Categories
Short Stories

Buried

Buried is a short story I wrote at the end of 2020. It was first published in March 2021 by CafeLitMagazine. The opening paragraphs are below, and you can visit the CafeLitMagazine website to read the full story.

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Some people have happy memories of school, forever wishing they could return to those carefree times.

Not me.

I hated school, especially sports. Each week I got Mum to write a note about a sprained ankle, sore back, or ingrowing toenail. The games teacher recognised the weak excuses, and made me watch in the cold, where I stood, wishing I could be normal, running after the ball like the others, without my belly jiggling under my shirt.

Hugging my trombone case brought comfort, knowing I was good at music. That, and chess. I would look at my watch every few minutes, worrying I might be late for computer club. When Sir blew his whistle, I hurried to the changing room to collect my school bag, which stood out among the smart Gola and Head ones, a cheap, nasty thing, like my Tommy Balls shoes.

I was a typical target for a bully.

It began on the bus. I had my trombone case between my legs, cradled in my arms. There was a thump next to me as the boy who was about to become my bully plonked down and dropped his bag on the floor. I had never noticed him before, and he didn’t speak. He had no reason, until the bus turned onto the main road out of town.

Continue at CafeLitMagazine

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Photo by Riccardo Fissore on Unsplash.

Categories
Blog Posts

Where have I been?

I’ve been quiet lately, and haven’t read much since I wrote my review of Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity, back in January. I’m reading a few short story collections by Graham Mort, Stephen King, Ernest Hemingway, Ray Bradbury, and John Steinbeck, so I’m not completely idle, but they are taking some getting through.

My main reason for being quiet is a novella I’ve been editing. I wrote it over twenty-five years ago, but when I went through it last year, I felt I should work on it some more. During the edit, I cut about fifteen percent, and think I have a much tighter piece of work now.

I’m also waiting to hear about the novel I wrote last year, provisionally titled A Different Path. After several rounds of edits, I’m expecting some professional editorial feedback which will help me determine the next steps to publication.

In addition to all the above, at the back end of last year, short stories were flowing out of me at a rate, and I’ve been submitting a few to online literary magazines this year. I hope to share some good news on that front, very soon.

So, you could say I’ve been busy.

Photo by Francesco Gallarotti on Unsplash.

Categories
Book Reviews

Book Review: High Fidelity

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby.
My rating: 5 of 5 stars.

Nick Hornby’s debut novel, High Fidelity, is the story of Rob Fleming, the thirty-something owner of North London record shop Championship Vinyl, who is going through the breakup of a long-term relationship. We join him as he tries to work out where he has gone wrong, going back over his five most memorable split-ups, some dating back to primary school.

The book is fundamentally about relationships, but it’s packed with twists and turns, lots of will he or won’t he, and it kept me guessing to the end. Rob himself is a likeable character, and throughout the novel I found myself rooting for him to find happiness. I loved the music and cultural references, and the top five lists he constantly compiles. A few times, I even looked up the tunes and listened for myself.

I’m struggling to find things I didn’t like about this book, but there aren’t any. After reading lots of dark fiction over the last few months, it was great to let my eyes flow over something light-hearted.

I recommend this novel as the perfect antidote to the current world situation. It’s sad in places, such as when Rob tries to come to terms with the idea that his ‘little boy notion of romance … had no basis in reality at all’, but overall it’s a great fun read that just might take you back to simpler times.

View all my reviews.