Paul Servini's Blog, page 2
January 13, 2012
Dreaming Is Living
I have a dream. Don't mock! The kids did… at first. I'd have done the same a few years ago; last week even. A dream at sixty-eight and a half… And the only dreams I'd ever had until then were culinary nightmares and vague hopes that grandchildren might come soon.
It came on me all of a sudden. Mitsy was never a close friend. But when I heard she was dying – guess that happens a lot at our age – I had to visit. We spent all afternoon talking about nothing. But she was so glad to see me, to have someone to talk to, so she said. So little, yet she was so happy. Is that what life boils down to? I want more. So, now I have a dream.
At first, my dream was just to dream. You see, I wanted a dream but didn't know what to dream. So I just dreamt. I dreamt and followed each and every dream along the by-ways and pathways it took me. Until I found the dream… the one I could call my dream.
It gripped me from the first. It sent me into a frenzy of activity. How, what, where, why, when? All those question words my Joseph used to drill into his language students when he was still with us. It was up to me to find answers. Now.
I went to see Gilly. Of course, I hat to tell her. I needed her help. You see she was a surf-whizz-kid. I guess that had been her dream.
Gilly was a real sport. We got onto the internet at once. I was surprised to find others had had the same dream before me. But that didn't put me off. What did they have that I didn't. I was going to make it.
Now came the grind. I went back to school, took a private trainer, joined a choir. I wanted to give myself every chance of getting there. That's when I had to tell the kids. I wish I hadn't. I only did so because I was never at home whenever they phoned. They wanted to know what I was up to. Wonder what they actually thought?
It turned out the telling was the biggest hurdle. Sure they mocked a bit at first, but they understood, they helped and they promised to come see me if I made it. Not sure I liked that if. For me there was no doubt. I'd get to the stadium if it killed me.
Hurdles one and two came and went. Then, the nerves set in. The day before the final round. The one that was to decide my dream once and for all. My stomach started churning. I went into the forest to let off steam. My voice wobbled. In its indecision it sang all four parts together – a kind of harmonic kaleidoscope. Now kaleidoscopes are beautiful things to look, but try listening to one…
Strangely enough, my battle against nerves never affected my mind. I was more determined than ever to see it through. A good night's sleep and I sailed through the morning auditions, despite a couple of wobbly notes. In the afternoon I finished a respectable 16th. More than good enough to make the final cut. I was on my way to Cardiff.
That's my dream. I'm here now. I'm loving every bit of it. We're being spoilt left, right and centre. This evening, the banquet. Tomorrow, the dream becomes reality. I have a dream. For now, I just want to lie back and savour those words. I have a dream. I've lived with it for the best part of a year now. I've lived with it, I've lived for it. I'm tired. I may not get up for the banquet. I may not even get up tomorrow.
I had a dream. I lived for it. I failed. Who cares? It's the living that counts. No living without the dream. But I lived. That's why they'll put on my tombstone: I have a dream.
January 11, 2012
Where you’d rather be?
Dear Friends,
I have been asked by the direction to write you a letter which will motivate you to sign up for our new Learning English Through Literature course. Trust me. There are a thousand and one other things I’d rather be doing right now, but the boss is the boss and a pay cut, – yes, he really did threaten me with a pay cut if I refused – is a pay cut, so here we go. However, the thought of your sullen faces and the brutal way you chased my predecessor out of the school, do not fill me with pure delight at the prospect of spending the next months studying together.
I have decided we shall look together at the works of the greatest and most prolific playwright in English history, Mr. William Shakespeare. I must admit, I was at first worried about what connotations this name would bring to you, imagining in my mind crazy savages conducting ecstatic speer-shaking war dances around the main auditorium… but the phonetics teaching assures me you are just too plain stupid to see the link between the orthography and the pronunciation of this great name.
You may well ask why Shakespeare? Why study someone who wrote and subsequently died over 400 years ago. Well, firstly it is because his language covers such a wide variety of expression, ranging from the base to the sublime. In addition, Shakespeare wrote at a time when English was still in its formative period. It has not yet developed into the universal and universally used language it is today. This makes things a lot easier for you as the subject matter is far more limited.
After mature consideration, I have decided we shall study three of the Bard’s works. I am providing you here with three a rough and ready synopsis of these plays. You might want to compare them with a list of Shakespeare’s complete works and try to guess each play’s proper title. And no this is not your first assignment. Let’s call it a pre-assignment assignment. You know Shakespeare loved playing around with words.
Brutal Brutus (now why didn’t the Bard himself think of that one?) and his underhanded assassination of King Jules.
Sullen Malvolio and how his cronies got the last laugh.
Trust and betrayal – and yes, you’ve guessed it, it’s all over a woman.
Where you'd rather be?
Dear Friends,
I have been asked by the direction to write you a letter which will motivate you to sign up for our new Learning English Through Literature course. Trust me. There are a thousand and one other things I'd rather be doing right now, but the boss is the boss and a pay cut, – yes, he really did threaten me with a pay cut if I refused – is a pay cut, so here we go. However, the thought of your sullen faces and the brutal way you chased my predecessor out of the school, do not fill me with pure delight at the prospect of spending the next months studying together.
I have decided we shall look together at the works of the greatest and most prolific playwright in English history, Mr. William Shakespeare. I must admit, I was at first worried about what connotations this name would bring to you, imagining in my mind crazy savages conducting ecstatic speer-shaking war dances around the main auditorium… but the phonetics teaching assures me you are just too plain stupid to see the link between the orthography and the pronunciation of this great name.
You may well ask why Shakespeare? Why study someone who wrote and subsequently died over 400 years ago. Well, firstly it is because his language covers such a wide variety of expression, ranging from the base to the sublime. In addition, Shakespeare wrote at a time when English was still in its formative period. It has not yet developed into the universal and universally used language it is today. This makes things a lot easier for you as the subject matter is far more limited.
After mature consideration, I have decided we shall study three of the Bard's works. I am providing you here with three a rough and ready synopsis of these plays. You might want to compare them with a list of Shakespeare's complete works and try to guess each play's proper title. And no this is not your first assignment. Let's call it a pre-assignment assignment. You know Shakespeare loved playing around with words.
Brutal Brutus (now why didn't the Bard himself think of that one?) and his underhanded assassination of King Jules.
Sullen Malvolio and how his cronies got the last laugh.
Trust and betrayal – and yes, you've guessed it, it's all over a woman.
December 30, 2011
Anti-Resolutions – A Calendar Full
In January I will not succumb to the skiing bug despite all the pressure my friends may put me under. I will, however, placate them by promising to go in July.
In February I will not reply to any of the hundreds of Valentine cards I receive from my fans and other admirers. I will, however, continue to dream about the cards piling up in my letter box.
In March I will not show any glee whatsoever when Wales beat France in this years six nations championship. I will, however, accept any offers of a drink my friends offer me as compensation.
In April I will not order a case of Champagne to celebrate my birthday. I will, however, accept with joy any offers to do so.
In May I will not spend 50% of every lesson reminding my students about the importance of correct use of the comma and semi-colon in spoken English. Instead, I will make them read Lynne Truss' book every week of the month.
In June I will not put the microphones at full blast during our concert for the annual music festival. Instead, I will use my natural, stentorian voice to make just as much noise without using the microphones.
In July, I will not weigh down my suitcase with books. In fact, less than half the weight of my case will be due to books. Good job the kilobytes on my e-book reader don't weigh a thing.
In August I will neither sing, nor dance, nor revel in any other than way during the International Celtic Festival at Lorient. Instead, I will get my wife to tie me down to a chair to prevent such excesses occurring. Of course, it will have to be a wheelchair so that the chair can do all the dancing for me.
In September I will not buy yet another tie I only wear for my business classes. I will search for a tie swapping site on the internet to give the false impression I'm keeping up with the Joneses.
In October I will refuse to shed any tears when my daughter leaves home for a year's study in Russia. Instead I will drown myself in the pools of water caused by all the tears I will not shed. But the resurrection will come in time to visit her sometime during her stay.
In November I will not join the population of France as they tear through the shopping centres in a bid to find the ultimate present that's not wanted for the persons you really don't want to give anything to anyway. Presents, sure but simple and sincere.
In December I will waste no time thinking up anti-resolutions for 2013. So expect to see a repeat performance this time next year. Don't worry, I'm very bad at keeping my resolutions, both the genuine and the anti- variety.
December 28, 2011
To do…
Phone doctor.
Demolish false hopes.
Inform family.
Make list of friends I still want to see.
Decide on arrangements for New Year's party. Quiet or raucous?
Invite some more people – don't want to be alone.
Write to all those who've turned me down.
Transform bitterness into something creative.
Inform lawyer of my final resolution.
Meet undertakers and priest.
Prepare final invitations – they'll all come this time.
Get lawyer to send them out the day after…
December 1, 2011
Book launch
I've had the privilege of working together with a number of great authors on these collaborative anthologies and it's a great moment for us all. So why not join us for the launch party at: https://www.facebook.com/#!/events/18...
And you can get more details of the books and how to order at chinesewhisperings.com
For anyone who orders now, you also get the ebook for free.
October 1, 2011
What On Earth Is It?
As the singinhg died down, my daughter stepped into the centre of the circle, a small paper-wrapped package in her not much bigger hands. This was her moment. She'd been wearing that self-same smirk for weeks. It was evident that this was going to be a special moment.
Not used to speeches, she just handed the package over, adding, "This is from your writing friends."
I took it from her and felt it over, trying to guess what might be inside. This was the culmination of weeks of cryptic questions and whisperings. All eyes were on me, some belonging to faces wracked with contorsion in a hopeless bid to repress a smile. I decided to put these people out of their misery. Besides, I wanted to know myself what was inside. As the package began to shed its skin, a jersey began to appear, a red jersey, a rugby jersey, with the number 1 written on the front and back… A personalised, Welsh, rugby jersey – just for me.
I hope, dear reader, this is not an anti-climax for you. Although I couln't blame you if it were. You see, you're not Welsh, and you're not a Welshman living in exile, and most of you may have nothing mote than a vague idea about what rugby is. But to me…; well I think I've already said enough to make my feelings clear.
I've worn this jersey for every Wales match since my 50th birthday. I've worn it to concerts I've sung in together with my two musician friends as we've sought to infuse others with the joy and enthusiasm only Celtic music can bring. On one very special occasion, I wore it as, with my son beside, we sang our way through the centre of Paris and on upto the Stade de France, our impromptu choir swelling by the minute whilst onlooking Frenchmen cheered enthusiastically. And I'll be donning it again in just under an hour's time as Wales seek to win their way into yhe quarter finals of the Rugby World Cup.
This is my present, a constant witness of the creativity and care of some very special friends.
September 25, 2011
BUT
"What a meeting!"
Josh knew exactly what his friend meant. For a moment he wondered whether Mo had made the right decision in sending out spies. Surely, he knew what this people was like. His mind went back to that secret meeting just as they were setting out into the desert.
"We're not going by the direct route to the promised land. It's far tougher than going around the long way. If we try the direct route, these guys are quite likely to throw in the towel before we get started."
To be honest, Josh had wondered whether Mo had not underestimated his fellow Israelites. They had suffered so much at the hands of the Egyptians, surely they would be willing to try anything to get away. But it hadn't taken long to realise how wrong he had been. So why bother with the spies. True, their reconnaissance would give the Israelites a far better chance in any military confrontation. And how was Mo to know, that this would be the result.
"So what's plan B."
Josh looked at his friend with incredulity. Just minutes before they had faced the crowd without flinching. They'd not run away from the facts, BUT faced up to them with the one argument they had.
"God is faithful."
Those were Kal's words but Josh echoed them with all his heart. Yet now, his friend was talking about plan B. Disappointment began to creep into his heart. How could Kal…? Check.
Kal was human, just like him. Josh remembered that one day. Everything had been going so well. They had advanced more than on any other day since their departure. Then doubt crept in. The night had been long and without sleep. Doubt had seen to that. Doubt rampant; rampant until in utter desperation he'd cried out:
"Lord, I believe! Please, please, please help my unbelief. Help me overcome my doubt."
So why shouldn't Kal have the same doubts. Why couldn't he afford the same magnanimity to others that he had once claimed for himself. His answer was full of grace.
"Plan B? Well, I guess it's pretty much the same as plan A… Putting our trust in God."
Without flinching Kal consented. After all, it wasn't their one forlorn hope. It was their firm conviction.
See the Sunday Scribblings website for more stories on Plan B.
September 24, 2011
Red Book Revisited
Some two years ago I had the privilege and joy to share in a collaborative writing project called Chinese Whisperings: The Red Book. This was an anthology with a difference. It consisted of ten interrelated stories. Each author set out to create at least two secondary characters in their story, and the next story transformed one of these secondary characters into the main character for the new story. Originally published in electronic form, it is soon being published in book form. To celebrate this some of the authors are revisiting the anthology and asking themselves: what would I do differently, who would I pick.
I was following on from Annie's story, Kraeplin's Child and to be perfectly honest I was very nervous about it. We just had ten days to come up with our story and I wondered how on earth I was going to cope with that sort of turnover. So I cheated. About half way through Annie's ten days I mailed her and asked her if she could give me a few details about her secondary characters. Of course, I didn't tell her I was nervous. I just made it seem as if I was being super professional and preparing everything well in advance. I'm not sure if she believed me, but she did give me two names and a brief side comment that one of these was her protagonist's friend. I hooked onto that for the time being and a story began to germinate in my head. The day I received Annie's story, I was pretty excited. Was I going to be able to run with the idea that was now truly revving up in my head? I was. Lizzie played so minor a part in Annie's story, so as nothing would contradict mine. So fast forward some ten years and… but for the rest you'll have to buy the book and read the story.
So were I doing this now… cool, calm, collected with a hundred or so publications under my belt and no trace of nervousness who would I have picked? Yes, well I'll admit, that's not quite me, but the question remains valid. Still, with just Annie's story to choose from, then I think I'd go for someone who barely gets a mention. Either Abby or Max.
Abby is not very popular. Tanya speaks quite disparagingly of her. Why, I ask myself? Is it her fault, or is Tania just being mean? What's it like to be unpopular and is there a way out? Is it an opportunity for change?
And Max? He sounds like a pretty bit of stuff. Get others to do all the dirty work for him and cash in on 50% of the profits. What's made him like he is? Does he have any redeeming features? And how strong is he really? What's his hold on Clint (one of the bad guys in Annie's story)? These are the kind of questions I like to ponder in my characters.
But if I had the whole anthology to choose from, then my choice would be Detective McNally who appears in Innocence, the story after mine. He suspects Robin is guilty of murdering the guy who tried to rape his sister Tania. But he can't put together the evidence and he doesn't succeed in breaking down Robin. Eventually, Robin is cleared by the testimony of a pretty shady character. Questions remain.
A policeman in search of the truth, yet torn between duty (catch the criminal) and justice (the real criminal only got his just desserts). And what makes him decide for the one or the other? There's a story in the making here.
For more information about the Chinese Whisperings anthologies visit the website. This is the fourth in this series of articles asking the authors which character they would choose now. You can also read the others: Jodi, Dale and Rob. I've asked Tina, the writer of Innocence to carry on from here. So keep a lookout for her piece.
September 21, 2011
What do you write on?
This week's 3WW words are: dull, race and yawn. Find out more about 3WW by clicking here.
Not a question I'd ever thought much about really, until it came up in my writing group yesterday evening.
My favourite remains good old paper. It may be quite dull in these supermodern days of technology but that's the way I am. Not beats the feel of a pen in my hand and the pleasure of seeing the whiteness of the page disappear as the ink spreads. With my writing group I use a large size spiral notebook, perforated so I can easily take out the pages for archiving.
Then, there are my small notebooks. They fit easily into the outside pocket of my bag or even into my jacket pocket. I carry one with me wherever I go. Notes, jottings, ideas that creep up on me suddenly and disappear even quicker, impressions and even my numerous secrets – they're all to be found in my notebooks. But I never divulge them to anyone.
I also make it a regular practice to write things to my memory. This is to avoid it disappearing altogether and leaving me in the dark.
Other people write on my heart. But it's one of my greatest pleasures to read what they leave there. Once again, this is accessible to none other than myself.
My only publications so far were all written on the computer and published in electronic form. But now a new race for publication is on and next month, two anthologies each with one of my stories will be published as paper books. (End of publicity stunt.)
Most of my writing is fairly simple and requires little interpretation. I'm sure it has more than once provoked a few yawns. But one media seems to bring out the worst in me. The pieces I've left on the life-canvasses of those closest to me, are exlusively written in ambiguous ink and include more than a tint of mystery.
