Sarah Gray's Blog, page 2

The Short Story Supper Club: New Fiction

Any Spare Change?

By Sarah Gray

‘Any spare change?’ he pleaded. An impish sort of man wearing oversized clothing sat on the pavement, a cap laid out in front of him. He appeared all the more frail for sitting under the unremittingly large sign of a major supermarket. She hoped this chain donated its out-of-date products to the homeless. She also hoped he’d already collected a decent amount of money that morning. It would be unbearable to see just a few pennies in the bottom of his hat.

People passed him. Some refused to look, some rushed by, embarrassed at the idea they might be caught out by a glance; others tossed in a few coins, and some gave a slight, near-imperceptible nod. It’s outrageous, in this day and age, that someone should be homeless and on the streets, she thought, feeling guilty for her bed. One of her greatest joys was snuggling under the duvet and luxuriating in its warmth and comfort. She wanted to be brave. How could she look him in the face? He might have been urinated on or even beaten. She screwed up her nose.

‘Any spare change?’ Imploring again, he looked up to the busy people hurrying by. What about drugs! Maybe he was an addict; he did look pale. Donating to a homelessness charity was the better option. No! She must be brave. There was at least ten pounds’ worth of change in her purse, she’d give him that. Asking him to help himself would be awkward, but she could manage the discomfort. It was the right thing to do, after all. What if he stole her purse! The unwelcome thought popped into her head. Don’t be ridiculous, she chastised herself.

Approaching him, she prepared to speak in her clearest voice. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. He looked at her. She looked at him. But before she could continue, he lowered his eyes in a fixed stare, seemingly scrutinising his cap. Trying again in a loud voice, she said, ‘Excuse me.’ Turning his head away, he searched the distance – for a friend, perhaps, late for their appointed rendezvous. One last time, she shouted, ‘I have some money for you, in my purse. Take it.’ Still he searched for his tardy friend.

Using her head, she pressed on the control pad of her wheelchair and rolled towards the entrance of the supermarket. From behind she heard a voice, pleading, ‘Any spare change?’

The Short Story Supper Club: Fireside Reflections

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

More?! You want more…

The Supper Club is here to convince readers that the short story is a mighty feast, imbued with complex flavours and we've made an excellent start.

Our first sitting went according to plan (mostly). We're grateful for the fabulous and helpful feedback and suggestions. More time for questions was a common request. Your wish is our command. In future events we'll definitely make more time for you to join in.

For those of you who couldn't join us, come sit by the fire with me…

Nothing else short of a punch in the stomach could have delivered such a hard blow. I felt sick. And then in awe. There are very few stories that elicit so powerful a reaction as does The Lottery (1948). Very few pieces of writing, even.

When we started developing the Supper Club it was first on the list.

I've long been a fan of Henry James and of course his exemplary novella, The Turn of The Screw (1898) is a direct influence. The reader is unsure if the protagonist is haunted or seriously mentally ill and this notion bleeds into my own work and my method of adopting 'personal hauntings'. Therefore coming to Shirley Jackson's work much later, I again recognised a kindred spirit. Jackson's use of the everyday, mundane situations explored in such minute and vivid detail is similar to how I write the world. Horror is in the everyday; the flowers that are 'blossoming profusely' and the unnerving image of neighbours 'humorously and nervously' grinning at one another. One well-chosen word emphasises tone. 'Profusely' changes beautiful spring flowers into conscious beings overstating their importance or working hard to detract from the horror, perhaps.

It then made perfect sense when I discovered Jackson was influenced by James's writing. In her biography – Shirley Jackson - A Rather Haunted Life by Ruth Franklin (2016), Ruth Franklin argues that Jackson is part of a line of distinguished American horror writers: Nathanial Hawthorne (1804 – 1864), Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) and Henry James (1843 – 1916) – categorised as American Gothic. To these writers the short story and novella are integral to their works of horror. Served in small bites, horror becomes terrifying – every word honed to create an atmospheric visual picture, not allowing the reader to look away.

I envy you your first reading of The Lottery. I would then suggest The Possibility of Evil (1965) – a perfectly divine and twisted tale of neighbourly malcontent and then, Afternoon in Linen (1965) – a warning to those who use their children as proverbial 'show ponies'. After that, go for it, you've got 200 to choose from…

… For the novels I suggest chronologically: The Road Through the Wall (1948), Hangsaman (1951), The Bird's Nest (1954), The Sundial (1958), The Haunting of Hill House (1959) and We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962).

Savour each one in all its uniquely shocking, horrific, surreal, odd and intriguing splendour.

Next on the menu, The Heart of a Heartless World, 16 February...

We'll talk with artist, Alodie Fielding who beautifully illustrated all three of my short story collections. In the collection Half Life (2016), we created a Victorian style pamphlet: The Heart of a Heartless World. We'll reveal the process of our fruitful collaboration and the art of illustrating words.

The Short Story Supper Club is hosted by Racontesse and Kensington and Chelsea libraries. For more wonderful KCL events subscribe to their newsletter.

Twitter: @rbkclibraries

Fireside Reflections: The Lottery by Shirley Jackson

More?! You want more…

The Supper Club is here to convince readers that the short story is a mighty feast, imbued with complex flavours and we've made an excellent start.

Our first sitting went according to plan (mostly). We're grateful for the fabulous and helpful feedback and suggestions. More time for questions was a common request. Your wish is our command. In future events we'll definitely make more time for you to join in.

For those of you who couldn't join us, come sit by the fire with me…

Nothing else short of a punch in the stomach could have delivered such a hard blow. I felt sick. And then in awe. There are very few stories that elicit so powerful a reaction as does The Lottery (1948). Very few pieces of writing, even.

When we started developing the Supper Club it was first on the list.

I've long been a fan of Henry James and of course his exemplary novella, The Turn of The Screw (1898) is a direct influence. The reader is unsure if the protagonist is haunted or seriously mentally ill and this notion bleeds into my own work and my method of adopting 'personal hauntings'. Therefore coming to Shirley Jackson's work much later, I again recognised a kindred spirit. Jackson's use of the everyday, mundane situations explored in such minute and vivid detail is similar to how I write the world. Horror is in the everyday; the flowers that are 'blossoming profusely' and the unnerving image of neighbours 'humorously and nervously' grinning at one another. One well-chosen word emphasises tone. 'Profusely' changes beautiful spring flowers into conscious beings overstating their importance or working hard to detract from the horror, perhaps.

It then made perfect sense when I discovered Jackson was influenced by James's writing. In her biography – Shirley Jackson - A Rather Haunted Life by Ruth Franklin (2016), Ruth Franklin argues that Jackson is part of a line of distinguished American horror writers: Nathanial Hawthorne (1804 – 1864), Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) and Henry James (1843 – 1916) – categorised as American Gothic. To these writers the short story and novella are integral to their works of horror. Served in small bites, horror becomes terrifying – every word honed to create an atmospheric visual picture, not allowing the reader to look away.

I envy you your first reading of The Lottery. I would then suggest The Possibility of Evil (1965) – a perfectly divine and twisted tale of neighbourly malcontent and then, Afternoon in Linen (1965) – a warning to those who use their children as proverbial 'show ponies'. After that, go for it, you've got 200 to choose from…

… For the novels I suggest chronologically: The Road Through the Wall (1948), Hangsaman (1951), The Bird's Nest (1954), The Sundial (1958), The Haunting of Hill House (1959) and We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962).

Savour each one in all its uniquely shocking, horrific, surreal, odd and intriguing splendour.

Next on the menu, The Heart of a Heartless World, 16 February...

We'll talk with artist, Alodie Fielding who beautifully illustrated all three of my short story collections. In the collection Half Life (2016), we created a Victorian style pamphlet: The Heart of a Heartless World. We'll reveal the process of our fruitful collaboration and the art of illustrating words.

The Short Story Supper Club is hosted by Racontesse and Kensington and Chelsea libraries. For more wonderful KCL events subscribe to their newsletter.

Twitter: @rbkclibraries

A Dark Tale For Yuletide

This is a gift for my fellow fans of a horrifying holiday season. Will you be all alone this Christmas?

Isolation

'Tis the season to be jolly. To let in warmth and light, to banish shade. But she was so cold. Always. Her feet were blue purple, the colour ascending to white as it reached her knees. She sat for hours in front of the open fire.

Still, they remained a delicate shade of zombie.

Blood dared not enter her fingers leaving them as white as bone. The rest of her could be sweltering, sweat rolling in tiny rivulets between her breasts and down her back.

Shivering beneath the duvet, her body was stiff, the inflexibility of her limbs deterring her search for an open window, a new crack in the windowpane, a forgotten draft excluder. That had been one of his jobs. The heating should have ignited into life at 5 AM, the pump feeding hot water to the empty rooms of her cottage. "All I want for Christmas is…" remained incomplete as she forced her herself to crawl across the bed and twist the radio alarm off. A fluffy dressing gown gave fight – the gift of Christmas past – and she reached for the radiator. She could tell it was hot, but it didn't feel it.

Turning on the kitchen light barely diminished the gloom. Steam meandered upwards dissipating into the grey as she transferred the tea from the pot to the cup. A chip on the end of the spout caused two streams of brass coloured liquid to dribble down the outside of the pot and drip onto the tea stained countertop. She anticipated the warmth of her hands as she gripped onto the mug.

Still, they remained bone chilled.

She sipped and for a second traced the progress of the liquid as it warmed the inside of her oesophagus and ending at her stomach. Exhaling, white mist extended in a fragile puff. Initially she took it to be the steam from the hot tea, but when she put the mug aside, it was her breath that was as white as frost.

The log split into two equally sized pieces and fell to the ground, joining the already substantial pile. Sweat stung her eyes and cheeks. Frost covered each branch and bough in gossamer white, belying the forest's true nature. She picked up another piece of wood and set it on the chopping block. Another one of his tasks. A swing of the axe and again another two logs rested amongst their brethren. Her hands and feet looked as if they belong to her, but they didn't feel it. There would be a fire tonight – a fire from which she couldn't fail to warm up.

On the doormat laid a card. A hugely overweight man smiled at her. She assumed it to be an Australian version of Father Christmas: hanging over a pair of red Speedos sat his perfectly round gut, on his head a Christmas hat. He was tending to a barbecue. Above, the wording read: Have a bonzer Christmas! She could hear her brother's voice in his message – "I wish you were here – it's over a hundred degrees, you'd love it! The kids still haven't met their English auntie yet. With best wishes, Ian."

Flames spilt over the boundaries of the fireplace contorting, reaching far beyond the mantelpiece. Every gap or crevice had been made sound against opportunistic drafts. She jumped on the spot, wrapped in thermal underwear, multiple layers of socks and jumpers.

Still, the cold crept from her arms to her shoulders, from her legs to her bowels.

After piling logs onto the fire, she stamped her feet and rubbed her hands. The glow tinted her pale face hues of orange and shadows enlivened her drab walls. Passing the thermostat she raised it up to 100° degrees. And on returning to the living room she dragged her mattress behind her and set it in front of the fireplace. An inverted Princess with her Pea, she piled the bed high with blankets and duvets of wondrous colours and weaves.

Still, the cold crept closer to her heart.

Body heat, she'd read, was the most effective in overcoming hypothermia.

Death's kiss was calm, tender with love, and at last warmth ran through her body, each organ, every extremity. And she accepted it with gratitude.

Sarah Gray, December 2020

Claret Press

contact@claretpress.com

Racontesse Journal … Literary Loves, Sexual Frustration & a Lost Spouse

The last few weeks have been intense and I'm not quite sure where to start…

A big Thank you! That's right – to all of those who attended the Kensington and Chelsea Libraries’ author event. And to Nina and Lola, who organised and made sure the event ran smoothly. It was wonderful to speak with Nina about my work and share some literary-love.

Nina is as excited as I am to celebrate the short story and we are coming back in the autumn for a series of events championing the delicate craft of short storytelling. It’s going to be brilliant.

Still, Standing in the Woods, will discuss one story each episode and I will write a piece of flash fiction especially for every exciting instalment. My good friend and compatriot, Josephine Rydberg will co-host. Alodie Fielding, my favourite illustrator, is working on the fairytale inspired artwork right now.

Another fabulous event! Join us online to celebrate the release of Urban Creatures and raise money for St Christopher's Hospice. Commit the date to memory – 8 September, 7:30pm to 8:30pm. It will be an enjoyable evening of conversation and readings. From next week you will be able to book your tickets on Eventbrite. Welcome all!

I've been listening to the new album from Jarvis Cocker's current band Jarv Is, Beyond the Pale. It's everything one would expect from Cocker, and I'm alternately delighted and cringed out. Not afraid to reflect the existential struggles that we all deal with (sex on a kitchen top with breadcrumbs sticking into your arse and being a Pharaoh), to meandering complex tunes. Harp and violin add an ethereal note.

And I was there. Attentive and ready to go for the live online event to swoon at his beautiful, Sheffield tones in person. Jarvis assures us he is optimistic about the future, despite global warming and he's happy to accept the accolade: Figurehead for the Sexually Frustrated.

But he's still got it. Rave in the Cave is just that – Jarvis and his new mates rocked out in an underground cave and the outcome was quite spectacular. With his trademark moves, he flicks his eyes, hands and arse, the lights glow around him as if he is about to be abducted by aliens. It's quite a performance.

Staged is a six part BBC comedy series starring Michael Sheen and David Tennant. A jolly amusing take on the play, Six Characters In Search Of An Author by Italian writer, Luigi Pirandello. Ostensibly, Sheen and Tennant are using their time in lockdown to rehearse the play to be prepared for the reopening of theatres. But the online zoom rehearsals become the action, as they never quite get going.

Adopting fictional version of themselves, the actors look for meaning in a world gone awry. Self-reflexive, it pokes fun at actors’ vanity and the pitfalls of a precarious industry. Samuel L Jackson and Judi Dench are hilarious as the big hitters, who humiliate the lead characters into accepting their situation and getting on with the show. Clever, funny and enjoyable. I wish all TV was so accomplished.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/p08dnl67/staged

Finding a new author who really lights up your neural paths is rare. But when I read Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman, my paths flashed - fully illuminated. And it got even better when I very quickly realised Shearman had published a new book. Not only any book, but 1,753 glorious pages full of story and packed with illustrations. We All Hear Stories in the Dark is an Arabian Nights style epic, a place where hundreds of stories intertwine –

You have lost your wife and by reading all the stories that ever were, you hope to find her. There is no fixed, chronological order and you must choose your path to find your beloved.

I waited a month for the books to arrive. It was worth it. I had to make preparations. Now, now I'm ready to embark on my journey….

Sarah Gray

7 August 2020

Racontesse Journal … Literally loves, Sexual Frustration & a Lost Spouse

The last few weeks have been intense and I'm not quite sure where to start…

A big Thank you! That's right – to all of those who attended the Kensington and Chelsea Libraries’ author event. And to Nina and Lola, who organised and made sure the event ran smoothly. It was wonderful to speak with Nina about my work and share some literary-love.

Nina is as excited as I am to celebrate the short story and we are coming back in the autumn for a series of events championing the delicate craft of short storytelling. It’s going to be brilliant.

Still, Standing in the Woods, will discuss one story each episode and I will write a piece of flash fiction especially for every exciting instalment. My good friend and compatriot, Josephine Rydberg will co-host. Alodie Fielding, my favourite illustrator, is working on the fairytale inspired artwork right now.

Another fabulous event! Join us online to celebrate the release of Urban Creatures and raise money for St Christopher's Hospice. Commit the date to memory – 8 September, 7:30pm to 8:30pm. It will be an enjoyable evening of conversation and readings. From next week you will be able to book your tickets on Eventbrite. Welcome all!

I've been listening to the new album from Jarvis Cocker's current band Jarv Is, Beyond the Pale. It's everything one would expect from Cocker, and I'm alternately delighted and cringed out. Not afraid to reflect the existential struggles that we all deal with (sex on a kitchen top with breadcrumbs sticking into your arse and being a Pharaoh), to meandering complex tunes. Harp and violin add an ethereal note.

And I was there. Attentive and ready to go for the live online event to swoon at his beautiful, Sheffield tones in person. Jarvis assures us he is optimistic about the future, despite global warming and he's happy to accept the accolade: Figurehead for the Sexually Frustrated.

But he's still got it. Rave in the Cave is just that – Jarvis and his new mates rocked out in an underground cave and the outcome was quite spectacular. With his trademark moves, he flicks his eyes, hands and arse, the lights glow around him as if he is about to be abducted by aliens. It's quite a performance.

Staged is a six part BBC comedy series starring Michael Sheen and David Tennant. A jolly amusing take on the play, Six Characters In Search Of An Author by Italian writer, Luigi Pirandello. Ostensibly, Sheen and Tennant are using their time in lockdown to rehearse the play to be prepared for the reopening of theatres. But the online zoom rehearsals become the action, as they never quite get going.

Adopting fictional version of themselves, the actors look for meaning in a world gone awry. Self-reflexive, it pokes fun at actors’ vanity and the pitfalls of a precarious industry. Samuel L Jackson and Judi Dench are hilarious as the big hitters, who humiliate the lead characters into accepting their situation and getting on with the show. Clever, funny and enjoyable. I wish all TV was so accomplished.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/p08dnl67/staged

Finding a new author who really lights up your neural paths is rare. But when I read Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman, my paths flashed - fully illuminated. And it got even better when I very quickly realised Shearman had published a new book. Not only any book, but 1,753 glorious pages full of story and packed with illustrations. We All Hear Stories in the Dark is an Arabian Nights style epic, a place where hundreds of stories intertwine –

You have lost your wife and by reading all the stories that ever were, you hope to find her. There is no fixed, chronological order and you must choose your path to find your beloved.

I waited a month for the books to arrive. It was worth it. I had to make preparations. Now, now I'm ready to embark on my journey….

Sarah Gray

7 August 2020

Racontesse Musings… Victims Are Doing It For Themselves

These women aren't screaming, running away from trouble, but are calmly walking into it…

The 'Last Girl 'trope is common to traditional Slasher horror films. For those not familiar with it, it usually goes like this: a group of young people, often college students, are picked off one by one by a psychopathic killer. But one girl has the resources and intelligence to outwit her assailant and make it alive to the end of the film. Her innocence – she doesn't drink, smoke and is a virgin – is the reason for her survival. Her friends, the low down dirty sluts, are dead due to their filthy transgressions.

In recent years a new type of horror has emerged, which has upturned the 'Last Girl' standing trope completely. I like to think of these films as the 'Lady Macbeth' horrors (after, the film Lady Macbeth). Her adversaries die. Usually at her own hand. But these are no ordinary psychopaths and could be said to have valid reasons of their own.

I've chosen three of my favourites to share, which in my opinion are essential viewing.

If you haven't seen Lady Macbeth, (Dir: William Oldroyd, 2016) then do it. Immediately. It is truly original and shocking. Ostensibly, a period drama this film contains all the expected tropes of Gothic horror: a lonely heroine, an isolated Northumbrian mansion and the cruel constraints of Victorian existence. The costumes are exquisite and Katherine Lester (Florence Pugh) looks like the perfect wife of a rich, landed gentleman. But, in this environment cruelty is the only currency. From the head of the family to the lowest servant, everyone is tied into a system that breeds misery and crushes compassion.

Katherine has effectively been sold to a husband twice her age and is expected to produce an heir and live a life of servitude and obedience. Katherine thinks not. From then on in almost everything you know about costume drama is subverted. She wants sex and isn't afraid to take one of the grooms as a lover and accomplice. Unapologetic and aggressive Katherine refuses to live the life assigned to her, with murderous consequences.

Florence Pugh is magnificent in this role and communicates the frustrations of Katherine's situation with subtlety, and her malevolent intent with menace. The understated nature of the film requires all the performances to maintain reserve. This accentuates the film's quiet cruelty. The increasing violence is shocking because it feels real. I believe in – as you will - Katherine's grim and audacious determination to be free of her social shackles.

Understatement is also the key to the film, Midsommar (Dir: Ari Aster, 2019). A tense folk horror in, which a group of American college students accompany a Swedish friend to

Florence Pugh plays Dani Ardor a woman traumatised after her sister Terri kills herself and their parents by filling their home with

Treated with respect and caring, Dani is drawn into the rituals and emerges as central to the festival. The glare of the sun and the seemingly benign, smiling cult members create a mysterious sense of claustrophobia. Dani's confusion is palpable as the story unfolds and leads to her unwitting, but not entirely unwelcome complicity.

Beast (Dir; Michael Pearce, 2017) is a British

Moll is rescued from unwanted sexual advances by the hunting, rifle-wielding poacher, Pascal Renouf (Johnny Flynn). Craving love and excitement, Moll is enthralled by him, even though he's a suspect in the murders. As a teenager Moll stabbed a classmate, but claimed it was self-defence, protecting herself from a bully. Sharing her past with Pascal, their relationship intensifies. The question then becomes 'who is the beast' and by extension who can be trusted.

Protecting Pascal, Moll lies to the police about his whereabouts. She is torn between her love for him and her own suspicions. All the while we are encouraged to believe that she is capable of extreme violence. Pascal proclaims that they are the same; that they can be together because they understand one another. This is tempting for the outcast, Moll. She has to make a decision about who she wants to be and it's no easy choice.

Jesse Buckley embodies the loneliness and desperate need for love, whilst making the audience unsure and uncomfortable about the extent of her violent past and her potential future, drawn towards even greater acts of violence. Her performance treads this horrific path, one we can only follow.

As a story-teller myself, I love how each of these films beautifully portray alienation and isolation. They are subtle in the telling and as the plots develop it's easy to understand the motivation of all three protagonists. The use of rural landscape highlights each woman's loneliness. Violence is done in stunning surroundings – nowhere is safe. Each soundscape is honed from nature and music is rarely used, which keeps us in the moment. Our emotions remain intact, without artificial manipulation from the film score. Intelligent psychological horror is haunting. The audience isn't waiting for the next surprise, but is slowly intertwined and entangled in the world of these women. We are left bereft, whilst they are the last women standing.

Sarah Gray

3 August 2020

Racontesse Musings… An Obscenity, the Green Dress & that Fart: Revisiting Atonement

The book won't have changed, but you most definitely will have…

Having booked tickets to see Ian McEwan discuss Atonement, I dutifully set off to reread the book and watch the film for a second time. I first read the novel when it was published in 2001 and at the time found it tense, moving with a shocking and satisfying end. I was enthralled. It's still my favourite McEwan book and I'm not the only one; Atonement is widely regarded as one of McEwan's best works and made it onto the coveted Booker prize shortlist.

An exercise in metafiction, the novel is in set in three time periods. 1935 England, Second World War England and France, and present-day England, it follows 13-year-old Briony Tallis, an upper-class girl, whose half-innocent mistake ruins the lives of those around her. Desperate to atone for her mistake, it overshadows her entire adult life.

Returning to the book in 2019, I couldn't quite remember the minutiae of the text and I was glad to feel the rush of recognition, akin to an unexpected meeting with an old friend. A lot has happened in my life during the intervening years and I hadn't anticipated how much I had changed since my initial reading. Most notably, I studied a Masters degree in 20th-Century Literature and completed diplomas in both script development and creative writing. The knowledge I gained in both literary understanding and creative skill completely altered my engagement with the text.

Back in 2001, I knew that the book dealt with the nature of writing and storytelling. But I hadn't understood the full extent of academic arguments about metafiction, that it emphasises its own artifice and the reader is left in no doubt that the text is quite literally a fiction. I certainly wouldn't have used the word 'metafiction '. At the time I thought "isn't that jolly clever! It's a story and it talks about being a story." I was devastated to have it pointed out to me that Briony had written a happy ending for her characters, but in 'reality' it was desperately tragic. And not a word of it is true!

Clever and thought-provoking, but cruel a manipulation of 'happily ever after '.

In 2007, we'd gone to see Atonement (dir: Joe Wright) when on a family holiday in Cornwall. It had been a stressful afternoon when confusion over sandwich filling had caused a fraught argument. I'd convinced everyone that taking some time out to watch a film would defuse the situation. In my desperation to see it, I had manage to convince my dad and brother that Atonement was a war film.

During an illicit sex scene in the library between star-crossed lovers, Cecilia Tallis (Keira Knightley) and Robbie Turner (James McAvoy), my dad let out the longest, clearest tone-perfect fart. We all collapsed in thankful laughter. The tensions of the afternoon were released and we guffawed. And guffawed. Every time one of us wrestled down our laughter, a sidelong glance initiated another onslaught. The entire row of seats was shaking. We were crying. A group of women in the row in front of us, shushed and turned revealing pinched brows. And this started us off all over again. The Fart, an extreme close-up of the word 'cu#t' and a stunning green, satin dress were my lasting memories of the film. This is hardly respectful to the BAFTA and Academy Award-winning film.

Obviously, these memories lingered and raised a smile whilst watching the film for a second time. How could they not. But something else happened; I became distracted by the actors' subsequent career trajectory. I marvelled, that Benedict Cumberbatch (Paul Marshall) featured, I hadn't remembered him at all and I expect that was because he wasn't very prominent at the time. Isn't Saoirse Ronan, as Briony Tallis, I thought, great and she's only kid and hasn't she done well since. I enjoyed the film and thought it had neatly tackled the theme of artifice. But I couldn't untangle my own memories and musings. Can we remove ourselves from a book or a film? I don't think so. What's going on in our heads or in the room alongside our reading or watching becomes part of the storytelling, indistinguishable and entwined.

Being in hospital, meant I ended up missing the Ian McEwan lecture. It was disappointing, but maybe it's more intriguing to let the works and my experience of them speak for themselves – however unreliable.

Sarah Gray

21 July 2020

Racontesse Journal – Cocker & Catch-22

Desperate to feel like I'm having some kind of life, this week I booked a ticket to an online Q&A with the musician, Jarvis Cocker. As my sister Emma says, "I love Jarvis Cocker and I don't care who knows it!".

What I think is ingenious is that you can't book a ticket without buying the new album, Beyond the Pale. Clever Jarv Is [sic]. What a great marketing ploy – I'd do it myself except nobody knows who I am. Catch-22.

I've had a very fruitful time for marketing. This week, I heard the audiobook of Urban Creatures, for the first time. Produced by Essential Audiobooks and read by Catherine O'Brien, I'm delighted with it. It's a bizarre experience for me to hear my stories read aloud, stories I've had concerns about wouldn't sound out of place on BBC Radio 4 (the natural home of the audio story), especially All Together Now.

I'm really into branding and logos – it feels like everything is neatly contained for easy consumption. I've been developing my own range of bookmarks, business cards and postcards with designer, Ginny Wood (she also designed, Urban Creatures). They look incredible – Alodie Fielding's artwork is so sumptuous and appealing, it needs to get out there and live! I can't wait until you guys can get your hands on them.

Lastly, my tech savvy and generous friend, Sandrine Ceurstemont, has updated my website. I've realised lately that a lot of people I know (potential customers) are no longer happy to buy from Amazon - who can blame them. So, in response I've included different buying options for my book. It's a difficult judgement call in the sense that Amazon provides a service to review books, which, in theory promotes sales. Without those algorithms, would anyone outside of my circle come across my book? Another Catch-22. In response, I tend to promote Amazon only for Kindle and Audible.

To catapult myself into the world beyond, I need to Q&A the f@#k out of my fat arse and keep on plugging the merch’…

Sarah Gray

13 July 2020

Racontesse Musings… Feedback on Feedback

There are rules people; just keep to the rules and nobody gets hurt.

In every class there is someone who hasn't got a clue what's going on.

A fellow student might have read out a scene of violence, akin only to Scarface and 'the someone' says … "That would make a great children's book." What the f@#k!? Everyone's checking each other out, wondering if they've all just heard the same story and how on earth this individual formulated their completely bizarre interpretation. The lecturer then has to manage the feelings of 'the someone' sharing their 'original take'.

Feedback from your peers is invaluable – how else do you know if you're making good creative decisions? Especially when you're new to it. It's a very delicate issue, which involves trust and simpatico, the person reading your story has to understand what you're trying to achieve, otherwise what's the point. This underpins the entire process. Your reader or class have to know where you're headed. They have to listen without interruption and only then do they get to clarify points and reflect back at the writer what works and what doesn’t. Not offer up crazy suggestions, which are the death of progress – the only thing a writer can then think of is the crazy suggestion.

When I first started going to creative writing classes it was excruciating. I was embarrassed about everything; my level of spelling and grammar, my feelings of inadequacy and lack of cultural capital and my inability to read confidently out aloud. Every session was stressful, but necessary if I wanted to improve my writing. There was a stage when I felt constantly under threat and cringing, wanted to retaliate or explain: "No, no, you don't understand it's not like that, not at all." It's horrible to feel misunderstood in that way, but I learned to take it on the chin and not make it personal. I really listened to what my classmates were saying. Sometimes it wasn't immediately obvious and I had to read between the lines – there's something that isn't working and the writer is the only person that can make sense of it, but to have it identified is crucial.

Even now I'm fairly experienced, I never respond immediately to feedback. Everything feels like a criticism the first time you read it, but I urge restraint. Set it aside for a few days and come back to it and I guarantee that it won't seem harsh. It's true that there are some editors or fellow writers who just don't know how to give constructive criticism without being unkind or controlling. These people need to be weeded out of your trusted trio of commentators. It is the quality of writing that's important and everyone should be working towards making it the best it can be and not scoring points. Don't work with people that make you feel bad about your work. This is usually a family member – don't do it!

Judging feedback is never going to be an easy task and the more you write the more you can rely on your own choices. A writer has to work out what suits their process. Taking my time I absorb comments and work with at least three readers; if three people aren't clear about the same thing, then I know it's not working in the way I intended and I have to do something about it. Without resistance or resentment.

Good feedback is as complicated to unwrap, as is good writing and all parties involved should approach it with clarity, generosity and honesty. Without it, it's the writing that suffers the most.

Sarah Gray

13 July 2020