Well, The Importance of Being Arthur – though a publisher may change the title to The Day The Grumpy Angel Smiled or something – is finished and has been sent off to several writers agents around England. My prayers go with it.
In the meantime, I decided to start writing a spin-off, about one of the characters in Arthur – Sam Lord. Sam’s story started but another kept interrupting and so I’ve stopped Sam at about 4,000 words and have started a murder mystery in middle America – something I never imagined doing. It’s a lot of fun writing so that tells me a lot. At the moment it’s called Wrong Place, Wrong Time.
I’ve also started going to the West Oxfordshire Writers (WOW) group and, WOW, what a competent, inspiring and supportive group. As a writer, I’ve realised, it is so important to mix with other writers and word people to get ideas and feedback – not only on the words I’m writing but on ways to market myself and my books. Nothing tangible has happened but it feels like something is moving. Yee hah!
So Arthur's story continues from the previous blog, 1,000 words at a time ...
As Ahmed reached the curb he suddenly veered off and walked right past them. This did not make sense and Mary's apprehension grew. She looked up to see where Ahmed had disappeared to and a tall man loomed into view, in front of them.
"Excuse me, Sir, can I have a word?" asked the tall blonde man. Mary considered running and felt hot and cold all over.
"Yes, how can I help?" asked Halee quickly. "My partner is deaf and cannot speak. I can sign for him." Confusion cleared as Mary realised her voice was not a man's. She was glad of Halee's quick thinking and wanted to hug her on the spot. All she could do was smile crookedly.
"Ah, oh, can you?" asked the man, scratching blonde curls, uncertainly. "Oh, yes, well, can you tell your friend that this dropped out of his briefcase, just back there?" He handed Halee a sealed envelope.
"Oh, thank you, that's very kind," said Halee, obviously relieved.
"No problem, mate," said the man, who patted Mary on the shoulder and trotted off.
As Mary looked at the envelope in Halee's hand, it was snatched away and Mary realised it was Ahmed, with the envelope and in full pursuit of the man. The man was either lucky or practised and had soon disappeared into the crowd. Ahmed returned a few minutes later, puffing and scowling.
"It's not over yet, ladies, let's get you out of here, now!" said Ahmed, frantically waving and looking for a taxi. "Go into this café here, mill around and I'll call you when a taxi has arrived."
Nonplussed, they did as ordered and had only just got inside when Ahmed waved them back to the street.
Mary gave the taxi her address in South Kensington and Ahmed objected, saying they could be followed.
"Sam's ringing me there in an hour," said Mary, feeling her brain and all its functions returning to normal. "I want to be there when he rings."
"Right, let's do it, Mr Taxi!" said Halee.
"You know, it's impossible to tell if anyone is following us because we can only see headlights," said Ahmed, smiling, as they set out on the ten-minute ride. "The movies all tell lies!"
"Thanks Ahmed, but that's not really helping," said Mary, feeling very unsafe.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to introduce some humour," said Ahmed, looking abashed. "Perhaps we talk practicalities and I really do have to say this: I do not think your apartment is a safe place to be at all."
"But Sam's ringing me there," said Mary, determined not to let go of that ray of hope.
"And not on your mobile phone?" asked Halee.
"He didn't say, so I'm not taking any chances," said Mary.
"Leave it to the receptionist - she thinks of everything!" said Halee brightly. "Why don't we pop into your flat, divert the phone to your mobile, then scarper."
"It's not risk elimination but it's risk reduction," said Ahmed, looking slightly relieved.
"So, what's in this case, I really want to see!" said Halee, patting the briefcase.
"That's not very safe here," advised Ahmed.
"If we lock the doors, no one can jump in at the lights," said Halee, not to be put off.
"Okay, okay, we'll have a quick look, but keep a lookout for people approaching us when we slow down anywhere," said Mary, as eager as Halee and as cautious as Ahmed.
The briefcase was filled with about a dozen manila folders, each stuffed with papers. It looked very orderly. Mary pulled out the first folder and rifled quickly through the papers. Most of them concerned the accounts of one of Britain's largest companies, Power Corporation, colloquially called PoCo. There were letters from the auditors and from the director, Sir Magnus Davenport. It all looked a bit boring, really. Mary tried the second folder and there seemed to be correspondence and reports regarding the Olympic Games, due to start in two months' time in London. With details about contracts and power supply, with amendments to particular clauses, it was mainly letters between solicitors and Sir Magnus Davenport and no more interesting than the previous file.
"There's nothing about AIL, Lord Atkinson, Sam or anything else we know about," complained Mary. "What's Sam got to do with PoCo and the Olympics anyway?"
"No idea, no idea at all, Miss Collins," said Ahmed with a frown.
"Let's get creative," said Halee with undiminished enthusiasm. "The top's boring and irrelevant so let's try that yellow one at the bottom."
As they opened the yellow folder she saw drawings of machines that baffled her.
"Oh my god!" said Ahmed with surprise, his white teeth lighting up his dark face. "This … this is alternative technology … ah, intermediate technology."
"It's what?" asked Mary, totally confused.
"Look, when I studied accounting at university …" Ahmed began to say.
"You're an accountant?" asked Halee, obviously impressed.
"Yes, I qualified in both accounting and economics and did accounting for a while and then found a counsellor and some good pills and got over it!" said Ahmed, laughing and then, as if remembering where they were, became serious and looked outside, around the car. The two women followed suit. "Anyway, my favourite economist was the Austrian, E. F. Schumacher …"
"His book, Small Is Beautiful, is amazing!" said Halee, interrupting.
"And his thoughts on intermediate technology and the Law of the Disappearing Middle just had me hooked," said Ahmed. "I was going to take it all back to Pakistan and help my people … anyway, these are intermediate technology machines, machines that are not too expensive or too complex for developing nations to use and maintain; more complex than the shovel but simpler than the tractor, shall we say …"
"And these intermediate technologies keep disappearing, Miss Collins," said Halee, interrupting again. "So developing countries only have a choice of spades - which are not enough to expand their agriculture and feed their people - or tractors which they cannot afford and do not have the expertise or resources to repair."
In the meantime, I decided to start writing a spin-off, about one of the characters in Arthur – Sam Lord. Sam’s story started but another kept interrupting and so I’ve stopped Sam at about 4,000 words and have started a murder mystery in middle America – something I never imagined doing. It’s a lot of fun writing so that tells me a lot. At the moment it’s called Wrong Place, Wrong Time.
I’ve also started going to the West Oxfordshire Writers (WOW) group and, WOW, what a competent, inspiring and supportive group. As a writer, I’ve realised, it is so important to mix with other writers and word people to get ideas and feedback – not only on the words I’m writing but on ways to market myself and my books. Nothing tangible has happened but it feels like something is moving. Yee hah!
So Arthur's story continues from the previous blog, 1,000 words at a time ...
As Ahmed reached the curb he suddenly veered off and walked right past them. This did not make sense and Mary's apprehension grew. She looked up to see where Ahmed had disappeared to and a tall man loomed into view, in front of them.
"Excuse me, Sir, can I have a word?" asked the tall blonde man. Mary considered running and felt hot and cold all over.
"Yes, how can I help?" asked Halee quickly. "My partner is deaf and cannot speak. I can sign for him." Confusion cleared as Mary realised her voice was not a man's. She was glad of Halee's quick thinking and wanted to hug her on the spot. All she could do was smile crookedly.
"Ah, oh, can you?" asked the man, scratching blonde curls, uncertainly. "Oh, yes, well, can you tell your friend that this dropped out of his briefcase, just back there?" He handed Halee a sealed envelope.
"Oh, thank you, that's very kind," said Halee, obviously relieved.
"No problem, mate," said the man, who patted Mary on the shoulder and trotted off.
As Mary looked at the envelope in Halee's hand, it was snatched away and Mary realised it was Ahmed, with the envelope and in full pursuit of the man. The man was either lucky or practised and had soon disappeared into the crowd. Ahmed returned a few minutes later, puffing and scowling.
"It's not over yet, ladies, let's get you out of here, now!" said Ahmed, frantically waving and looking for a taxi. "Go into this café here, mill around and I'll call you when a taxi has arrived."
Nonplussed, they did as ordered and had only just got inside when Ahmed waved them back to the street.
Mary gave the taxi her address in South Kensington and Ahmed objected, saying they could be followed.
"Sam's ringing me there in an hour," said Mary, feeling her brain and all its functions returning to normal. "I want to be there when he rings."
"Right, let's do it, Mr Taxi!" said Halee.
"You know, it's impossible to tell if anyone is following us because we can only see headlights," said Ahmed, smiling, as they set out on the ten-minute ride. "The movies all tell lies!"
"Thanks Ahmed, but that's not really helping," said Mary, feeling very unsafe.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to introduce some humour," said Ahmed, looking abashed. "Perhaps we talk practicalities and I really do have to say this: I do not think your apartment is a safe place to be at all."
"But Sam's ringing me there," said Mary, determined not to let go of that ray of hope.
"And not on your mobile phone?" asked Halee.
"He didn't say, so I'm not taking any chances," said Mary.
"Leave it to the receptionist - she thinks of everything!" said Halee brightly. "Why don't we pop into your flat, divert the phone to your mobile, then scarper."
"It's not risk elimination but it's risk reduction," said Ahmed, looking slightly relieved.
"So, what's in this case, I really want to see!" said Halee, patting the briefcase.
"That's not very safe here," advised Ahmed.
"If we lock the doors, no one can jump in at the lights," said Halee, not to be put off.
"Okay, okay, we'll have a quick look, but keep a lookout for people approaching us when we slow down anywhere," said Mary, as eager as Halee and as cautious as Ahmed.
The briefcase was filled with about a dozen manila folders, each stuffed with papers. It looked very orderly. Mary pulled out the first folder and rifled quickly through the papers. Most of them concerned the accounts of one of Britain's largest companies, Power Corporation, colloquially called PoCo. There were letters from the auditors and from the director, Sir Magnus Davenport. It all looked a bit boring, really. Mary tried the second folder and there seemed to be correspondence and reports regarding the Olympic Games, due to start in two months' time in London. With details about contracts and power supply, with amendments to particular clauses, it was mainly letters between solicitors and Sir Magnus Davenport and no more interesting than the previous file.
"There's nothing about AIL, Lord Atkinson, Sam or anything else we know about," complained Mary. "What's Sam got to do with PoCo and the Olympics anyway?"
"No idea, no idea at all, Miss Collins," said Ahmed with a frown.
"Let's get creative," said Halee with undiminished enthusiasm. "The top's boring and irrelevant so let's try that yellow one at the bottom."
As they opened the yellow folder she saw drawings of machines that baffled her.
"Oh my god!" said Ahmed with surprise, his white teeth lighting up his dark face. "This … this is alternative technology … ah, intermediate technology."
"It's what?" asked Mary, totally confused.
"Look, when I studied accounting at university …" Ahmed began to say.
"You're an accountant?" asked Halee, obviously impressed.
"Yes, I qualified in both accounting and economics and did accounting for a while and then found a counsellor and some good pills and got over it!" said Ahmed, laughing and then, as if remembering where they were, became serious and looked outside, around the car. The two women followed suit. "Anyway, my favourite economist was the Austrian, E. F. Schumacher …"
"His book, Small Is Beautiful, is amazing!" said Halee, interrupting.
"And his thoughts on intermediate technology and the Law of the Disappearing Middle just had me hooked," said Ahmed. "I was going to take it all back to Pakistan and help my people … anyway, these are intermediate technology machines, machines that are not too expensive or too complex for developing nations to use and maintain; more complex than the shovel but simpler than the tractor, shall we say …"
"And these intermediate technologies keep disappearing, Miss Collins," said Halee, interrupting again. "So developing countries only have a choice of spades - which are not enough to expand their agriculture and feed their people - or tractors which they cannot afford and do not have the expertise or resources to repair."
Yes, it is so important to be connecting up with others who are creative in a similar direction, helps to keep us inspired and encouraged! I see there are writers offering up their work, and forums going on, on www.deviantart.com, if you feel like creating a free artist profile and becoming a defiant deviant scribbler on their site.
ReplyDeleteBlessings!
Cat x
Thanks, Cat, and I'll check www.deviantart.com now.
ReplyDeleteKia ora
Philip