Where's the Hero?

I’m busy with two short stories, one about people coping with something missing in their life for Writers Magazine and the other a bit about fake jewelry for Writers Journal but as I watched Sharpe on TV yesterday and it set me thinking that, while I have written ten novels, I don’t really have a ‘Hero’ like Sharpe or Hornblower. The closest I’ve come is Miss Kirkwood in A Land Fit for Heroes, Broon in Best in Show, and Fergus Findlay in Drover. There’s also Mrs Boniface in Oakhaven and Jinks with Broon in Cairndhu but, while I love them both, they are best in frantic cameo appearances. There is no John Wayne. I think I’d be happier with James Stewart, someone that is only violent when there is no option. In what setting? A Jacobite would be romantic and I love the Highlands, the Lord of the Isles has real potential from the Romans to Bruce and Bonny Prince Charlie, Irish history is full of myth and magic, but there is more immediacy in Kimberley and the early days of the diamond fields, lots of rogues and clowns and the excitement of finds as well as the deaths and disappointments. I like it but it’s set in the days of empire and white supremacy, would it sell? Probably not. Never mind, seek and ye shall receive, I have always believed, or maybe it’s, don’t seek and you’ll find nothing.

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Samson's hair

I want to look at the Samson story in the Bible and what lessons it has for the reader as far as ordinary life is concerned. I don’t for a minute believe his strength depended on the length of his hair, so there must be some other reason for telling the tale. Samson married someone from a group that was opposed to his own but this isn’t about racial purity but about sensibly having a partner who shares your philosophy in life. That shared ideal applies in all walks of life, marriage, business and social. Then Samson tells Delilah where his strength lies and is betrayed. That’s a warning not to expose your weakest areas to anyone you can’t trust, in fact anyone with an interest in hurting you. Then we have the denouement and Samson takes revenge on his tormentors but kills himself in the process. Taking revenge often has that effect, in personal relationships, in general life and in business. It is always better to look at what is best for you, your relationship, or your business, than how you can damage the opposition.

A List-less plot

Once again I have been guilty of not looking carefully at a competition brief. I rushed off making plans for the 'List' flash fiction story in Writers Journal and found I was only allowed ten items. No matter, all these aborted attempts produce story lines for future use. The 'Hidden' one for Writer's Magazine was a lost cause until I listened to that I'm just a Country Boy, Don Williams song and I wondered what the girl he loved might be missing, especially if the situation was set in Victorian times when the girl was fenced in with social rules. The draft in short story form looks good but, after reading a Katie Fford and an Anne Tyler, A Spool of Blue Thread, which was a finalist in Booker Prize competition, I wonder if it is really a novel. My normal reading being Bernard Cornwell, C.S. Forester, or P.G. Wodehouse, which all have ACTION and PLOT. Like Mark Twain, I feel Ann Tyler writes wine, I try to write water, everybody drinks water.

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Listing a story

 I like to try the flash fiction competition in Writers Journal because it is always intriguing. This month it is to tell a story in a list. The editor suggested it could be a shopping list but I have a problem with that, a shopping list even a bucket list, only tells you what you intend to buy or do, but not how it turned out. That would mean the story would hang in the air.
I turned to think of what we write lists for, Christmas presents, wedding guests, telephone numbers. The telephone numbers reminded me of a thing I saw at university, it showed the names and telephone numbers of the girls the student had taken out in years 1, 2, 3, and 4.
The first page had only one name on it, Jean maybe. The second was full, including Mary Brown/Grey 361 ???. The third year there were less but included Mary WHITE 361 702. The fourth year only had MARY on it. That told a story after the event and I want to get something like that.
I suppose a wedding list could show
Invite Jean Grey
Invite Mary Brown
and show that Jean and Mary don't get on. Maybe that could be expanded or
A Christmas list with dates like the students note book with each present being scored off as it is bought
Sept.
John - a card
Larry - nice pullover

Oct
John - Handkerchiefs or socks
Larry - Scarf and gloves

Nov
John - Book
Larry - Handkerchiefs

Dec
John - Bottle of Single Malt Whisky
Larry 

It's an intriguing challenge.

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Prize winning short story

I've added O'Reilly's Daughter to the short stories. It won a prize in Writers Journal and I am rather pleased with it. I love characters who don't conform and Elizabeth is one of those. In a way I find strong female characters have more depth than male ones. The male ones seem to come out hard men or bullies and single minded. It probably has something to do with heroes from boyhood, they never had any doubts and we knew they would win. John Wayne at Iwo Jima, Zorro and Buffalo Bill. The funny men were just funny, Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, or the Three Stogies. We never had a funny hero, or a tough funny man. But the ladies could do stupid things and remain ladies, fall in love and realise their mistake.

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Bus to ??? story

I had a story written for a flash fiction competition in Writers Journal and was about to press send when I checked and found I had not read the brief properly and the taale was out of spec. I'd enjoyed writing it so much I couldn't let it just lie about, so here it is. I'll stick it on the web-pagewww.sullatoberdalton.com/pen-sullatober/short-stories
The pic is one of Pam Pepper's

BUS TO ???

I was standing at the bus stop, when a man about my own fifty odd years joined me. Instead of the usual dumb brick, why can’t Avril arrange a man like that as a dinner partner for me, I thought.

When we got on, there were only two seats, side by side.

‘I’m sorry, this is the only seat, do you mind?’ he asked.

I smiled, moved and he sat down.

‘You look so different when you smile,’ he said. ‘At the stop, you looked so fierce.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with you,’ I said. ‘I have to go to one of these frightful dinner parties.’

He grinned and we made small talk until he asked what I did.

‘I’m a painter,’ I told him.

‘Why do you paint?’

‘I want to share what I see. I love to paint people. I did a grandmother with a little girl jumping in the waves. I’ve painted the little girl talking to her granny with her little brother standing there, wanting to say something but too shy to speak. Or maybe he just couldn’t get a word in edgeways,’ I added.

As the bus rumbled on, we became confidents. Well, I confided and he listened. In the end, I realised I was gabbing on.

‘What do you do?’ I asked.

‘I’m a journalist and I like talking to people. I find them as fascinating as your grannies.’

‘So that’s why you’re such a good listener,’ I said. ‘You looked as if you were really enjoying what I was saying.’

‘You were animated and make it so interesting just to listen.’

 When he said animated, I realised I’d been waving my hands as I talked, you know how I do, and been bumping against him, even putting my hand on his knee, and felt my face colouring. I looked out of the window and was relieved to see I was nearly at my stop. ‘It’s been lovely talking to you but I’m afraid the next stop is mine.’

‘You’re not going to the Mathews’ dinner party, are you?’

I laughed. ‘You’re not John, are you?’

‘And you must be Laura.’

‘This could be fun,’ I said, putting my hand on his leg again, as you do with someone you like. ‘Let me go in first and give them a talking to about getting me partners who have nothing to say and just grunt replies.’

He smiled. ‘Which is close enough to the truth to make them worry.’

‘Then you come in and tell them off for arranging partners who never stop talking.’

He grinned at me like a fellow conspirator. ‘You know, young lady, I don’t want to share you with a busload of people on the way back. Let me order a taxi for us.’

I raised my hand to my mouth in mock horror. ‘Then you’ll know where I live.’

‘If I’m going to send you a valentine card, I’ll need to know your address,’ he grinned.

Traveled out

I've written the flight from the Northern Cape area to Cape Town. It was easy ass I've flow with an organisation nicknamed Fright Services but the other idea of computer versus mind travel has run out of steam. I tried different points of view and an extra character, and even a different start, which can make me sit up and take notice. The story of Brexit doesn't become dramatic at the referendum, it starts when parliament turns down the deal and you ask, What now? Anyway, I couldn't get it to conclude  properly, even well enough to convince myself it it was literary. It has so much going for it I'll put it on the back burner and dabble with it now and then. I've done that with quite a few ideas and it's amazing what they can become. 

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