A Storyteller’s Tale

Things have been a bit quiet around here of late. That’s because fiction has managed to get in the way.

Many, many years ago, my English teacher, upon handing back an essay, berated my writing, advising me that I couldn’t write and never would. They tended to do that in those days. Much like the music teacher who told me I couldn’t sing – so please stop. Yet decades later, I discovered that, actually, I had a modestly decent voice and can pitch to a piano keyboard with the best of them.

I wrote anyway and had some articles published in motorcycle journals. And about twenty years ago, started to write fiction. My first attempt at a novel was too self-indulgent to publish. That said, the basic plot was sound and some of the passages would be useful elsewhere, so I might one day use the spare parts in other work. Then I had an idea for a crime novel. The story came relatively easily and I was pleased with the finished result. No one wanted to publish it, though. I managed to secure the services of an agent who did think it worth publishing, but even she couldn’t get past the gatekeepers in the publishing houses.

Then the Internet happened. That changed everything. Those old gatekeepers realised that the people they were turning away simply came through holes in the fence and did it anyway. We can publish without the need for a publishing house – just as musicians are going out directly to their audience without the need for record companies.

When Leg Iron came up with his publishing house, I contributed to the anthology. Since then, I have submitted a book of my short stories. So, it occurred to me to dust down my novel. I read though it and felt that it had aged somewhat. As it was set in the nineteen nineties, I could have left it there or I could update it. I decided on the latter. As much of it revolved around computer crime, the technology needed significant updating. I also decided to age my protagonists by twenty years, so now they are around fifty rather than around thirty. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the sweet young things rushing around saving the world and leaving us older folk looking like spare parts. So, I have a bunch of fifty-somethings doing the rushing around.

Leg Iron Books will be releasing “Ransom” sometime this month. Quite when he will be getting around to the short stories, “Blackjack”, remains to be seen as he has a back log and there is no particular hurry.

In the meantime, another story that has been kicking around in my head is taking shape. As it is a spy novel set during the 1745 Jacobite uprising, I have plenty of research to do. And it is the little things that need to be found out; how much did they pay for a tankard of ale, what did they wear, how did they light their pipes and so on – as well as the set piece battles. I’ve got some books on their way from Amazon to help fill the gaps.

While doing my research, I’ve started writing. I am not one of those writers who can map out a story and back fill the chapters. I write like Louis L’Amour. I start at the beginning and ride though the story with my characters, getting to know them as we go along our journey. Sometimes, I don’t know how things will work out, which makes it interesting. I have an end goal and get there by whatever means it takes. This one is a long-term project.

Then, right in the middle of this, Leggy announces that the next anthology will be Easter themed. Fuck, I thought. I don’t have an Easter story written. I bemoaned this to Mrs L. I don’t write to order, I write with chaotic abandon, following those muses that spring, unbidden, from the recesses of my somewhat peculiar imagination. What the fucking fuckitty fuck can I write about Easter – oh, and Easter is looming, so getting a move on would help…

Sometime during the weekend, a vague kernel of an idea started to form. By Monday morning, the characters had introduced themselves. By Tuesday evening, the story was complete. I irritated Mrs L a little because my responses to her were no more than grunts as the story poured from my brain onto the keyboard. It just flowed, rushing to get itself down. Between five and seven in the evening, a little over 2,000 words flooded onto the screen. I shut everything down for twenty-four hours and went back to it on Wednesday to do some editing and a few tweaks. Then I sent it to Leggy.

Something unusual had happened. I had written a fiction story to order – I had not chosen the theme, yet still my imagination had stepped up to the line and delivered. The story, once it had taken shape wrote itself. And I had managed to include Easter, a hint at paganism, an Easter bunny and Resurrection. Job done.

I’m not sure what this says about me, but despite what I was told some forty years ago, I can’t help but write and from time to time, I like to tell stories.

And the story? Well, maybe you should buy the Underdog Easter Anthology when it comes out, eh?