Saturday 25 May 2013

The Party: Jeremy's Day.


Jeremy fondled the crisp fifty euro notes in his left pocket as he stood across the street from the off licence. Sweat poured from his brow and he reached up with his right hand to wipe the coalescing moisture away. He breathed in deeply in an effort to chase the butterflies in his stomach off. It worked, more or less. Now he was merely anxious instead of terrified. He'd been handed the fifty euro notes by his mate Paul thirty minutes earlier. Paul's parents were away so he had the run of the house for the weekend. Being sixteen, they had immediately decided to throw a rager in the free house. The money was to be their beer fund. All Jeremy had to do was work up the courage to cross the road and load up on Dutch Gold, cheap cider, vodka and a six pack of wine coolers for Lisa.

Lisa's pending attendance was the only reason he'd been talked into getting the drinks. If he could show he was cool then she'd definitely go out with him. Maybe.

Paul had been picked for the errand as he had his dead brother's ID card. Mark had died in a car accident a year ago, aged nineteen, but his ID card was still valid. Jeremy looked slightly like Mark had; they shared the same hair colour and gaunt face. Despite this, Jeremy hoped that the cashier wouldn't be too observant.

Traffic was light as Jeremy ran over the road to the shop and entered. He gazed around the Off Licence in wonderment at the range of products on display. He'd never known that there were so many enjoyable ways of killing brain cells! There were Beers and Wines from all over the world. He almost drooled in anticipation. The upper end of the alcohol market didn't interest Jeremy. Fine wines and spirits weren't what he and his friends needed. They required the refreshment equivalent of rocket fuel.
He picked up a basket and wandered over to the cider section. He decided that the best way to make his budget stretch was to avoid the top name brands and anything that advertised on television. Jeremy stuffed a couple of two litre bottles of hard cider into the basket and moved on. Beer was tougher. There were just so many brands! He saw something called "French Beer" on the lowest shelf. It was too cheap to even have a name! That was awesome. He picked up twenty four bottles of it for €18. He also grabbed a few bottles of an actual beer he'd heard of. They were for him; he'd be classy and impress Lisa with his knowledge of world beers.
"I much prefer IPA's to Dunkels or white beers!" he'd inform her.
Girls loved sophisticated men: James Bond films wouldn't just lie about that.
Next Jeremy placed a six pack of wine coolers in the basket for Lisa, along with a dozen of those vodka and lemonade drinks for the other girls who would be attending.

Now was the moment of truth: he had to go up to the cash register and get some bottles of spirits as well as actually pay for the stuff.
The register was manned by a middle aged woman of impressive girth. There was a long queue. Jeremy had been worried that the scale of his purchases would mark him out for suspicion. He needn't have worried: tomorrow was Good Friday. The Bars and Off Licences throughout Ireland would be closed so normally responsible adults were panic buying as if the apocalypse was looming. A woman in front of him had fifteen bottles of wine in her trolley.

Jeremy waited as the others paid for their purchases. His anxiety returned as he moved up the queue. Suddenly, it was his turn.
"D'ya have ID?" asked the whale behind the counter.
Jeremy fumbled in his pocket and produced his deceased brother's ID card. Shamu the Orca studied the card forensically. Jeremy tried his best to look nonchalant. The woman handed the card back.
"Fine. Anything else?"
"Yeah. Could I get two bottles of vodka and one of rum please?"
The shop assistant turned around like an ocean liner and picked the bottles Jeremy had requested off the shelf.
She scanned the pile of bottles and cans and Jeremy began bagging his haul. He paid the denizen of the deep the requested amount and left the shop as quickly as he could. As he exited he noticed a Guard car roll to a stop at the kerb.
No! Thought Jeremy. I was so close!
What would he do? The guards would bring him home and confiscate the booze. He'd be mortified. He'd never get to insert his tongue into Lisa's throat now!
Just as Jeremy was on the verge of breaking down into sobs, the Guards got out of their car and walked into the Off Licence, ignoring him completely.
Jeremy took this as a gift from the gods and ran to Paul's house. This was going to be the greatest party ever.

Sunday 19 May 2013

Convention report: Children’s Books Ireland Conference 2013. May 18th.


In a break from my trawl through the seedy underbelly of Comic conventioneering, (that’s not a real word, don’t use it), I attended the first day of the CBI Children’s Books conference in the Lighthouse Cinema.

If you live in Dublin and haven’t been to the Lighthouse then I recommend it. The Cinema was built underground over three levels. It’s spacious and well kept. It regularly hosts special screenings of classic movies as well as your usual fare.  Just don’t go there when the horse sales are held outside twice a year.  As a conference location it’s actually pretty good with good transport links and a couple of decent places to eat and drink nearby. It’s actually be a really good place to organise a comic or science fiction themed convention due to the large amounts of free space and the screens which could be used for panels.

As you can probably guess, the conference dealt with the growing area of Children’s books in Ireland. Ireland appears to punch above its weight in this field. Possibly because there’s nothing else to do in this rainy nation other than make up stuff to keep the children from tearing the curtains from the windows because they can’t go outside.  Bray is full of writers for similar reasons: basically you have to create your own entertainment out here.

Guests at the conference on Saturday included Sarah Ardizzone, (Translator) HervĂ© Tullet, (Illustrator) John Boyne (bestselling author) and  Sarah McIntyre, Alan Nolan and Rory McConville (comic book writers and Artists).

The panels were pretty good, particularly those with Sarah Ardizonne as she discussed the challenges of translating slang, which a lot of kid’s books make use of and the interview with John Boyne (Dublin native and writer of “The boy in the striped pajamas.”)

The guests were all willing to answer questions and were engaging. I don’t think the conference would be for everybody as it is most suited to those who are actively working in the field or want to break in, such as myself. I can’t imagine it would be of much interest to the general public and it’s also pretty pricey at €100 for a weekend pass.

So, in a nutshell, it was enjoyable and informative but very specific to that small group of people who want to entertain the young with words and pictures, which is fine. Dublin has plenty of opportunities for you to meet and talk to writers such as the upcoming writers’ week.

Back to the short stories next week.

Saturday 11 May 2013

Through the woods.


Laura stuck her hands deeper into the pockets of her fleece in the hope that this would keep the cold out a little longer. It was freezing and dark. She’d stayed late at school to study in the library and finish her biology presentation for next week. She had a tendency to use organisation and routines to stop degrading into a crazy person. Now she had the presentation finished she could relax, or, at least, what passed for “relaxed” in her world. There was always the Spanish exam to study for. It was only two weeks away! Where had the time gone?

Laura wanted to get home and out of the cold as quickly as possible. The road around the hill to her parents’ house was long and winded around the landscape like a snake: cutting across the fields and through the forest would save fifteen precious minutes. She changed direction and reached the fence that separated the paved road from the dirt forest track. She hopped over the fence and splashed into a small puddle on the other side. She thought about the forest as she walked. She used to hate coming here when she was a kid. It was spooky. In winter the bare trees cast threatening shadows in the moonlight, the branches looking like grasping arms. In summer the leaves on the trees were so thick and intertwined that all the sunlight was blocked out, leaving the forest unnaturally cold.

Laura shivered. Her breath misted in the air in front of her mouth. She wondered whether she should turn back but she decided to press on. She was already nearly half way there and besides she wasn’t eight anymore, she was fifteen. She was almost an adult. She had nothing to fear she said to herself. She plodded on, as the muddier patches of the dirt track sucked at her boots. As she reached the forest an owl hooted loudly, Laura’s heart jumped inside her chest. She recovered from the shock and composed herself. It was only an owl, she’d live.

She trudged forward into the forest; the full moon lit her way. In a way it was safer than taking the road: the road had no streetlights and drivers sometimes took chances that they shouldn’t. More than one person had lost their lives on dark evenings when their cars had skidded off the road or someone out walking had been hit by some city dweller trying out their new SUV on the country roads.

It got colder as Laura carried on, she didn’t notice the icy puddle on the ground until she had placed her foot on it. He legs flew out from underneath her and she hit the ground heavily. Her head cracked against a rock and she passed out.

Laura awoke a few minutes later. Her head rang like a bell. She placed her hands on her forehead, she felt something sticky: blood.

“Darn it.” She said. She looked around. The ground was covered in snow. There hadn’t been any forecast and it hadn’t been there before she had slipped. How long had she slept? The full moon reflected off the snow so her surroundings seemed brighter than ever. In the distance she could see a light. There were no other houses in the area other than her home and the area wasn’t scenic enough to get hill walkers. Could it be her parents? She took her mobile phone from her pocket to call them. No luck. The phone must have been broken by her fall, the screen was cracked and just displayed a bunch of zeroes. Laura picked herself up off the ground and walked towards the light. It was moving through the forest in her general direction, it had to be someone with a torch. As it moved closer, Laura realised that it was an old fashioned lantern. It was held by an old man in a long green coat who was shuffling slowly through the snow.

“What you doing there girl?” said the man.

“I’m walking home. My parents live a couple of miles that way.”

“Who are your parents? What’s your name?” He demanded.

“I’m Laura, Laura Richards.”

“Richards? You a relation to Betty Richards?”

Betty Richards? Did he mean Grandma Elizabeth? She’s been dead for years. thought Laura.

“Yes.” Laura said. “I’m a relative of hers.”

“Well then. I suppose I can help you. Come on. We’ll look at that cut on your head. Then I can bring you to the edge of the forest nearer your home.”

“That’s great! Thanks.”

“Move it on! It’s freezing out here.”

Laura noticed that the temperature had dropped dramatically since her fall. She buried her head deeper into the collar of her fleece and walked after the man.

“Come on.” He said impatiently. “My place isn’t far.”

Laura followed the old man. It was strange that she didn’t recognise him. She had been living here for two years, ever since her grandmother died. Her dad had moved the family out here to look after the family farm. He had though it would be a nicer place to raise the family than the city. Laura had protested at the move at first, she had been scared at losing contact with her friends. But rural life wasn’t too bad. Her new home didn’t exactly have a thriving social scene but the village where she attended school did have a scattering of people her own age. As a newcomer she had been accepted surprisingly quickly, half of the other kids’ parents had been friends with her Dad or Grandmother so they’d been very welcoming. It was a surprise to her that she didn’t recognise this man. She thought she’d met most of the inhabitants of this sleepy area. Nothing much changed there and everybody knew everyone else’s business.

Laura and the old man reached a hut in the woods. Laura hadn’t known that anyone lived out here. The old man opened the lock on the door and led the way inside. A fire was blazing away in the fireplace and the hut was warm. The hut contained a bed, a chair, a wooden bench that served as a table and the fireplace. At the far wall there was a small stove for cooking and a cupboard. There were a couple of wooden tea chests placed up against the walls.

“Sit down there and I’ll take a look at your head.” The old man said.

“OK. What’s your name?” Laura asked, embarrassed that it had taken her so long to ask the man such basic information.

“Cotter.” He spoke as he looked at her wound. “It’s not deep; I’ll clean it and put on a bandage. That should do it.”

Cotter moved over to one of the chests and took out a small wooden box and a knife.

He poured some iodine onto a cloth and cleaned the cut on Laura’s head. The iodine stung and Laura grimaced in pain.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Cotter said as he finished cleaning the cut.

He cut a length of bandage from a roll that had been stashed inside the wooden box and wrapped it around her head.

“There.” He said once he had finished. “Come on. It’s late.”

Cotter opened the door of the hut and ushered Laura outside. It was snowing again. Cotter took the lantern off a hook beside the door and led the way through the darkness. They walked in silence through the snow. Laura concentrated on ground as she wanted to avoid slipping on another patch of ice. One fall and injury was enough for one night. Mr Cotter stopped walking when they reached the edge of the wood.

“This is as far as I go. You should be able to make it back to the road from here.”

“I know where I am now. My house isn’t far. Sorry if I ruined your evening.”

“It’s fine.” He said curtly and walked back the way he came. He disappeared from sight into the forest in seconds.

Laura continued in the direction of the road. It had stopped snowing as she passed out of the forest. She had covered nearly a mile when she saw another light approaching from the direction of her home. It was her Dad.

“Dad!” Laura shouted. “I’m here!”

“Laura!” said Mr. Richards in relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry. I took a shortcut through the woods but slipped on some ice in the snow. I cut my head but Mr Cotter took me back to his place and put this bandage on me.”

Laura tapped the bandage on her forehead as proof of her injury.

“What snow?” asked Mr Richards.

Laura looked around. The night was still cold but there wasn’t a flake of snow anywhere to be seen. Even the forest, which had a thick carpeting of snow five minutes before was completely clear.

“But…Mr Cotter. He lives in a hut in the forest. I thought you said no one lived there.”

“Cotter has been dead since I was your age. The hut rotted away years ago. Come on. We’ll talk about it when we get home. It’s freezing out here.”

Dad wrapped his arm around Laura’s shoulder and guided her down the hill.

Laura took one last look at the forest: Next time she’d take the road home, even if it was a longer journey.