Stand by your book

Sometimes it's hard to be a writer
Giving all your love to just one book
You'll have bad times
Killing your darlings
When people tell you they are shit

You have to trust them,
And forgive them
Even though it's hard to understand
It 's for the better
And still be proud of it
'Cause after all it's just a draft

Stand by your draft
Give it more time to ripen
Spend all your time on writing
When nights are cold and lonely

Stand by your draft
And show the world you love it
Keep giving all your love, and craft
Stand by your draft

Stand by your book
And show the world you love it
Keep giving it a second look
Stand by your book!

Book Launch: Albertopolis Disparu

There is something enticing about closing time. Even the most ordinary supermarket, post-office or call-centre turns into a magical place when the doors are shut and the alarm system is turned on. Everyone who has read Matt Thorne’s Eight Minutes Idle knows what I mean. Everyone who has ever worked in a bar knows too that the staff-after-parties are much cooler than the parties the costumers have during opening hours. It’s hard to imagine what the Science Museum is like after six, so you can picture how excited Bronagh, Anneka and I were Monday night, during the launch of a new Science Museum Booklet: Albertopolis Disparu by Tony White.

The presentation took place in front of the Listening Post, and as long as copies are available, they will be handed out for free on the same spot. This spot was chosen because this enchanting machine, which projects live messages from internet chat rooms onto a giant grid of small screens, was the inspiration for the short story.

As the writer in residence at the Science Museum, White says he came across the preface to a lost work by author James Colvin. The structure of a main story embedded within several narratives is similar to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and typical for the Steampunk tradition this work is placed within. I don't want to spoil it for you, so I'll tell you no more, except that it made me laugh.

Now, if you’re in the vicinity of London, I suggest you hurry to South Kensington and pick up this wicked little piece of art. Apparently, the green cabman’s shelter opposite the V&A has resumed the tradition of educating taxi drivers by handing out free copies of this Science Museum Booklet. But for ordinary human beings the booklet is available at the Waterstone’s in the Science Museum and next to the Listening Post in the museum. And if you’re not in London, I suggest you download the PDF.

CCTV SITCOM

INT. COFFEE SHOP – MORNING

As always in the weekends, Brunel University Campus is deserted. Normally, students who live in halls go home to see their parents. Today the place is especially dead, because this Saturday its Valentine’s day, and those who would normally stay on campus have romantic business elsewhere.

It’s about 11.00 in the morning. In Café Rococo, the coffee shop on the corner of the Bannerman Centre, there’s only one waiter, an Indian chap with a dark red apron, reading the Starbucks Barista Manual. The only costumers, a Young Man and a Young Woman, have settled themselves on the red sofa.

Young Man has a slight West-London accent and is drinking a double espresso. He needs a haircut, his jeans are worn down and he hasn’t bothered to take off his scarf.

It’s impossible to tell where Young Woman is from, her accent shifts from an American tongue to copying Young Man’s expressions, with a hint of Scouse when she gets excited. She’s drinking a large cappuccino and has a milk moustache.

YOUNG MAN
You’re insane. Not in a million years. No.

YOUNG WOMAN
You always say that, “never again”, but deep down you know you want it, and he…

She nods at the waiter behind the counter.

Well, he doesn’t know it yet, but he wants it too. I can tell.

YOUNG MAN
I know that’s what I always say. I’m always right, too.

The waiter feels they are looking at him, tears a receipt from the cash register and folds it between the pages of his handbook.

WAITER
Can I get anybody more coffee?

YOUNG MAN
No, we’re out of here.

YOUNG WOMAN
Oh yes, I’d love another cappuccino. But I haven’t quite finished this one yet. Thanks.

YOUNG MAN
You and your little ways…

YOUNG WOMAN
If that’s what you need, darling…

Young Man takes his tobacco out of his pocket and starts rolling a cigarette.

Now don’t do that, don’t pretend you’re actually leaving already. You know you’ll stay until we’ve at least tried.

YOUNG MAN
I wasn’t always like this, you know. I’m not gonna lie about this: I’m a guy, so I’ve always been a bit promiscuous. But since I met you, things are getting out of hand.

YOUNG WOMAN
Yeah, that’s what you said. So what’s it gonna be then? The average two-times-a-week-screw in your squeaking single bed, but only when you’re sure the neighbours aren’t in, and still afraid to moan because the walls are so thin?

YOUNG MAN
Hell no. Not in this life.

YOUNG WOMAN
That’s what I thought. So what’s the plan, Peter Pan?

YOUNG MAN
All right, let’s give it a go.

He licks his cigarette and calls to the waiter.

Oi, garçon, can we have that cappuccino now?

YOUNG WOMAN
I love you, Peter Pan.

YOUNG MAN
Happy Valentine, Wendy.

The waiter approaches the sofa with a cappuccino.

WAITER
I’m sorry, mate, you’re not allowed to smoke in here.

PETER PAN
I know, but I like to have one ready for after the orgasm. Do you want me to roll you one as well?

And with that, Peter Pan and Wendy violate the waiter in Café Rococo in the broad day light. Peter Pan’s persona is that of the aloof accomplice. Wendy’s is that of the psychopathic nymphomaniac.
While Peter Pan takes off his scarf, Wendy gets up from the couch and brings her face close to the waiter’s.

WENDY
What on earth are you looking at?

WAITER
Erm… you’ve got a bit of foam on your lip…

WENDY
Yes, I’ve been saving that for you. Why don’t you have a taste?

Christmas in Wonderland

“It's so dark,” said Alice to herself; “I can't even see my own eyelids when I close them.”
She took a step forward and felt something brush against her cheek.
“What's that?” she wondered, and reached for her face. It felt like living pieces of rope, and they were aiming for her ears when she tried to wipe them away.
“CHEW ON ME,” they whispered.
So many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice said: “I think I will,” and as soon as she opened her mouth a string slipped in. As she chewed the rabbit-hole became brighter and brighter, until she saw the White Rabbit in a corner, winding up an old cuckoo clock.
“Oh dear! Oh dear! Is it that late already,” he muttered.
“Excuse me,” said Alice, still fingering her face; “Do you know what this is?”
“Why, it's a Christmas tree, and it needs decorating. You'd better get on with it, dear, before it's too late!”
“What a curious looking Christmas tree that is!” said Alice. It looked, in fact, like a bunch of black rags hanging down from the ceiling. “It must be the roots!” she thought, for she was a wise little girl. A long root curled around her shoulders and reached up to her right ear, leaving sandy stains on her dress. “DECORATE ME,” it whispered.
“Don't just stand there doing nothing,” said the Rabbit while chewing on one of the roots and turning up the light in the room a little further. “Decorate it! Quick now!”
“I would love to,” she said politely; “But with what?”
The Rabbit rushed off into one of the corridors and left Alice with the Christmas tree. Soon her eye fell on a shine through marble that was lying on the floor.
“That will do,” she said, and picked it up. She tied the long root around the glass ball and stepped back to watch it dangle. As she let go, all the roots started waving and whispering in the same rhythm.
“Wait a second,” said Alice; “I know that song!” And so she did indeed, for the roots were singing:

Fast away the old year passes, falalalala lalalala
Hail the new, ye lads and lasses, falalalala lalalala
Sing we joyous, all together, falala lalala lalala
Heedless of the wind and weather, falalalala lalalala!

Christmas in Neverland

'Oh dear,' said Wendy, as she stepped out of the lovely little house the lost boys had built for her. 'Where is everybody?'
Peter, who kept watch outside, woke up and yawned. 'Who?' he asked, rubbing his eyes.
'John, Michael and the boys,' Wendy said and she looked worried. 'Oh Peter, do tell me where they are!'
'They must be home, under the ground,' he replied, but really, he had no idea where they were.
'Oh don't be morbid!' Wendy exclaimed. 'They're not dead, so why would they be buried?'
'You silly ass,' Wendy heard close to hear left ear. Then she screeched, for something had pulled her hair really hard.
'Tinker Bell!' she said sternly, and wiped the fairy dust off her shoulder. 'Do stop being so naughty and tell me where the boys have gone off to!'
Tink darted off to Peter and sat on his hand. She made the sound of little bells in the wind, and Peter had to translate it for Wendy.
'She says they are in the woods, Wendy, to find a tree for you.'
'Oh,' cried Wendy, 'A tree! For me? What sort of a tree, a Christmas tree perhaps?'
Tink laughed haughtily and flew off.
'What sort of a tree is that?' said Peter, and he got up.
'You don't know what a Christmas tree is?' she asked with great surprise.
'Of course I do,' he said, and felt for the first time that he ought to know. 'It looks just like an apple tree, but it's blossom isn't white but yellow, and instead of apples it yields christmasses.'
'Oh dear,' cried Wendy, 'you are so funny!' And then she told him about baby Jesus, going to church, decorating a pine tree and baking ginger cookies. 'It's the cosiest time of the year,' she said, 'because everybody loves each other during Christmas and all the grown ups stop fighting for two days.'
Peter got all excited and shouted that they definitely needed a Christmas tree.
'I'll find you the biggest tree in the forest,' he exclaimed, 'and please do bake me some of those delicious cookies!'
'I will,' Wendy smiled as she watched him fly off. And when he disappeared between the trees, it started to snow in Neverland.