Baggins’ World

Hi, this is the Monster in Tim’s Head again. Thank you all so much for the well wishes following my sudden absence - it truly has made my heart grow fonder - I had been granted an extended holiday leave for all the good work I’d done. Management thought we could afford to leave the subject alone with his thoughts for a good long while.

It turns out that wasn’t such a good idea, something for which I accept no responsibility whatsoever.

But I’m back. And, boy, do I have my work cut out for me!

Last night, after a very good day (for him), Tim went home feeling a trifle low - a perfectly natural condition after a long and fun day - and with just a few whispers I had him weakly contemplating suicide again, it was almost just like the good old days, as if I’d never left. It was wonderful watching him lying there, struggling, as if his ‘newly found freedom’ had been torn from him, and wondering if he ever would have a chance at being ‘normal’. It was after a couple of hours of this that I made my fatal mistake:

“You’ve always been this way, and you always will.” I whispered - a gem that had worked wonders in the past. Nobody told me that he’d woken up in my absence!

I heard him say, “Don’t be silly,” whether this was to himself or to me I’ll never know. “Don’t be daft, you’ve had a month and a half without any of this bullshit!” And just like that, I lost him.

I should never have accepted the generous holiday offer in its entirety, so much has unravelled and it’s going to be a while before things are back to normal. As ever, your kind thoughts are much appreciated.

Yours,

TMiTH

Always a little late to the bandwagon (and not so much jumping on as thinking, ‘Hey that might be interesting.’) I thought I’d imagine that I had a Twitter account and see if it was possible to write a short story in a mere one hundred and forty characters (or fewer). These masterpieces were saved as draft text messages on my phone and made it look untidy, so in the spirit of giving worthy of the season, I’m going to let them clutter up your RSS feeds and blog-rolls.

Attempt One
He sat outside, deliberately passive smoking because he’d run out of cigars.
That, really, was all there was to say about him.

Attempt Two
He was proud to have removed her bra with one hand at his first attempt.
She confessed: it had turned her on, but using a knife was cheating.

Apparently, mammals are in such short supply that the Times can’t find any to illustrate their story, One in five mammals threatened with extinction, choosing instead a varanus mabitang lizard:
 

A story about a jealous ex-lover, the blackmail he perpetrates to get his woman out of an abusive relationship, detailing the long journey to a new place together whilst she faffs about and struggles to come to terms with the idea.
It ends with him opening the door for her and the girl hesitating just outside.

A story about somebody who creates his perfect bride (for reasons that are never fully made clear), of her stealing from him, the subsequent breakdown of their relationship, her moving out, and several attempts to put things right.
It ends with them settling back down together and him fading into the background of her life - almost forgotten, but always watching.

A story about the preparation for the wedding of the millennium, old debts must be paid, threats dealt with, their old, run down homes demolished, and a fabulous new palatial residence erected in time for the wedding.
It ends with the wedding - the bride and groom will finally consummate their relationship their relationship. Nothing can go wrong now.

A story about the exploits of a series of chaperones for the beloved as they struggle to keep her on the straight and narrow, and of her wavering between complete wantonness and almost comical obeisance.
It ends with the beloved left to her own devices and doing exactly as she pleases.

Number 7: Deus ex Machina

On the day Evelyn Johnson decided to kill herself (June 5th), the sun was shining, the birds were whistling (needless to say, in the trees), and, all around her, the world radiated a sense of all being well. Four weeks later, on the day she went through with her plan, the conditions remained pretty much as they had all summer.

She’d spent the month putting her affairs in order and had even changed her will to better represent her current relationships and favourites amongst them. All her belongings were packed up and ready for distribution to various worthy causes and named individuals. Her fridge was empty, turned off at the wall and its door was open so that the world (with which all was well) could see the freshly-cleaned sparkle. Evelyn had paid her utilities bills until the end of the month, and informed her landlord that she would moving out and that somebody would along to pick up her stuff by the end of August. She’d even sent out a letter to all her friends, which explained, clearly and succinctly what she would be doing and what the practical consequences were likely to be.

Evelyn walked calmly out of her flat, locked the door behind her and sealed the keys in an envelope which she posted to her solicitor at the first post box she passed as she went her not-so-merry way. After about a mile, she came to the highest bridge in the area, walked half way across, climbed over the side, and after a brief pause, leaned outwards and let go of the structure. Whereupon she began to fall.

And falling is where we must briefly leave her.

Somewhere in the Amazon, God commanded an unseasonal butterfly to flap its wings twice as fast as it usually did for a moment or two. Chaos theory was kind-of validated, and we now return to Evelyn.

A very strong wind blew the falling would-be-suicide into the branches of a nearby tree, the branches broke her fall, gradually slowing her down until she tumbled gently from the lowest branches onto the ground below. Besides a slightly twisted ankle and the bruising sustained in the first impact with the tree, she was completely unharmed.

A voice rang out from the heavens, “Evelyn Johnson. Know that it is for God, not you to choose the moment of your passing.”

As Evelyn repented, vowing to make amends, God commanded a bolt of lightning…

Later that afternoon, council workers, investigating the unusal weather discovered Evelyn’s body. The lightning hadn’t even touched her, having naturally struck the tallest object nearby - the tree. The tree had been split from top-most-tip to root, and then fallen both due east and due west. It was the half pointing towards Jerusalem that had fallen on Evelyn and squashed her flat.

I can do haiku -
Each, seventeen syllables.
Do you haiku too?

I’m very sorry about that, but it was hanging around from March and I’ve no idea why I didn’t publish it at the time.

Can someone tell me how to stop believing
In the silent, hidden deity
Who said, ‘I love you.’
Once, so long ago,
Leaving
Me:
A Blind drunk,
Shadow boxing,
Lurching and screaming
At his demons?
Will no-one rid me of this troublesome
God?

Every month*, I host a writers’ group at the flat. Somewhere between eight and fifteen writing folk descend, drink coffee, eat cake and talk about writing. We also write stuff.

The sessions are led by Fiona Veitch Smith, and, after the discussion of what we’ve been up to since the previous meeting, generally focus on some aspect of good creative writing practice.

I’m not going to tell you what the theme for this month’s session was, but the first exercise was to re-write a basically written paragraph to describe what’s going on rather than explicitly stating it.

“Blanche felt like she was going to lose control at any moment. She tried her hardest to hide it from the unwelcome guests who had dropped in for a cup of tea and a chat. Blanche wished they would just go away.”

(Which can be found here in the course notes).

Thus became:

“Blanche’s pulse raced and her vision started to blur. Why wouldn’t these damned guests take a hint and leave? She’d put salt in the sugar bowl, opened the windows, turned off the heating and had even considered going and changing into her pyjamas. It would make no difference - the kids were here for Christmas.”

Which admittedly changes more than just the tone of the story, but never mind.

 
Exercise two was to write a paragraph or two demonstrating one of the “fruits of the spirit” (a bit like the seven virtues which are the opposite of the seven deadly sins), the name of which had been handed to us on a card, and hopefully the rest of the group would be able to work out what it it was we were talking about without us having to tell them in a many words. Thankfully I wasn’t stuck with something lame like gentleness, or I’d have been stuck writing about hulking great brutes being surprisingly good with babies or something.

“Finally, after many long years, driven before the Furies, George stood before his father’s killer and spat in his face. The killer knelt, as if in some strange, imploring supplication, and held out his palms, wrists together.

“‘Kill!’ screamed the Grey Ladies in George’s head, ‘Kill!’ But George had not been brought up that way - what would his father think! His stiff upper lip trembling, he dropped the knife, and cuffed his brother’s hands.”

 
Which was as good an example as I could think of on the spot of…

But that would be telling not showing.

*Unless I’m away, or ill, or busy somewhere else, or nobody else can make it, or the flat has been over-run by the ravening hordes we call “other people’s future in-laws”. Which is a bit of a mouthful of a qualifying statement for what I prefer to leave as a short and punchy opening sentence.

Closer

“I love you, Tim.” she said,
And I pulled her closer to me.
That night,
It was impossible to tell
Where I ended and she began.
It was just as hard to tell
Where the sex stopped and the tears started.

God was there, and
Understanding,
Wept too.

You’re everything I’m not
Everything I should have been
And I thought you would make me complete.
But now I know that you’re not THE one.
Suddenly, that false hope is dead
And with it a thousand devotions
Overfed on love songs and romance.

There’s no aching void at the heart of me,
It’s just the shape I am.

And I feel free.