Conversation – “Turn up at the page”

(Direct speech)

A: “Have you completed writing that piece yet?”

B: “Not quite. I’m putting the finishing touches to it right now.”

A: “You should have done it ages ago. I’ve been so worried, what with that and all the other things you are supposed to be doing for me.”

B: “Just relax and let me get on with it. You know I told you that I wrote something on the first day. It’s in the folder. That would have done at a push. There has never been anything to worry about.”

A: “But you never seem to treat these assignments with the seriousness they deserve, and you’re always putting things off until the last moment.”

B: “You know that’s not true. This isn’t the last moment, and I’m certainly not rushing to complete it. It’s flowing easily from the pen, or at least from the keyboard keys.”

A: “There you go again! You’re dismissing me, not taking things seriously enough. How do you expect to write something good if you don’t agonise over it and spend ages editing it and polishing it?”

B: “But you know that’s the point, don’t you see? I’m good at editing things. I’ve been doing it for years. English grammar (of a kind) comes naturally to me. What I struggle to do is produce something which flows, has a little dynamism, a little ‘punch’. The easiest way for me to produce that is to imagine the characters and listen to them talking, which is what I’m doing right now.”

A: “I’m so cross! You know you are just using me! You’re taking advantage of me!”

B: “Yes. I suppose I am, in a way. Look, I’m grateful for your contribution. You provide the drive and the editorial input. There it is – finished! You can edit to your hearts content now. Satisfied?”

A/B: Silence…

 (24th October 2016 - 307 words)

Johnnie (with adjectives)

(Description with adjectives- Past Tense, Third Person. This is stream of consciousness, from the Morning Pages.)

Johnnie Campbell walked like a duck! You wouldn’t dare say it to his face, but he did. He thrust his chest forward and stuck out his arse. I remember him (or maybe it was someone else) telling me that he had broken one or both his ankles at some time. Maybe that was the explanation.

At work he wore a long brown warehouseman’s coat and a white hard-hat which was set at a jaunty angle. He always wore a blue shirt to work. I’m not sure if it was always the same shirt, maybe he had several. At the neck was a dirty brown knitted tie. That was always the same. There could hardly have been two like it! It was dirty and its colour shifted from one end to the other. Nobody else wore a tie at Someplace.

When Johnnie was washed and ready to go home he looked smart. Still the same shirt and tie, but his face was polished and his grey hair combed and he wore an old, but smart, tweed jacket.

They were all characters at Someplace. They all seemed to dress distinctively. There was Arthur Fothergill, the Manager. I’m sure I remember him having a grey raincoat which he wore with a belt tied round the waist. Maybe it wasn’t a belt at all, but a length of rope, like a tramp. He was a lean man. That is all I remember.

When Someplace closed, along with everything else at Somewhere, he went down to Redcar. That must have been a hello a way to lead up to retirement.

Davie Foster (the called him “Doctor Foster”, or “The Black Doctor”) wore a grey warehouse coat. I seem to remember that he was the only other person who wasn’t clean shaven. How times change!

 (23rd October 2016 – 321 words)

Johnnie (without adjectives)

Johnnie

(Description without adjectives- Past Tense, First Person)

I remember Johnnie, or maybe it was someone else, telling me that he had broken one or both his ankles in the past. Maybe that was the reason he walked the way he did. He thrust his chest forward, stuck out his arse and swung his legs as he strode along. It made him waddle like a duck! But nobody would dare say that to his face.

All the foremen and management at Someplace were characters. The production workers wore uniform overalls, but each of the supervisors dressed as an individual.

When Johnnie was at work he balanced a hard-hat at an angle on his head. He wore a blue shirt, beneath a dust-coat, and round his neck was a brown knitted tie which changed colour with grime from one end to the other. Nobody else wore a neck-tie at Someplace, but Johnnie did. Before he left for home at the end of each shift he washed and polished himself and put on a tweed jacket, but he retained the blue shirt and brown tie which rather spoiled the effect. I hope he changed them when he got home.

Many years before Johnnie had done his National Service in the Airforce. It still showed in his bearing. He was Scotsman and he said that he disliked the base in the east of England because the country had no hills. Goodness only knows what had made him come to Somewhere, probably work, like the rest of us. He said that when he left the Airforce and first came to Someplace his hands had blistered when he first shovelled coal. That had been a lifetime ago.

 (23rd October 2016 – 291 words)

The Argument (Second Person!)

The Argument (Second Person!)

(Second Person – Future Tense – This is unsettling!)

You will change trains at Darlington. You will hurry along the platform to the waiting diesel train. When you climb aboard, you throw your bag into the overhead rack and throw yourself into a seat. You will notice that the carriage was almost empty and that it smells like a damp dog. You will notice the rivulets of condensation as they run down the inside of the window, as you settle to watch the rain outside.

When people start to join the train a couple will take the pair of seats opposite you, on the other side of the chipped Formica-topped table. He will be was wearing a stained khaki jacket, and holding a bundle wrapped in a black bin-liner, which he will stuff into the luggage rack. She will be smartly dressed in tight jeans and a tailored black jacket. You will assume that they are together, because they will keep exchanging glances.

Outside, the guard will blow his whistle. The steady rattle of the diesel will rise to a roar, and, with a jerk, the train will lurch forward and pull out of the station.

The man in the khaki jacket will lean towards the young woman and say something which you do not catch over the roar of the diesel. She will shrug her shoulders and look away, out of the window, at the passing buildings.

 (16th October 2016 – 245 words)

This is rather unsettling, both to write and to read. I imagine it feels strange to listen to as well.

The Argument (Third Person)

The Argument (Third Person)

(Third Person – Past Tense)

Tom changed trains at Darlington. He hurried along the platform to the waiting diesel train, climbed aboard, threw his bag into the overhead rack and threw himself into a seat. The carriage was almost empty and smelled like a damp dog. Rivulets of condensation ran down the inside of the window, as he settled to watch the rain outside.

People started to join the train and a couple took the pair of seats opposite him, on the other side of the chipped Formica-topped table. The man was wearing a stained khaki jacket, and holding a bundle wrapped in a black bin-liner, which he stuffed into the luggage rack. She was smartly dressed in tight jeans and a tailored black jacket. They were obviously together, because they kept exchanging glances.

Outside, the guard blew his whistle. The steady rattle of the diesel rose to a roar, and, with a jerk, the train lurched forward and pulled out of the station.

The man in the khaki jacket leaned towards the young woman and said something which Tom did not catch over the roar of the diesel. She shrugged her shoulders and looked away, out of the window, at the passing buildings.

 (16th October 2016 – 210 words)

The Argument (First Person)

The Argument (First Person)

(First Person – Past Tense – This is derived from the original)

I changed trains at Darlington. I hurried along the platform to the waiting diesel train, climbed aboard, threw my bag into the overhead rack and threw myself into a seat. The carriage was almost empty and smelled like a damp dog. Rivulets of condensation ran down the inside of the window, as he settled to watch the rain outside.

People started to join the train and a couple took the pair of seats opposite him, on the other side of the chipped Formica-topped table. He was wearing a stained khaki jacket, and holding a bundle wrapped in a black bin-liner, which he stuffed into the luggage rack. She was smartly dressed in tight jeans and a tailored black jacket. They were obviously together, because they kept exchanging glances.

Outside, the guard blew his whistle. The steady rattle of the diesel rose to a roar, and, with a jerk, the train lurched forward and pulled out of the station.

The man in the khaki jacket leaned towards the young woman and said something which I did not catch over the roar of the diesel. She shrugged her shoulders and looked away, out of the window, at the passing buildings.

 (16th October 2016 – 217 words)

This is the original version, scribbled in a few minutes in class. I’ve transcribed it here with very few alterations.

Listening is what I do best (First Person - Loving)

(First person – Loving, Kind – Present tense)

Listening is what I do best. I sit here in the twilight listening to someone I cannot see and who cannot see me. We are supposed to be anonymous, but that is a fiction. I usually know who is sitting there, and they certainly know who I am. In a sense though, I’m not me at all, but someone else entirely.

They come to me with their troubles and the things that are troubling them: the things that weigh down on their shoulders and make them sad. I listen to what they say, and give them relief for at least a little while. They come to me with their misdemeanours and I give them the means to wash themselves clean again. Like little children they will get dirty, but they will be clean for a while, and that is important.

Listening is one of the great services I provide. It is so personal, so private and so intimate. Of all my sacred duties, this listening is one of the greatest, behind that greatest service of all, when I am lost, transformed, transfigured and they are fed.

I have heard so many things here, from the serious to the trivial, but who am I to say what is trivial? That is why the listening is so important. It is important that they feel that someone has heard them, and I feel it is important that, through me, he hears them, that he hears their cries and, in his mercy, through his grace, grants them forgiveness.

Now I hear sounds from the adjoining space. What will I hear in a few moments? Yes, there will be the formula, and the excuses, but what will I hear? Perhaps I will become witness to some tragedy, or complicit in some felony, I cannot tell. These things I do know: This is important, it matters to them and it matters to me. It is important that listening is what I do best.

(9^th October 2016 – 348 words)

Listening is what I do best (Cheerful)

Listening is what I do best

(Third person? – Friendly, Cheerful – Past tense)

“Listening is what I do best” he used to say. Then he would lean back, take a long pull from his pint and create that pregnant silence for someone else to fill. And he was good at listening. When someone started talking, filling the silence he had left, he would lean forward, his eyes focussed on their face and follow what they were saying intently. His grey eyes opened wide as he followed their words and he would nod or shake his head to demonstrate that he understood the significance of what they were saying.

Jack was certainly a good listener but he was a good talker too. That was why people used to join him at the table and buy him drinks. People would even hover behind those who were seated and strain to hear what he said. When the first speaker had finished, Jack would pick up the thread and start weaving his own story.

Jack’s stories where the stuff of legend. He didn’t talk about the usual pub topics of: politics, sport, current affairs or the state of the nation. Instead he would take whatever the first speaker had been talking about and slowly turn it into something else, something strange and other-worldly. As often as not, he would start with “I remember when…”, telling the audience about some event in the distant past. Then the magic began. He would draw people into the story as slowly it became more and more bizarre and eyes opened wider and jaws dropped lower.

The best tales involved fishing. None of the audience doubted that Jack had once been a keen angler, but in his tales he had landed fish that should have required a trawler to bring them ashore. The “ones that got away” were larger still. People recounted one occasion when Jack described himself riding one particular monster down river like a surfer until it eventually escaped him in the sea.

Jack was certainly good at listening, but most of the regulars in the pub, and plenty of visitors, thought that what he was best at was telling stories!

(7^th October 2016 – 363 words)

Listening is what I do best (First person menacing. Present tense)

Listening is what I do best

(First person menacing. Present tense)

Listening is what I do best. I am good at so many things, but listening is certainly the thing I do best – listening and, perhaps, waiting.

My hearing is good, but listening is so much more than just hearing. I have learned to listen very carefully. I am not listening for conversation, oh no! I am waiting for the slightest sound which disturbs the silence. I turn my attention first in one direction and then in another. I focus my attention in each direction in its turn as I search the darkness. I don’t want to miss anything.

I can feel the coldness which surrounds me. I can feel the darkness. Sometimes I think that I can touch it and feel its texture. Sometimes it feels cold and slick like polished metal and sometimes the coldness feels soft and yielding. Then it is like stroking a fish.

In fact, all my senses are acute. My eyesight is at least as good as my hearing, but I don’t use sight very much in the darkness. My sense of smell is subtle and delicate. I can usually smell things before they come within reach. Finally, there is my sense of taste. I long to experience taste again. I am so cold and I am so hungry.

If you come this way, then do not think that you will evade me. I am sitting here patiently in the cold and the darkness. I am waiting for you and I am listening. Listening is what I do best.

(7^th October 2016)