CHASING MY TAIL

Image from here

I recently had help to launch a marketing purge in a bid to bring in some new real life stories to market to my clients in national women's magazines.

The response was amazing with many new leads created but it wasn't until I started to respond to the calls that I found myself in a whirl of making calls that just led to me chasing my tail for a good couple of months.

The stories were all great. There was the young couple who had been ostracised by their families because he dumped her friend for her and her parents thought he was a user and a waster but now they are happily settled down with a new baby on the way, all is forgiven.

Two things I always make clear is that the story must be original - it must not have appeared elsewhere before - and people must be prepared to be photographed. The couple agreed but at the point where there was real interest in their story, they suddenly decided they didn't want any photos used but they were happy to give me their words.

I explained again that the story would not work without pictures and so, without an apology, they just backed out leaving me with a week's wasted work in their wake. It's not such a big deal as it has happened before but disappointing none the less.

Then there was the uplifting story of forgiveness from a child, now grown up, whose dad - jailed for neglect because of the tragedy of falling into drug use - never got the chance to make things right because he was murdered in prison. There is so much more to say about this story but the lady concerned, who needs the consent of another family member, shied away because others were not as keen to share the story as she was. I hope she will change her mind and come back to me at some point as this is the most moving story I have heard in a long time. Either way. I wish her family well.

I can't even begin to list the respondents to the ad who gave numbers that didn't connect, those who never picked up at all despite several calls, and those who claimed "it wasn't me, you've got the wrong number" when I eventually made contact.

Then there was one lady who spoke to me about a poignant story of child abuse. All very relevant stuff as old traumatic and buried memories surface due to the scandal that is Jimmy Savile.

The horror stories being told about this alleged perverse DJ has reawakened nightmares of lost childhood innocence at the hands of others for too many of the 60s, 70s, and 80s generation although this respondent's case was not related to Savile or any other celebrity of the day.

I worked a couple of days doing some research and thinking of the best angle to approach this from and when I phoned the lady back to check details, ask about photos, I only got as far as saying that it was me when she hung up immediately. I did try again, giving her the benefit of the doubt that we got inadvertently cut off, but she didn't pick up. I guess some stories take courage to tell but those who do often find it a cathartic experience.

One touching story of triumph over extreme adversity did come to fruition. A sample photo was supplied, information provided, teaser written and approved, and then a moment of cold feet as the lady concerned suddenly questioned who she was dealing with.

She does trust me now, and trust is very important. I managed to assure her that I was genuine with many years experience of dealing with the national press and writing for magazines but after one rejection from a magazine which held her story for almost two weeks to consider, we now have to start the process again.

Magazine features can only work with consent of the person featured so there is never going to be case where I take details of a story and run with it. At every stage of the process it is important to keep the subject informed so that it goes as smoothly as possible to publication - and nothing comes back to bite us afterwards.

I now have a new batch of stories to chase and I can only hope they don't lead to yet another two months of chasing my tail and getting nowhere.

Meanwhile if you think you have a story that might work for a magazine feature then please do get in touch

And if you don't have one yourself, perhaps friends or family might so please feel free to share this post with all your contacts.

Although many people do not tell their stories just to make cash, magazines will pay regardless and with Christmas up and coming, any story commissioned now could lead to a nice nest egg to help with the festive expense.

WRITING FOR RADIO

I've never written a radio script before because I think in screen visuals but I might have a go and enter this competition run by the BBC Writer's Room.

I attended a couple of their workshops at De Montford University while I was studying for my MA at Nottingham Trent and I found them inspiring, educational and enlightening.

I handed over my 10 minute script for consideration. I received a very nice reply but it wasn't one that impressed so maybe I'll have better luck with a radio piece.

The thing to watch out for when writing a radio script as opposed to writing for screen is the obvious. People listening to a radio show have to be shown what the actors are doing because they can't see them.

For example, you can hand over a cup of tea on screen and the viewer will see it along with the look on the face of the actor who delivers it and the one who receives it. Words are not necessarily needed.

On radio it's different so if that cup of tea is an important part of the action then it has to be mentioned in a way that conveys that action.

You could say : "Here's your cup of tea" and if you want to show character interaction and the relationship between characters then you can even add feeling : "Here's your cup of tea. I hope it flipping chokes you" or even : "Here's your cup of tea darling. I made it special just as you like it, milk first, nice and strong and as sweet as you are to me."

One thing you have to admire about all writers is their compulsion to write even if they think their writing will go nowhere but the bottom drawer of their desk.

Being a writer is a lifelong learning experience and a craft where experience brings expertise so it's time that I ventured into radio writing to see how far my skills will stretch.

To anyone else entering the Writer's Room Writer's Prize then good luck. We writers surely need it.

PLAYING WITH CHARACTERS

Image from here

After I had written this story about a woman leaving home after a row with her husband, I decided to think about what her husband would be doing while she sat on a train to London and ended up with Kev's Story below. I find it useful to play with characters like this and it will help me to amend and rewrite The Rings and finely tune the character of Jackie and what the story is about.

KEV'S STORY

Kev moved in to the mirror to get a better view of his nose. It was sore. Dried blood crusted around the edges of his left nostril and there was redness turning blue on the bridge. He opened the cabinet door. Inside was stacked with her body cream, potions and sprays.
He wondered why there had to be so much of this damn crap! It’s not as if she’s going to miraculously become 20 overnight and she looks fine as she is. They could hold a bloody car boot sale there was so much of it this shit that the kids bought her each birthday, Mother's Day and Christmas which she dutifully slapped on parts of her body both seen and unseen but mostly her face in a bid to iron out the wrinkles that had started to map deep lines on her brow and around her eyes and mouth.
His big hands thrust inside to grab a bag of cotton wool but the string at the top of the bag wrapped itself around the cabinet contents. They clattered out in a crash as he pulled the cotton wool out. Cream from a broken bottle crept across the tiled floor. He picked up tubes and jars and stuffed them back inside the cupboard, grabbed a fresh towel from the rail, and threw it over the greasy mess on the floor. He hadn’t been this angry with her since she washed his jeans with the lottery ticket in the pocket that time. He turned back to the sink, and dabbed at his nose with a damp piece of cotton wool and screwed his eyes tight, concentrating on making the intense soreness disappear. The pain reminded him of Jackie’s anger at finding that damn earring.

“I hate you,” she’d said as she threw clothes into a case.
“Ok, ok. Right. I’ll tell you,” He had to say something to stop her leaving. “I found it. I was going to leave it behind the bar. Honest!”
Jackie grabbed clothes from her wardrobe.
“I haven't done anything, you've got to believe me. This is daft.”
His constant denials just made her more angry. There was nothing more he could say so he threw a dart.
“OK. So could you blame me if I did? These days you're more frigid than an ice pole left in the freezer for a month.”
That’s when Jackie punched him. Just lunged at him with a clenched fist. It connected with his top lip. He felt the tooth cut into his gum. Then she came at him again. He pushed her back from him with one hand, and held her back with the other flat-palmed against her head. She swung her fists at the air between her arms and his body. He let go, she propelled forward and bounced off him, bumped his nose with the top of her head as he bent down to try and catch her. It hurt like hell.
He held his wrist to his nose and felt the rage rise as the blood trickled down.
“Well go then! Go on! Fuck you,” he’d said as he picked up scattered shoes and hurled them into Jackie’s case. It sat gaping open on the bed, clothes hanging over the sides. One shoe landed inside and the other hit the pillow.
Jackie pulled her grey shoulder length hair back into a furious knot. Her head must hurt. A lump had appeared but she showed no pain. She put the stray shoe in the case.
“Jackie. Look, I didn't mean it. Can't we just talk about this?”
He moved in at her back and tried to turn her to face him. He wanted to talk, it had all got so out of hand but she pushed him away.
“Get off me!” She turned back to the case. “The one thing we said Kev. The One Thing. We’d never, ever, go with anyone else - unconditional love and devotion - remember! No matter what else happened, whatever problems we had to face, we did it together; we’d always pull through … even after Liam…”
That was a bit below the belt. What the hell did Liam have to do with this?
Jackie’s voice wobbled into a squeak; she regrouped with a roar ; “And you just go off with some tart and for what, Kev? What? A one night shag? Is sex all that matters to you?”
He grabbed her arms, made her listen.
“Look I can't remember, all right. I was drunk. I've really got no idea how that earring ended up in my pocket. All I know is that I woke up with a banging head at Craig's place this morning and he drove me home. He had to stop on the way so I could puke.”
She turned to face him. The look on her face was somewhere between “I told you so” and “I'm never wrong.” Both usually preceded a lecture which came with contempt.
“Your phone rang me last night. Your mobile must have gone off in your pocket or something. I kept shouting helloo but there was no response and all I could hear was heavy breathing and the occasional female giggle in the background.”
“It must have been someone with Craig,” Kev protested.
She continued : “As you lay snoring like a pig this morning, I checked your pockets for your phone. I was going to recharge it if the battery had gone in case you hadn't switched it off. The last call was to our landline and it lasted 15 minutes before your credit ran out. I couldn't redial and make another call while it was connected. That's when I found the earring.”
She turned back to the bed and bent to fasten the suitcase. “And it's not just that. I'm not entirely stupid, you know. The late night “emergency” jobs that have suddenly come in these last few months. ”
“What are you on about?” Kev really didn't have a clue. “The very nature of “Emergency” means sudden. You should be pleased we've been busy. It pays the fucking mortgage.”
She turned full face towards him. Her dark eyes burned into him like flame throwers. “So what about the calls I've been getting. The “caller unknown” ones when the other end goes down as I pick up?”
Kev scratched his head. “Maybe it's one of those robotic promotion calls that try to sell you something like PPI claims and that.”
She shot him a look of disgust. “You've been behaving like an arse lately too. Something's changed. I can feel it.”
Kev looked puzzled : “Not from me it hasn't. Are you going through the menopause or something?”
Jackie curled her lip and flared her nostrils like there was a bad smell in the room. “Bastard.” She eased the suitcase from the bed.
“I’ve never been with anyone else. Ever. And believe me, it’s not as if I haven’t had the opportunity. Maybe I should have taken it. I wish now that I had!” She sniffed the air, pulled up the handle of the suitcase and wheeled it to the door.
Kev hung on her last words.
“Opportunity? Who? When?” He followed her downstairs, grabbed her arm to stop her leaving and she shrugged it off.
“Just fuck off, Kev. ”
“Jackie, please. You've got this all wrong. We need to talk about this.”
The door slammed and she was gone.

Kev looked at the mess made by the spilled face cream on the bathroom floor, swiped the towel through it, lifted it up in a scrunch and binned it. His head throbbed even more than it did when he collapsed on his bed that morning before Jackie woke him up demanding to know what he'd done last night. There had to be more to her leaving than just a bloody earring he couldn't account for. Maybe he had been out with the lads a bit too often lately as business had picked up, but the stuff about the calls and the change in their relationship seemed to be more of an excuse. He hadn't noticed anything different.
He wanted to go back to bed, to sleep, but too many thoughts circled like hawks. Whatever he had done last night he was sure he hadn't been with anyone else but this, whatever “this” is, was about more than Jackie's fear that he's having an affair. Blaming him for what she's doing would make it easier to leave. What did she mean by “opportunity?” Did she have someone else? Is that it? Is that the real reason she's left? But why did she mention Liam? He knew she blamed him for it but they hadn't talked about him in years. The wound had healed but left a scab and neither wanted to pick at it for fear of creating a festering sore.
He took a cold flannel and moved to the bedroom. It was a mess. The wardrobe doors on her side were still open. Unwanted clothes and shoes were scattered about the room. Her wedding dress was still in there and the black dress she'd worn at Liam's funeral which she hadn't worn since but kept as some form of grim reminder of her grief. If only she'd recognised his loss too. Liam wasn't just her baby. He thought she'd leave then. She only married him because of Liam but she stayed after they lost him and they had three more babies, all mums themselves now. Maybe even Liam would be a dad by now if he'd lived. Kev didn't want to think about that or what he would tell the kids about where Jackie was if they called. She'd probably call them herself to get her side in first.
He lay on the bed and put the flannel across his nose. The more he thought about it the more silly this seemed and the less it seemed to be about whatever he had done last night. What had he done last night? He closed his eyes and began to drift back to the bar.


“Still got it!” he’d said as he downed a whiskey and then followed it immediately by guzzling a beer down his throat in gulps. Deep voices chanted “down, down, down!” in a crowd as he competed with his work mates to get through the line of waiting pints. Beer drenched out of the sides of his mouth and soaked his shirt. He struggled to keep up with the game he used to play so well in his younger days when he went out every night while Jackie stayed home with the girls.
“What’s up old man? Can’t you hack it!” Craig lifted his pint and poured it with ease down his throat. He belched and reached for the next.
“You wait until you get married, mate. It takes it out of you.”
“What! Can't you get it up no more either, then?”
Kev spluttered and almost choked as Craig and his mates laughed. Bill, the other plumber who worked in Kev's small firm, cut through the teasing. “He's got a point, Kev. You're that mardy lately.”
“Don't you worry about me, pal. I've got no worries in that department and neither has my Jackie.”
Kev forced a smile. Maybe she just didn’t fancy him anymore. He hardly dare touch her these days. Always bloody tired! Another pint sank down the hatch. Bill went to get another round and Craig went outside to have a cigarette. Then those two girls walked in. He remembered that. The tall gorgeous looking one with big tits and her sumo-wrestler shaped mate. Then the room began to spin.

ON THE DOT

Shorthand skills are essential for a journalist but in the world of business the speed writing craft appears to be on its way out.

I use Tee Line and my speed is at least 100 wpm, although I could be faster after 20 years of using it since I qualified. It's useful in everything I do, from taking and transcribing notes verbatim from several hearings and meetings, to jotting down ideas that tumble rapidly out of my head. These are the bones of any journalism or fiction story I write or idea I chase.

A discreet notepad on your lap rather than a voice recorder on the table between you when doing interviews is less intimidating to the person you're talking to. Shorthand notes are indiscernible to a layman so they don't worry about what you're writing down.

I used a recorder once in a face to face interview but it's presence closed up my subject who was guarded about every comment she made. I went a second time with a notebook and pen instead and she really opened up to me about she felt about the man who had killed her daughter.

Using a recording machine in court is illegal. I once kept one running in my pocket during a council meeting but the sound was too muffled to be of use when played back. A good recording of an interview or meeting can lead to wasted hours of rewinding to find the bit I want rather than a quick flick back to relevant pages with highlighted quotes I know I'll want to pick out.

That's why I prefer shorthand but I guess in today's modern technological world of instant communication, speed writing as an essential form of record taking is a dying craft.

SPIRIT OF THE MARSH

The sun shone down on the 2nd annual Spirit of the Marsh festival which had a great atmosphere, great food, great music and marauding vikings.

The highlight of the weekend in Theddlethorpe was the procession of the Nordic invaders but there was plenty more on offer.

My other half was completely in awe of the vikings. I think it brought out the kid in him. He loved the longboat that carried the imaginary souls of 40 dead warriors. It was torched at the end of the procession so their spirits could be freed to Valhalla.

More photos are available HERE and the Mablethorpe Leader wrote about it too.

We were privileged to work as crew and earned our keep on car park duty. I'm not sure that my other half should have been given a Marshall vest because while wearing it he turned into a little clipboard and peak cap Hitler but as I'm more laid back to the point where I might fall over so we balanced out and gave good service with no complaints and a few good natured laughs.

The rain that drizzled on us as we pitched up our tent soon disappeared to leave a weekend of sunshine that got hotter as each day passed. It was truly glorious weather and a glorious event in a charming village I'd never been to before. I hope there are many more.

We will definitely be there next year come rain or shine. The Spirit of the Marsh is now a regular fixture on our summer calendar and it should be on anyone else's that likes music, fun, crafts, fire shows, beautiful countryside, camping, and great company.

FESTIVAL TEARS, HUGS AND TALENT

Hurricane winds, lashing rain and soggy tents characterised the last ever EcoFest which began some 16 years ago in honour of the start of summer and ended with emotional goodbyes to one of the best community events on the local calendar.

I first went in 2007 when I reported on it for the Grimsby Telegraph. My fee was a free ticket. The paper didn't need freelance cover for the event thereafter but they did send in a photographer to take pictures to go with a few words from a press release or gathered over the phone via a chat with the organiser Susi Mulligan.

This year BBC Radio Lincolnshire visited to capture the atmosphere at this last ever event and interviewed a few people about what the festival meant to them.

My free pass continued after 2007 as I managed to get myself on crew working the gate. During the last five years I've seen some great bands and artists, including Jon Gomm who was there last year and whose sudden fame hasn't taken him away from local venues. He still counts The Jolly Brewer in Lincoln as one of his favourite places to play.

As much as I wanted to go to the stage at EcoFest this year, the downpour was just too awful to crawl from out of the blankets that kept me warm but I thoroughly enjoyed listening to all of the bands from my tent including Lincoln based group The Validators.

It was real foot stomping stuff with an Eastern European flavour and the first time I'd heard the Russian sound mixed with reggae to produce something quite unique which you can hear thanks to the YouTube video I found and posted above.



Another one of my favourite bands is The Bad Apples from Grimsby. The band's guitarist is related to a friend who has worked on crew longer than me, the bass player rocks, and the lead singer has a powerful voice and a great stage presence.

They gave a message to David Cameron with the song Bullet with Your Name On, and the track Granny Takes a trip seemed apt for us older rockers - many brought their own kids to the first festival and had their grandkids with them at the last.

My other half sat and Eurovisioned marks to the bands. Like the European song contest, he awarded on politics and not the merit of the talent of which there was an abundance.

The Bad Apples, for example, didn't score highly for him because they were what rival Lincolnians call Cod Heads due to their Grimsby roots, and sadly the Validators, who would have won purely on the strength that they came from Lincoln, were marked down on my other half's scorecard due to the fact that they were more new Lincolnite and hailed from Derby rather than being an old Lincolnian born and bred in our home city.

The Bad Apples played a song in honour of Grimsby fishermen who lost their lives at sea and I could relate to that as my Italian ancestors were all fishermen facing those same dangers.



Merlin's Keep were another great band that defy you to stay seated and not get up and dance.

Links to other EcoFest performers over the years, including Sambalada, Starvin Sid, and the Rafters can be found HERE



There were lots of tears and hugs as the festival came to an end but for me they started on the first shift when I sat on gate with my friend Lisa and performer Andrea Ferguson who popped in for a chat during a quiet patch.

She spoke the words of a song that she had written in memory of her dad who died last year. Lisa, Andrea and I were filled with tears when she finished and then we all shared our own personal experiences of losing our parents, where we were when we heard the awful news, how we remember them and why such scars never heal if we can find a way to live with them and face them from time to time.

It was an intense, emotionally charged moment and all respect to Andrea for writing such powerful universal words that caused such cathartic and spontaneous grieving. I hear she has some possible gigs lined up in Germany and I wish her well with that.

It took Jon Gomm 20 years to become an overnight success and I wish the same for Andrea. A talent worthy of the same kind of recognition.

For the EcoFest crew sad that this will be their last gathering in June, they have the August festival Small World to look forward to on the same site at Badger's Farm, Asterby, Louth.

Word has it that now that EcoFest is no more, Small World will be bigger and better and in weather that is far more reliable at that time of year with lots of hope that the sun will shine on those who worship at the alter of damn fine music in the Lincolnshire Wolds each summer.

FESTIVAL TIME

It's Festie time again and I'm off to the gorgeous Louth Wolds to EcoFest where I work for my ticket on the gate.

Great music, fantastic company, lots of laughs, and peace of mind characterise the event which starts on Fiday, June 15 and ends on Sunday, June 17th

Small and welcoming, as one who has been going now for six or seven years, I can testify that what they say about it is true :

"Visit once and you become a friend, visit more than once and you're family."

I hope the sun shines but who cares when you're surrounded by such dramatic scenery in such brilliant company.

A full report to come when I'm back, showered, dried out and caught up on the sleep I'm sure I'll lose.