I no longer live on a smallholding! This feels strange. I no longer know who I am. (A good thing in Buddhist terms, but disconcerting.) However, since this is a blog about writing, this has been a reasonably succesful year. In February I won first prize in the Doolin Writers Competition, Ireland (1000 Euros) with a story called 'Whisky and Halva'. This just shows how long it can take a story to reach its best--I won't say 'final'--form. It started out with a contorted subplot about a hardware shop in Underbank, Stockport, and the terribly symbolic search for a stopcock access cover in cast iron. The cast iron theme is still there, just, but Sidney Biddle's shop--based on Harold Bibby's, I can reveal--had to go. Also I learned from reading stories in recent magazines that you can get away quite nicely with prose in short bursts.
Another story that's been the rounds without sucess has suddenly won second prize in the Sunderland University/Waterstones competition: 'The Hills of Ffostrasol'. Which just goes to show how the tastes of editors and judges vary enormously. (Yes, all right, we all knew that.) Two others have been on shortlists. (Excuse me while I go to a Kadampa meditation group in Manorowen, after which I feel more philosophical about being so crap at badminton.) 'My Life With Eva'--the title story of a collection Parthian are bringing out next year--was shortlisted in last year's Ilkley Literature Festival, and 'Always a Bit of a Loser' in this year's. My short play 'Touching the Tree' which had an unsatisfactory production at the Sherman Theatre in Cardiff, has just appeared in Bare Fiction Magazine.
Now I'm working on two fairly weird stories, one based on a 1948 school photograph, the other about a guy I remember from an open week at Lauriston Hall commune back in 1975. Why am I telling you all this? You aren't even listening!
