Happy 2015!
So, I entered the 2015, International Short Story Competition online. I'm was placed in heat 42 and was the only representative of Great Britain in my group (a shout out to the two Irish participants, who are helping me fly the flag for Europe).
Our criteria was to create a mystery short story, with a character (main or sub) who was a traveling salesperson (I know travelling has two 'l's' but it is an American run competition so I must respect their spelling), in addition to incorporating 'a secret hiding place' into the mix.
We were given 8 days to create something and after four days of pulling my hair out (what's left of it anyway - check out my author page to see what I mean - http://aloomb.blogspot.co.uk/p/blog-page.html), I managed to produce a story called 'It's Only A Matter Of Time.'
Unfortunately, at this time, I can't share any of it with you, due to competition rules but I am currently working on my diploma, and a radio play. Below is a short snippet, which I hope you'll like and leave me a comment on. Remember, radio is all about audio, not like television. So you have to describe and direct when there is noise!
With best wishes, always.
NARRATOR: Monty gazed to his left
at the business man
snoozing against the window. His face
was
concealed by the huge collar from his long, black
coat; it was wrapped around him like a blanket. On
the other side,
a young, female had her headphones
in her ears and was typing
away on her laptop,
furiously. Monty felt out of place. Everyone
around
him was young, and at eighty six, he felt that
he was
intruding in a world that now belonged to
young people; a world that had
once belonged to
him at that age. That feeling was strengthen when a
young man slumped into the seat
opposite him.
Monty
smiled to greet him, but all that was
returned was ignorance. The
man just put his
headphones in and proceeded to put his hood up.
FADE OUT.
FADE UP – TRAIN RATTLING ALONG TRACK.
TICKET
COLLECTOR: Tickets please.
SHUFFLING MOVING SOUND.
TICKET
COLLECTOR: Thank you, Sir.
A RINGTONE PLAYS ALOUD IN THE CARRIAGE.
ASH: Hello..? Hiya,
how you doing? (PAUSE) yeah, I’m
on the train now. (PAUSE)
dunno, probably
another couple of hours yet. (PAUSE) don’t
worry, I’ll be there. (PAUSE) I promise. (PAUSE)
you know it difficult for me. (PAUSE)
because I
don’t like Christmas, and regardless
of what my
mum says, it’s not easy to just pretend
that everything is
normal. (PAUSE) Yes, yes, I
know. Look, I need to go but I’ll see you later.
(PAUSE) (WHISPERING) Yes, I love you too… Bye.
ASH SIGHS ALOUD.
MONTY: Um, excuse me,
son.
ASH: You
talking to me?
MONTY: Yeah… is
everything alright?
ASH: What?
MONTY: Is everything OK?
ASH: What
are you talking about?
MONTY: I’m
was wondering if you were OK?
ASH: Why?
MONTY: I just heard a
bit of your conversation…
ASH: You were
listening into my
conversation?
MONTY: Well, I would
have properly, but, well, you know,
these damn hearing aids are
a hindrance
sometimes.
THERE IS A SHUFFLING NOISE BEFORE A HEARING AID WHISTLES.
ASH: What are
you doing?
MONTY: Adjusting these
blasted things. I can’t hear what
you’re saying.
THE WHISTLING FADES OUT.
