Time to get back into blogging

So I'm back.

It's been a year or so since the last post, not counting aloombabroad.blogspot.co.uk which accounted for my whereabouts for half of 2015. If you haven't already read it, take a look now.

So what have I been up to I hear you ask? Well, I've been writing non-stop which is pretty much my life. I've entered lots of competitions for writing and had lots of rejections - story of my life!

But I keep going. 'Never give up,' that's my motto.

Anyway, this time, I'm going to share a piece I wrote for a short play competition that was hosted through the BBC writers room. Little Pieces of Gold were hosting a competition for a 10 minute stage play about second chances. The project was called 'Never Too Late Too Dream', and each writer had to focus on a social, political or religious message surround a second chance.

After sitting and thinking for a while, I started to jot down ideas. Some crazy and far out there, others simplistic and basic in their story but exciting enough to pursue. The key is having a topic that can grip an audience whilst trying to see a way past the problem. It sounds a lot easier than it is.

I settled on a social message and focused on social media as the theme. Social media is becoming a demon in the sense that people live their lives by it. If they're not updating their status about have a cup of tea, they're uploading pictures of their dinner (yes, I've done it too).

Anyway, my story was about Jasper and Tammie, housemates and old secondary school best friends. Jasper is a laid back, refined kind of guy who has no desire to put himself out of his comfort zone. He does what he wants, when he wants. Tammie on the other hand is a social media nut. She is always online, updating her status and photo albums. But now it has come to a point where it is unhealthy and affecting her chances of a happy future.

The story unfolds with the history of Tammie's ex boyfriend, a pawn shop and a helium balloon. It's kind of quirky but I liked it.

But it didn't get put forward and that's OK. It's all part of learning and building the craft, or so they tell me.

Anyway, I've just left my job and my girlfriend has moved back to her native, Ireland. I'm pursuing a career in writing, full steam ahead but finding it tough. But I'll refer you back to my motto above.

I'll keep you posted!

Lest We Forget

Today is always a day of poignancy and remembrance.

This year of course is the centenary of the First World War and today I attended a service to mark that moment. It was filled with moving tributes, hymns, poems and a chilly, autumn wind.

I was quick to remember though, that a little chill on my noggin was just a mild inconvenience compared to what those great men and women did for our liberty in the four years of the First World War, and any subsequent wars since.

Lest we forget!

On that topic, I am about to enter a short story competition, portraying the camaraderie, motivation, thoughts and feelings of the soldiers during the Christmas Day Truce of 1914. 

I think I have captured that spirit but would like to hear your thoughts. Please feel free to leave me a comment below.

Best wishes, as always,

Dan

               We’d settled down with a small group of men and ate bread and cheese. It was slightly stale but I was glad to have something to fill my stomach. It had felt very empty recently. Shortly after we finished, the group of eleven, including John and I, indulged in a few swigs of beer each. It was all that was left in a bottle that the Germans had brought with them.

                Of the other nine, five were from our battalion, although I only knew Robert Henson and William Smith. They were in their early twenties, both from Hertfordshire; pure coincidence, having never met each other before the war. They’d been transferred into our battalion with a dozen others after we lost thirty men on the day before last. Nice enough chaps, they had gifted us some cigarettes on Christmas Eve. I could only return a gift of a handshake which they laughed at.

                There were also four Germans. They were all singing Stille Nacht; Silent Night in English. Each soldier took a line, chanting the carol with pride like they were singing their national anthem. Then we sang along in English, our voices unitedly lifting the song to a new level. The rendition gave me goose bumps. 

                It was the camaraderie between us all; it was seeing the enemy for what they really were: men, just like us. The only difference between us, aside from our nationalities, were our orders. Since the war had begun, we had been told that our enemy would kill us at first chance so we had to get in there first. Yet now we sat with them, singing, drinking and eating in their company, relaxed and at ease. I suddenly wished Christmas could last forever to stop this war.

Working Title

Hi guys,

Just to update you on my latest projects.

I am currently finishing the first book in a four part book series. It's a romance novel, which I think I know a lot about, but actually I know nothing (Not in real life anyway - :-D).

I am also finishing up my latest assignment for my diploma. I will upload it shortly for you to critique.

Best wishes, as always,

Dan

There has to be more to life . . .

Hello all.

Today is a miserable and grey Bank Holiday Monday. No such chance of going out for a walk with this weather. The only real amusement I've had today is that my mum and sister had to take part in the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, and I was given the responsibility of pouring the water over their heads (sweet satisfaction for all those times I lost an arguement to them).

So as I felt the rain hitting me on the face, I thought it was about time to upload a new piece of my work.

I hope you enjoy this next piece, and as always, give me your views. I'd love to hear from you.


Title: There has to be more to life…

                Adam places his jacket on the back of his chair and drops his satchel off beside his table. He sits down quietly at his desk. It’s the same routine every single day, 5 days a week. A 9 to 5 office job, you know. The daily grind of filing this and copying that is tedious but this is just a slither of his day. Apart from the wage, he stays on because of the girl who sits opposite him; the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. He would say woman but he thinks it eludes to a forty something housewife with wrinkles and bright pink nail varnish. This is due to his lack of understanding of women; this he masks with false confidence.

                Neve is perfect in every way. Her big, brown eyes are like a deep reservoir; still and enchanting. Her carnation pink lips form like a crescent. How Adam longs to be able to brush those with his own and hold her close to his body.

                Society has told him he must be a man though. He must be macho and not leave himself vulnerable. Life has told him to withdraw his true emotions or face ridicule from other people. Adam constantly thinks about laying with Neve on the grass in a field, beneath a slowly darkening sky, as the thousands of stars push through the navy sheet of night and eventually glitter as far as they could possibly see. He wants to stroke her soft face with the back of his hand and tell her she is epitome of perfection. Instead, he feels pressure to boast about her physical features; the size of her breasts, the tightness of her ass just to gain his friends’ approval. He feels the institution wants him to talk about how best he could seduce her and make her toes curl. As much as Adam wants to be intimate, he also wants to make her laugh, hold her when she cries, tell her all of his thoughts so she knows everything about him. He has nothing to hide from her and wants to bare his inner most desires.

                She is wearing a white vest top which hugs her petit midriff. Her arms are covered by a knitted grey jumper. Along with her jeans, she sinks her feet into a pair of Ugg boots. She looks comfortable and warm and she drops herself into her chair. Another might not see her radiance beneath this unembellished outfit but it is clearly apparent to Adam.

                “Good morning,” she says to him. He stutters, she laughs at him. Her giggle makes him tingle; his hair raises on the back of his neck and arms. “Not talking to me today?” she adds, teasing him.

                “Sorry, good morning,” Adam replies. He mops his brow as he feels beads of sweat descend from the top of his head. She makes him so nervous. His eyes fall on a picture that is taped to his computer screen. It’s of a blonde woman, smiling with a flower; an orchid in her hairband. His fiancée, Sarah. A woman he loved once, but more as a best friend rather than a lover. His heart always belonged to Neve.

                Neve was also committed. She was married to some warehouse worker. They rarely talked about him but from what Adam knew, he seemed uninspiring. The type of guy who enjoyed always being ‘the social man’ rather than paying attention to his girlfriend.

                “Neve, can I ask you something?” Adam says, gazing at her pretty face.

                “Of course,” she says.

                Go on, ask her to go out tonight with you, he tells himself. She is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. The three other staff members on his hub are looking on, intrigued to see what he has to say, but none more so than Neve.

                “Did you process that invoice as Mark asked?” She nods but does not seem convinced by his question. She feels he has something else to tell her. As soon as she smiles and looks back at her screen, he sighs with dismay. Another chance wasted.

*

                Adam stands in the communal kitchen, waiting for his rice to cool. The beige painted walls and greasy kitchen tiles are far from stimulating his imagination. He stares unfocusedly into space. Just the colour of the wall, and that stain in the corner where somebody has spilled their soup; maybe their tea, is the only thing his mind can conjure up.

                “Whatcha doing?” comes the familiar voice behind him. As he spins around, Neve is standing beside him, ripping the lid from her carton of soup. He swallows hard. Adam smells her sweet perfume. It’s like a spell that has him feeling light headed. Her brown eyes fall on him, he looks deep into them and loses himself. They’re like an abyss of love; the deeper he goes, the more he yearns to have her forever.

                “Just making lunch.”

                “Anything good?” she enquires, punching in the time setting on the microwave.

                “Just some rice. Nothing exciting.”

                “My ex-husband used to eat rice like it was going out of fashion. I’m glad to be rid of him, tosser,” she explains. The warehouse worker took her for granted. He was now out of the picture.

                “Moron,” he says, trying to make her feel better.

                She gazes on at him as if trying to decipher his thoughts. Blinking, she does not. Breathing, she does not. She simply stands, still and quiet, and watches over him. The world seems to stop around them and only the gentle hum of the microwave and the growing smell of pea and ham soup have any reality at that moment.

                “You know what?” she speaks finally. Adam just holds his breath, waiting for the sentence he has always wanted to hear. What if, just what if, she says what he longs for her to say. More importantly, what would he say back to her? Would he reciprocate? Would he try to kiss her? All these thoughts are running through his mind as she removes her bowl from the microwave and turns back to face him. “There has to be more to life than Pea and Ham soup.”

                Without another word, she smiles at him, with her eyes relaxed and her lips pursed as she leaves the room clutching her bowl. He notices she has a distant look in her eyes; like she is somewhere else, far away.

*

                Adam places his coat on the back of his chair and drops his satchel off beside his table. He sits down quietly at his desk. It’s the same routine every single day, 5 days a week. A 9 to 5 office job, you know.

                He looks down at the heaps of paperwork on his desk. More reports to file; more sheets to sign off. His eyes are darker, his hair thinner and his finger nails worn. He strokes his overgrown stubble and pushes his paperwork to one side.

                Looking up at his computer screen, he can just see the adhesive mark from where the tape sat for a long time, holding up a picture. The picture is now long gone.

                Adam looks up, over to the desk opposite him. The chair is empty; just like his heart. The once occupied desk now sits desolate and untouched. The six months since it was last occupied seems like an eternity, and every day, 5 days a week, Adam has had to look at it. Every glance serves as a painful reminder of what he has lost. No-one else seems to notice, because to them, they have not lost something that meant everything to them. He never imagined that when Neve had made the statement about there being more to life, that she would leave him. He thought it would all work out differently.

                Every day, and not just the working week, but every day of the week, he has thought of Neve and where she is in the world. How he still longs to see her sit opposite him again. He can feel tears forming on his eyelids and the sensation of sadness, heavy on his chest.

                “Adam, what have you got for lunch today?” the colleague to his right asks. Her name is June. She is younger than him, with pallid skin and thick, dark brown hair. She wears a sweet perfume that reminds him of confectionary. She takes pride in her presentation. She sits and waits for his response, sipping her coffee from a custom made New York mug.

                Adam turns to her. He watches her for a few seconds and begins chuckling. This quickly fades but a smile of purpose remains etched on his face.

                “What’s funny?”

                “Just what I have for lunch today.”

                “Which is?” she asks.

                “Rice.”

                “What’s funny about that?” She always thought he was a little peculiar.

                “There has to be more to life than rice,” he says, with a distant look in his eyes.

Young At Heart...

At times, I've found it's easy to be critical of myself when I write, BUT, I find it more productive and honest if others critique my work.

Want to help? Tell me what you think of the piece below. The piece focuses on Henri, an elderly resident in a home who longs to have the companionship of his wife back, but finds it in his friend, Marilyn, who herself longs for her youth back.

The older generation should be cherished whilst we still have the opportunity to do so.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes,

Dan

Henri watched as his family disappeared past the ward door. His son, Tyler and his family of a wife and two children had fulfilled another standard thirty minute visit which put them in credit for another month; listening to how they lived free of ailments made him feel grumpy. He missed his wife who had passed away eight years ago.

                He decided to pay his friend, Marilyn a visit before dinner. She’d been recovering over the last few months since her hip operation. Her family had left her behind to move over to Chicago. Her daughter had been promoted with a six figure salary, an apartment overlooking downtown and a company car. Her daughter had said to Marilyn that, ‘sacrifices had to be made.’ So much for repaying the woman who raised you twenty four years.

                Henri’s feet squeaked on the flooring as shuffled along to room O124. As he poked his head inside the door frame, he saw Marilyn finishing a cup of tea. She was hunched forward because it relieved her pain.

                “Oh, I’ll come back, Mari,” he said.

                She protested, “No, Henri. Come in.”

                He made his way into the room as Marilyn pulled at the shoulders of her nightie to straighten it out. Her sweet and only friend sat down in the chair to her right, which was often vacant during visiting time.

                “How’s Tyler and the family?”

                “Fine, fine,” Henri confirmed, looking at Marilyn’s tired face. “How are you? I know this time of day is tough for you. Have you heard anything?”

                Marilyn’s bottom lip wobbled, prompting Henri to take her hand and cup it in his own. Her fingers felt brittle.

                “Nothing. I hate being old.”

                Henri laughed through his nose, “I know. You spend most of your life looking forward to retirement, and when you get here, you ask to have it all back.”

                “I just miss being young. I want to be able to run about again, and go dancing like I did in my twenties.”

                “We can go dancing.”

                Marilyn looked at him in complete confusion.

                “How? The staff would never let us out.”

                Henri picked up her television remote and switch on the flat screen in the corner of the room. He quickly navigated his way through the guide until he reached channel 503. No image appeared but music played aloud. It was a sixties beat, complete with the catchy lyrics of the time.

                By this time, Marilyn had realised Henri’s plan and had stepped out of bed. Henri quickly raced to her side and took her arm so that she was steady enough to walk out into the space beneath the television.

                “May I?” Henri asked.

                Marilyn smirked at him, and sunk her hand into his. They began to sway gently so that all their aches and pain became temporarily benign. For Henri, it felt like he had his wife back with him all over again. For Marilyn, it was a step back to happier days.