Hi everyone, I have been through the competitions and picked out the best ones for the group, good luck and let us all know if you enter so we can cheer you on from afar.
WRITE BY THE SEA IN FOLKESTONE
To provide a safe, inclusive and constructive environment for local writers to share and discuss their work.
Drew Wagar was born in Canada in 1970, but has lived in the UK since 1972. He was educated at the university of Brighton where he studied Computer Science. Drew published his first novel, ‘Torn’, in 2011 and followed this up with a short story in the anthology ‘Fusion’ in 2012. Drew has written one of the official novels set in the universe of Elite: Dangerous by Frontier Developments. This book, ‘Elite:Reclamation’ , is now on Amazon worldwide. EMANATION is the first book in Drew’s upcoming ‘Shadeward Saga’, hardback editions will be available from October 2015. http://www.drewwagar.com
Drew is on his tenth novel at the moment with them all available on Amazon here.
Write By The Sea are hosting these storytimes on a Thursday from 1pm until 2.30pm every week. Please feel free to pop along and share your stories, poems, lymeric or even just bullet points about whatever the theme is. On the 10th of October, our theme is LOVE.
They also have some great things for sale so well worth popping in and having a browse at what they have.
One of our members Andy has launched this competition so let’s get thinking about sci-fi or fantasy stories set in Folkestone. We only have until the 21st October so I really hope I can get mine done in time. The winning stories can go on here so everyone can read them.
Let’s get writing!
Behind the clean, efficient counter of the lost property department at Euston Station lurks a dense jungle of paraphernalia left by passengers, including mobile phones, sunglasses and purses.
And a vast and assorted collection of umbrellas.
The office has been closed for hours, and the last train has long left the station.
All is quiet – until four of the department’s, hopefully temporary, residents break away to the furthest corner and engage in earnest conversation.
The first umbrella, a Liberty print ladies version, opened the debate by stating that “you won’t believe how I ended up here. My owner brought me from North Wales on a shopping trip. By early afternoon she had accumulated designer bags from Harrod’s, John Lewis, Harvey Nichols and many other high-end stores. She turned down the offer of a bag to put me in, as it was raining steadily outside at the time, and I was called into immediate action.
I had a premonition even then that, in the panic and confusion that was bound to accompany the train’s arrival at Crewe for her connection, I might be left behind. And so I was, though I did get an extra trip back to London.
I suspect the half bottle of Prosecco she drank on the journey didn’t help”.
A foldable child’s Peppa Pig design replied “mine was a young mother with two kids, both with their own umbrellas. I “belonged” to her five-year-old daughter, and the six-year old boy carried one in the shape of a particularly ugly frog. Their mum had brought them to London for the day from Hemel Hempstead to visit the Natural History and Science Museums.
The day was going well until it was time to catch the train home. As they gathered their belongings for the return journey, mum discovered that one of the umbrellas was missing and harangued her daughter for leaving it somewhere, the precise location and timing being a total mystery at the time.
Well, I can exclusively reveal now that I was left in the ladies’ loo opposite Platforms 1 and 2.
Oh, and by the way, that blasted frog survived the ordeal”.
At that point, a multi-coloured beach brolly interrupted, insisting that “they’re both conventional ways of being left behind. My abandonment was much more interesting. They brought me, along with their two teenage boys, from Watford Junction on a day trip to the seaside. I spent five hours on Viking Bay Beach at Broadstairs, shielding them from the whistling wind and intermittent drizzle, I blew inside out at least twenty times (fortunately my spokes are strong and I didn’t suffer any lasting damage), and how did they repay me?
Left me to go round the entire Circle Line three times, being pushed from seat to seat (I nearly gone thrown onto the platform at Shepherd’s Bush Market), before a kind commuter picked me up and brought me here”.
A large, black, Ministry of Defence affair with hand-carved ash handle had been listening to these laments with increasing irritation. He could not restrain himself any longer and haughtily exclaimed “that’s all very interesting but incredibly boring. My owner is a senior civil servant currently employed on top-secret government business. It is as highly stressful as it is well remunerated and requires high intelligence and discretion. He needs to relieve himself – literally – on occasions or it would all become too much.
So, his Tuesday afternoons are set aside for visits to a professional lady along the road from here at King’s Cross. To cover his tracks he always walks from his office in Whitehall and, due to today’s inclement weather, I was recruited to join him. We arrived at the appointed time and he promptly disappeared to carry out his business. At least he had the good grace to prop me by the door to the flat rather than condemn me to witness the proceedings from the inner sanctum.
At the customary time of four in the afternoon, the door opened and, as immaculately attired as he had been when he arrived, he took his leave. However, with the sun strenuously trying to penetrate the tattered curtain in the lady’s bedroom, thus restricting his vision, he omitted to collect me on his way out.
So how did I get here, I hear you ask?
It transpired that, rather than, as I would have expected, she resided in the hovel that hosted the afternoon’s divertissement, the lady in question actually commuted to her place of work on a daily basis, just like the office workers and retail staff that frequent the concourse here from the early morning until midnight.
After attending to three more gentleman callers, she duly took the 18:57 to Birmingham New Street, but not without making a short detour to this establishment to place me in its safe custody.
I must say I was surprised but equally gratified, to learn that the entertainment industry is as subject to gentrification as any other these days.
It makes one proud to be British”.
By Tony Quarrington
Warning some mild nudity
If I climb to the very top of my house and look at an angle through the attic box room window I can see into my neighbour’s garden. Well, I could when old Mrs Rogers lived there but not so well now that the new people have moved in. They are a couple, well I think they are a couple but I don’t know if they are married. Who can tell these days? People just move in together and everyone just accepts it, not like when I was a young woman. I know that they both go to work because I have watched them going off in the mornings. He doesn’t wear a business suit. He wears one of those polo shirts with a logo on it. I don’t think he is a builder though because he is quite clean when he comes home. Maybe he works in a shop or is a waiter or a barista (whatever they are?) She usually wears smartish clothes, sometimes a skirt but more often trousers. She has one of those name tag things around her neck with the council logo on. Perhaps she is a social worker or a librarian. I suppose she must be quite respectable to work for the council but they take all sorts now.
Anyway, I can’t see into their garden so well since they have put up the new fence. A dirty great six-foot thing, all I can see now is a bit right next to the house. I dug out Reg’s old binoculars but even with them, I can’t see much more. What do they want to do in their garden that they have to keep so private?
Last weekend they were laying a patio. Well, I think that is what they were doing because I can’t actually see that far but I watched him carrying in a whole lot of slabs and they have been out there all day working. I know the weather is warm but does he realise how awful he looks with no shirt on. He has a beer belly and tattoos. It looks disgusting. He was wearing shorts too with socks and boots. What is that all about? I saw that when he was taking things in from the car. I can’t see his bottom half in the garden now because of that wretched fence. She was out there with him in a little strappy sun top that showed off her bingo wings. I couldn’t see what else she was wearing but I expect it was those cycling shorts. Does she realise what she looks like? She really doesn’t have the figure for things like that.
On Wednesday they had a delivery. They haven’t asked me to take in parcels yet but I expect they will soon as they are both working but he seemed to be at home on Wednesday. It was a very large box with the name EzySpa on the side. I quickly looked it up on Google and it would seem to be an inflatable hot tub. Well, that will really bring down the tone of the neighbourhood. They are the sort of things that people on ITVB have – not that I ever watch it but I have seen the trailers.
It is warm again this weekend so I expect they will be out in the garden again, probably in their new hot tub doing whatever it is they do. You can’t swim in them and apparently, they are full of germs like Legionnaires disease. You wouldn’t catch me in one. I can’t see it but I can hear them because now they have put up an enormous sun umbrella that completely blocks my view. Whichever way I stand I can’t see into their garden at all.
They have got friends round because I have seen them arriving and they have parked their cars outside my house. She was out in the front garden hugging them and doing those ridiculous air-kisses and wearing one of those full-length floaty dresses that people wear as cover-ups on the beach. Not really suitable for a dinner party I think.
I took my little doggy out for a walk past their house this evening. There is a tree just by their garden where he likes to do his business so I have to stand there for some time. I can hear them in there bold as you like, laughing and talking. I can’t quite hear the words because there is music playing. I can hear the clink of glass though and the sound of splashing water. I expect the women are drinking Prosecco and the men are being very macho and drinking beer straight from the bottles, a disgusting and unhygienic habit. Why can’t they use glasses? Maybe can’t be bothered with the washing up.
They are still at it and it is past 10 o clock at night. They have fairy lights in the garden and I can see them shining from my attic window but I can’t see what is going on because of that blessed umbrella. It is all very decadent. I expect they are all frolicking around in the nude. An alfresco orgy in a quiet residential street in Folkestone. What is the world coming to? I could call the police and have them arrested for indecent exposure except for the fact that I can’t actually see them. Anyway, the police don’t bother with social disturbances now. They would probably just dismiss me as a prudish old woman. I won’t be able to go to bed until it has finished otherwise I might have disturbing dreams. Reg and I never even entertained the idea of things like that.
By Jane Cottle
Hoping to see lots of people at this event as Julie is a very well known author from Whitstable. Julie started her writing on Eastenders and then went on to write a memoir about her daughter, which proved very popular. Julie now spends her time writing crime stories in her beach hut and is now on her seventh book!
Bring along a friend and tell everyone please.