women members. It was Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. It’s a romp of a young adult fairy tale based in London. The novel is Neil Gaiman’s way of ‘correcting’ the TV and graphic novel versions with which he wasn’t perfectly happy. The session explored the varied and lively characters and subplots. I said how I was bemused by the fantasy trend of having a duo set of bad-men characters. In this case they are Mr Croup and Mr Vandemar: long-living assassins with one very chatty and bright (Croup) and one dull-witted, who enjoys killing the more. I quoted a line I enjoyed most:

‘But Mister Croup, we hurt people. We don’t get hurt.’

Mr Croup turned out the lights. ‘Oh, Mister Vandemar,’ he said, enjoying the sound of the words, as he enjoyed the sound of all words, ‘if you cut us, do we not bleed?’

Mr Vandemar pondered this for a moment, in the dark. Then he said, with perfect accuracy, ‘No.’

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (1996)

I also likened this to China Mieville’s Kraken. Also based in the fantasy underworld of London. He also has two evil men – Goss & Subby. This isn’t too surprising as China acknowledges Neverwhere as his inspiration. In my view Kraken is a deeper, better book. The dark is darker, and the weirdness is more so, but the ending in both is rather a cop out. None of that made me worried. Most of the group enjoyed Neverwhere and even declared it their best fantasy book read to date. Two members hated it. They found the characters flat, on the whole, and the ending too happy-clappy leaving plot holes unfilled. One member, Graham, disliked the humour. He is fed up with books featuring an uninteresting protagonist, who has an IT or similar job, who finds himself in strange situations and being taken along by odd characters. Oh dear. I kept thinking then of how many short stories and novels I’ve written with such a protagonist. I enjoy reading and writing about ordinary people to whom extraordinary things happen. And I like them to use ironic humour as a way of coping with their trauma. Of course I should have guessed not everyone would like that. Maybe they want their protagonists always to be go-getters, James Bond, Lara Croft…

I breathed a sigh when I remembered my protagonist in Exit, Pursued by a Bee, and Hot Air is a feisty woman and that all the characters in ARIA are just enough OTT to not be ordinary.

The book for the next month’s meeting is Charles Stross’s The Atrocity Archives. The protagonist is an IT engineers (oh dear, Graham) and who has a sense of humour. Ha ha. I’ve nearly finished reading it. Full of technical detail, which Stross is famous for and loved by most hard SF readers.

The point, I presume, is that just as writing is subjective, so is reading. One man’s poison, etc. It amuses me how much analysis readers go to in breaking down plots and characters – far more than the authors intend. It doesn’t just happen in A Level Literature classes but in book groups.

The photograph was taken at Ye Olde Custom House last night. One our women members had had to leave before the photograph was taken. I’m in the white T-Shirt. There’s a bar on it saying ‘Please wait, loading answer……………… 43%    Well, I thought it funny in Lanzarote when I found it. No one commented – probably thought me mad.

Tree on a bike

I took a tree for a bike ride today. Really. I bought a 6 feet high apple tree from a well-known garden centre here in Chester. I won’t name it, but it begins with G and is owned by the richest Englishman. He owns Mayfair, Belgravia in London and huge estates here in Cheshire such as the Grosvenor. I was comforted in spending nearly £30 on an apple tree because it came with the G Garden Centre’s 5-year guarantee. Well, the poor thing must have a victim of our hard winter and didn’t sprout a single leaf or flower bud. I went to the garden centre yesterday with my wife and we spotted many fruit trees in full leaf. Wife took the car to work today so I emptied a pannier and stuck in the dug-up demised apple tree – wrapped in a bin bag. I had some hilarious difficulty in getting my leg over in order to start peddling but off I went. It’s about 6 miles of meandering country lanes away and all the ride I was thinking about how I was to dismount without kicking hell out of the tree. I know it’s passed on but I didn’t want to take it into the centre with kicked broken branches. Luckily, although like many such establishments, there is no cycle rack, I slowed enough to lean against a wall when I halted.

Inside the shop I was told I had to receive a voucher instead of my money back. This got my back up. Yes, I could easily find plants, books, cakes and gnomes to that value but the guarantee posters all over the shop say nothing about not having your money back. They had no replacement tree, unless I wanted one twice as big and paid extra. I lowered my cycle helmet down to look more menacing and demanded my rights under the Sale of Goods Act 1979. The manager was called. He was taller than me but could see my feet-apart determination and so relented.

As I cycled away I thought, damn, I need some more lavender and / or periwinkle for father-in-law’s garden. But I could hardly go back there so soon, could I?

Saved: the Spotted Medick

A quarter of a century ago, as a geography teacher, I used to take students in Chester to a local open land known as Edgar’s Field. It has a Roman provenance in the form of an old sandstone quarry and a shrine to one of their Goddesses, Minerva. A favourite spot was near the River Dee where an Old Red Sandstone outcrop displayed wonderful current bedding from when it was laid down hundreds of millions of years ago. Chester, like the rest of Europe was further south in those days and a desert.

One day at the rocky face I noticed a plant at my feet. It was like clover but as if some vandal had dripped creosote into the middle of each one. That was before the internet so I took a sample to the Queen’s Park High School library and found it was a Spotted Medick. The Romans had used it for medicinal (hence Medick) purposes – probably as a soothing tonic for it has antibacterial properties. The Spotted Medick isn’t rare but is quite uncommon in Cheshire and the North West of England.

Imagine my wonder when I realized the patch at my feet might be from herbal plantings of the Romans.

Imagine my dismay earlier this year when I found it had been cleared away. The Friends of Edgar’s Field committee thought it would cheer folk up to plant narcissi there instead. To be fair the area had become overgrown and the haunt of the greater spotted drug user, so the committee did well to change the field for the good. Grants came their way and with the council a new playground has been developed. I can’t wait to take my grandkids to play there.

I contacted Steve Rogers the chair of the Friends of Edgar’s Field and he said my alert to the plight of the Spotted Medick is welcome and timely. They will endeavor to protect the remaining patches.

The patch in the photo comes from a transplanted group in my garden. Just in case the grass is cut too short in Edgar’s Field.

Kill-Grief in Chester

I’m looking forward to meeting Caroline Rance, whose debut historical novel has recently been released. Kill-Grief is based in Chester and so has resonance for me. Caroline’s website will whet your appetite here. You’ll see that the novel is a gutsy medical drama set in the eighteenth century – mystery, well-researched history, medicine and a lechorous surgeon – what more could you want?

She is part of the Chester Library Meet the Authors programme this year and will be talking about her book and the research that went into it on Wednesday November 25th at 7pm. Entrance is only £3 and includes refreshments.

 

The first bricks and mortar shop to stock Exit, Pursued by a Bee is Bluecoat Books in Chester. The shop is perched on top of the ancient Roman and medieval walls that surround the city centre. Their address is 1, City Walls. Please anyone visiting Chester, which is a popular tourist town for folk from all over the world, go visit the shop even if you don’t buy my books there.

Delivered magazine is now being delivered. There’s a comp in it and prizes for the top 3. So if anyone has bought a copy or read it over someone’s shoulder, I’d be honoured if you’d consider voting for my Camera Shy story.

Camera Shy first saw light on the BeWrite community and this is its first outing since. Based in Paris it is a humorous take on a thief stealing a tourist’s camcorder. The victim leaps on the thief’s abandoned (stolen) bicycle and chases him into the Metro. Only at the end is the truth revealed about why the victim is sooo keen to retrieve the recorded film and why his wife may not believe him…

You email Michael the owner and name the top 3 in your opinion to the email at
http://www.grimmyproductions.co.uk/index.html

They are seeking more short stories of under 3000 words so if you want to submit a piece it wouldn’t do you harm to spend £3 on a copy (inc p&p)

Just by chance I notice that another of the writers in Delivered is Gustavo Bondoni, who writes terrific science fiction stories – so good we’ve published two already in Escape Velocity mag. Good to share a literary magazine with you, Gustavo!

SUNDAY’s WALK

  Vic and I, from Peoples-Connections Chester walking group, enjoyed a great hike around Aber Falls yesterday. Poor turnout from the group but I’d rather a few than a marching army. My original plan was to heave ourselves up to the summit of Drum and then ridge walk Foel Fras, Moel Llwytmor and down to Aber Falls, but we didn’t. Why? The ice-line was around 750 metres, and I don’t mean crunchy loverly snow, but slippery hard ice along with a gale to blow us inside out and off the summit across to Ireland. So after we returned via the Roman Road, we did a lower level hike to the falls and over to the North Wales Coastal Path back to the coastal village of Abergwyngregyn. Vic said I could photograph him with the falls dramatically gushing behind him.

Geriatric time wisdom

I cheated today and caught the bus home from the city. I’d walked in but wetstuff cascaded from the stratocumulus and so I joined a queue at stand E. This is the stand from which brave bus drivers steer their reinforced steel vehicles through a large housing estate with, let’s say, an interesting mix of people. I stood in the queue and a little white-haired elderly woman stood next to me and then pulled at my elbow. “Does the Lache bus stop ‘ere?”

“Yes, I believe it does,” I said wondering if she was a great great (to the power of three) grandmother of a pupil I’d taught at the school down the road.

“Only I can’t see the E.”

“I’ll let you know when the Lache Bus comes along,” I say hoping she was hearing better than me. Her hearing aids were several generations earlier than mine.

“Ta, love. Only I’ve had to wait for ages lately. They should be every ten minutes.”

Stupid pedantic editorial me then said: “Eleven minutes not ten. It’s that extra minute that’s been fooling you.” I grinned at her, but of course she’d not understand.

“Do you mean like in that space-time continuum? Has the Lache moved to the event horizon and so time is attenuated?” She tapped her nose and winked at me.

My mouth dropped. Was this a Time Lord in disguise? A Time Mistress?

Never assume…

Through icy weather I walked the two miles to Chester city centre to the Bear & Billet public house. This black & white original Tudor pub is where Chester Writers meet monthly.  I’ve been attending irregularly for five years, but some have been reading and critiquing there for decades. An eclectic group, we have a Christmas cake mix of newbies, journalists, poets, published authors and then there’s me. Last night a member sent us rolling around laughing as she read out letters she received when she was an Agony Aunt on a San Fransisco newspaper in the 1960s. Others read poems and one read an extract from her novel-in-progress based on the 1700s Ladies of Llangollen. That will be a great novel. I might have helped a wee bit by pointing out where she could add smells to the reader’s experience. So many writers forget to engage all the readers’ senses in their work, and I have to keep reminding myself.

And so it was my turn. I decided to read my 1600 word fantasy short story, Witch’s Alien. The story came from the title, which came from a random title generator. Immediately, my brain warped into action – witch and alien, what a great combination! It had been critiqued already by members of the BSFA and Cafe Doom, but I wanted to test reactions at this 3-D group.  When the group realized what a laid-back quiet man I was, they asked me to remove my hearing aids. This trick makes me talk louder! Hah. I also removed my specs – all the better to read my story. All went well until page 2. My eye caught a pronoun, ‘his’, referring to the incorrect subject of that sentence. Ah. How could that have sneaked by all those crit groups? While my eyes and mouth continued reading, my brain, independently corrected the sentences and bookmarked it in memory to be sorted later. By the time I had to turn the page I realized I’d no idea how I’d read the rest of that page!

I thought it would take six minutes, and it probably did, butI couldn’t wait to grab my pen and do the correction at the end. After I used my teacher’s experience to emphasise and change voices in the reading I reached The End. A little applause and a few gasps, and congratulations came over. Umm, no one else noticed the pronoun error. Maybe it didn’t matter, except to me, although I couldn’t help thinking of my editor friend, Allan Guthrie, who would have pounced on it immediately!

It wasn’t until we were outside that my old colleague from teaching at Queens Park High School, came up to me and said: “Geoff, that was horrible. It made me feel sick.”

Oops. But then I thought, hey, it was a mix of fantasy, sci fi AND horror. So I thanked her for telling me the horror element was a success! If the story was bland and they happyclapped it, I would have failed. My next mission is to induce vomiting at the reading in January! Hah.

At home I corrected the pronoun and submitted the story to a magazine that publishes horror, fantasy and science fiction. Only five months to wait for a response. In the meantime if anyone wants to read it, drop me your e-mail.

I gave out flyers for EV mag including call for stories, poems and articles as well as a suggestion they buy a copy! Sales of Escape Velocity magazine are picking up. I was told by a Newcastle pal that his family are buying them for Christmas presents – so come on folks before the season is over. Buy it here.

Pick a pocket or two

Firstly, on my return from a welcome warm and ebullient trip to Sunny Costa del Sol in Spain, I found my local newspaper, Chester Evening Leader had published a piece about me and daughter traipsing across to Groningen last month to receive my unpublished novel award for Hot Air. The write up and photo is here. You can just see my living room in the background, so maybe a welcome distraction from my silly smiley mugshot. One US friend says his Internet system cannot see the article whereas others abroad can – so let me know if your country or ISP has blocked it. Same seems to be true for BBC news links, which is a shame since we, in the UK, can see CNN.

To explain the heading of this blog I was pickpocketed at the central bus station in Fuengirola! But I nabbed him – haha! The Spanish don’t seem as fond of orderly queues as us Brits so it was no surprise to find body contact in the mob attempting entry onto the 22o to Marbella bendy bus. I was perturbed, however, when the 60+ years-old bewhiskered bloke to my left and rear kept brushing his bare arm next to mine after I’d shuffled twice away from him. Then the distant cracked alarm bell clunked in my head so I put down my hand and found my pocket contained an extra lump. The thief might have watched me use my small wallet at the ticket office five minutes earlier, but I thought I was relatively safe because I’d replaced the wallet into my zipped pocket. He must have had at least two attempts, one to unzip and then to dive in. Anyway I gripped his wrist with my left hand, checked my wallet was still a pocketed lump with my right, and into his face yelled with schoolteacher-practised volume: “Get your **** hand out of my pocket!!”

He blanched, and his face quivered. He looked rather familiar actually – rather like a downtrodden version of a headteacher I used to work with in Chester — ummm. The thief looked his watery pleading eyes into mine and like a softy I released him sans wallet. (sorry, in Spanish that should be sin wallet – quite appropriate!) He scuttled off through the booing and hissing bus crowd – off, no doubt, to catch a bus going in the opposite direction to Malaga. The mostly local Spanish bus crowd smiled at me and a few thumbs up – they probably get pickpocketed too. I’m glad he didn’t get away with my wallet, not because of the few Euros it contained, or the nuisance of cancelling the credit card – again; I was pickpocketed in Barcelona ages ago – I must have a mug face – but because my wallet is one from Vegetarian Shoes – no animal was skinned to make it!