Eavesdropping

As a writer yourself, you will know that lots of writers have given accounts of their craft. This doesn’t tend to progress much beyond the foothills of rocket science. They shut themselves in rooms without distraction, they stick to strict schedules and they eavesdrop on unwitting people. As someone slightly lacking in discipline for the first couple of points of writerly consensus, I embraced, for a while, the eavesdropping advice. And I have to say, this doesn’t always end well.

Like other writers wishing to capture ideas and observations, I too carry a notebook and pen everywhere I go. Get a small notebook – not so small you can’t fit much on one page – in an unobtrusive shade of beige, plus two biros. When I started out, I bought a pack of bright pink notebooks with ‘Britney is fab’ – reduced in Lidl – and a pencil with a pink feather on top to match. This may have seemed lacking in seriousness, and so many people commented on the pencil that it kind of blew my cover. Plus I didn’t have a sharpener. So beige and biros is the way to go, I think.

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The Gentleman’s Magic

The fellow smoked his pipe, stroked his messy mane of a beard, and Johnson who it must be said lacked insight was unsure of what to make of him.

The man was intelligent yes, or at least, confident, and all around the walls of his innermost chamber, (a converted garage in truth) showed a life well lived. Framed photos proudly depicted the gentleman, shaking hands with Andy Warhol or standing in front of the pyramids of Giza.

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Breaking the third law

The syringe went in. As small wisps of raw power arced between her fingertips, she let out an involuntary gasp. She’d been expecting something of course, just not… this. Her entire life she’d been told she was special. “One in seven billion,” said the very serious looking people in white coats, who’d crowded round her prodding, poking, and doing all sorts of other tests, then shaking their heads.

Now, those same men stood back, as awestruck as she was, before turning to shake each other’s hands.

“We’ve done it!” one of them whispered reverently. “We’ve tamed Clarke’s Third Law.”

She didn’t know what that meant, and then… she did. Information was there for her instantly; every electron that had ever passed through any electronic storage device available for her to access at will. Some of it was fascinating, some too disturbing to contemplate, but suddenly she understood what she was. Who they were. What they’d done to her. Her brain and body felt truly alive… electric.

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An Interesting Evening at the Wizard and Slipper

Our team turned up at the pub ready to challenge our old rivals, the reigning pub quiz champions of Little Nedding. They are notorious cheats of course, what with concealed smartphones and friends planted around to covertly signal answers. But we were in great  form, brain cells bristling, which is more than can be said for the stand-in quiz-meister ( the usual one had covid­.)

The stand-in chap seemed a bit furtive. He clutched the answer sheets like a symbol of power and made a great show of concealing the pages. Definitely something peculiar about him.

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The Magic of Auto-correction

Hubert was struggling. Progress on the Business Improvement Plan requested, rather mandated, by the Directors of News Wales Live Radio was tortuous. Analytics had diagnosed a 25%  audience fall -off after the third quarter- hour. Perhaps change the bumper music. Done. Replace the liner front-selling the next guest…. possible. Could be a one hour programme was simply too long. Rearranging the playlist would address the former. The latter was frightening, heralding a possible cut to his hours and a corresponding reduction in salary. With the legally- enforceable  encumbrances of 3 ex-partners and 7 children to support, a Bentley Meteor to maintain and fuel, plus his 10 tank collection of non-native reptiles and amphibians to feed, house and heat, Hubert had decisions to make. He compiled a list of friends and professional acquaintances and started.  

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Fairytale 22

The credits rolled over the screen as he stood to turn off the television after their normal Saturday night animated film, as if it was a routine action.

“Do you think we need fairies?” she asked jokingly as she stretched after lying awkwardly for the past half an hour.

“No of course not,” he smiled as he started tickling her feet. “Our fairy tale consists of takeaways, laughter, cuddles and adventure.”

She giggled uncontrollably as she tried to wiggle away from her tickle monster.

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Secrets from Beyond the Grave

With the use of her nail file, Fiona finally pried open the bureau drawer.  It had been out of bounds for all of her childhood.  Even now, she felt that she was defying her mother.  She slid the drawer open with reverence and found the key to the glass cabinet.

Even at this sad time, she felt a smile creep across her face.  The long felt desire of handling her mother’s favourite possession made her body shake.  She picked up the old lamp and held it close to her chest.

To her astonishment, a genie materialised before her.  It stretched and yawned, and finally opened it’s eyes.

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A Different kind of Magic

Packing up his dad’s old kitbag, Billy excitedly rushed downstairs. The camping trip beckoned. The gang had finally persuaded their parents to let them sleep over at Devil’s Cave near their home.

Summer holidays had started. Most of the boys had jobs for the holidays but this weekend was a boy’s right of passage. His mother had laid out food for them, some bread, a bit of dripping, and some jam tarts. That was my contribution.

Gathering at the end of our road we set off. It was quite a climb to the cave but there was a stream bubbling away alongside the path, so we stopped to fill our pop bottles frequently.

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Magic Moments

She comes once a month with her weeny plug-in keyboard. A pair of legs are attached to them, taken from a long solid case. Then she sits on a borrowed chair, as battered as her audience, and holds her hands above the three octaves, poised like a concert player, as if the large room were the Albert Hall, as if the old dears with food stains on their mouths and tops were aristocracy in tiaras and gowns.

            Ta-ra-ta-tum! The opening notes of I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside, in an electronic tinkle, and she is singing in a pleasant tenor, smiling at the half-ring of armchairs and wheelchairs. Slumped heads lift, minds which exist in a fog have moments of clarity, return to childhood holidays, recall sandcastles, brylcreemed fathers in turned up trousers with braces, and shirts with ties, mothers with fat red legs spread in deckchairs, the sun roasting them stealthily.

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The Joker

Man holding up a joker card

Laughter echoed around the kitchen, bouncing off gleaming surfaces and easing the tension. Andy had been right. A get-together was exactly what the community needed at this difficult time.

Across the marble island, her face protruding from behind a vase of lilies, his wife, Kat, barely cracked a smile. Not that the Botox permitted much facial expression, but the sparkle had been absent from her eyes ever since their neighbour, Mark, had gone missing. Andy took a swig of beer, drowning out one bitter taste with another.

He was launching into his next comical tale when the doorbell rang. Andy excused himself and weaved through the guests to the front door, listening out for gossip. Did anyone suspect anything?

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Life is Magic

The house was like nothing she’d seen before. It smelled of biscuits and old tea; and looked like a half-buried cottage with just the top floor sticking out. This, it turned out, was an accurate description.

She’d been dropped at the end of the lane by a taciturn bus driver, who simply nodded at the lane when she asked for directions.

After walking for a mile, the lane ended, and the bramble shrouded garden began. At first her aunt’s cottage wasn’t visible, just a curl of wood-smoke from a chimney poking above the treetops. She headed towards it and arrived at the two up, three down-down-down to find her aunt leaning out of a window, shaking a large quilt covered in esoteric patterns.

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