I really enjoyed that, Chris. I mean this as a compliment; it reminded me slightly of Judy Blume's (teenage genre author) style of writing, but an adult version. The characters are tentative and hesitant, yet worldly and subtly sophisticated in their thinking.
I've previously struggled a bit when you write without commas in places where I feel they should be, but this time I chose to read it aloud, like my own personal Jackanory storytelling time, and I found this helped me to be more patient, and evolve it in to how I thought it should read.
Some simple but effective lines caught my attention:
'he looks at the freckles on her cheek and the faint flush there like something born into the world'
'and in time her head came to rest upon him like it was the first place ever meant for it'
I've just returned home from visiting an elderly man dying of cancer. He barely acknowledged me and mumbled before closing his eyes to sleep again. I'm feeling emotional, and your story rubbed gently on a few nerves, and nudged a more responsive reaction I guess.
Life is beautiful. Life is cruel.
Your writing here and always is a testament to that.
Langster! As a writer (gross), it's such a treat to have people spend time reading my work and getting comments as well. It's priceless and helpful. Technology rocks!
Interestingly, you mention the sophistication of the characters' thinking. I was painfully aware of the disjunct between the narrator and the children in the story. But I also wanted to blur the lines between them, almost as if the narrator was once the young boy, lol.
Sorry to hear about your friend. But as cruel as old death is, it's what gives our lives value. And just because the light goes out, it doesn't mean it didn't shine brightly on many other lives, loves, and meanings.
Hello Emma. Sorry to hear that. It's easy for outsiders to philosophize about death, but that's gonna hurt. I won't waste any of your time with idle chat.
I'm writing the new one literally now - by which I mean finding absolutely anything (like replying to Substack comments) to do instead of concentrating on the ms.
This absorbed me, the setting of the quiet shed at the bottom of the garden conjured up a place of tranquility and safety for me completely. I really liked the way you used the ‘fat old toad’.. perfect.
The children to me were like the dust floating around them in the air, a constant movement within themselves, almost leaving their childhood behind them and entering into their new phase of adolescence, but not there yet. I liked your use of the word ‘barely’ well, that ‘nailed’ it for me. I’m sure there were many nails sorted into old jam jars lining the shelves of that old garden shed.
The character that most resonated with me was Racheal’s Dad, knowing they were both inside his territory, asking first and not losing his temper, I’d like to think he probably remembering something in his own life at that stage, that should be treasured and cherished as a rite in our own culture. I loved your description on the Dad’s tattoos and also how they’d meant something once to him.
“If only you could stay there forever”… oh that really touched me, then just closing the door behind him to walk up the familiar garden path to the house.
Thank you Chris for creating such a moving and touching piece of work. God bless you.
Hello Sheila. What a lovely comment. Thank you so much for taking time to read this one and for spending the additional time and mental effort writing a considered response. It's a treat having readers tell me their experience.
Read this a week ago,.. was sure i had made a comment?
Appears I did not.... On that discovery -shall give it a re-read.
Might be best to take my head phones off -Bloke on the Rumble stream complaining about Vanilla Ice huffing gas while a train of black guys bang his Mrs, is a tad distracting.
Yes, I too remember such intense moments growing up. What a tender juxtaposition of innocence compared to the horror i was audibly imbibing earlier.
Being A.i fixated presently and messing around with what its commercial capabilities can achieve. I do not beleive it to be capable of writing like you are presently because it does not recreate authenticity -that way of tripping ones own imagination from what is NOT said.
Ai can bastardise a style for sure but im not feeling real nuance or the depth of landscape that only the territory can express.
That takes thought, ... Stay original ...Not a perfect metaphor because i doubt you place 2000 words on a page and hope they arrange into a tale, but im feeling a Jackson Pollock energy.
You are telling stories like few others can, theres didacticism, raw poetic rhythm a vulnerability a candid humour.
Hello mate, yes, I thought you left a comment too. Anyway. One of the failures (for lack of a better word) of AI is it uses data sets, and the thing all data sets have in common is they are all old. It's very hard to get AI to play with rules to an acceptable point before the entire system collapses. For instance, there's no commas or speech marks in this short story, and sure, you could tell AI not to use commas and speech marks, but I had to adapt the prose to account for that 'play' and that's the essence of art, 'play' specifically of rules, and I'm not sure AI will ever be able to pull that off due to the nature of how it works.
Also, there's no 'story' in the traditional sense, but there is an arc of a sort, again, that is very difficult to explain to AI. I've noticed when experimenting with AI for writing, to get the writing as I want it, I find the prompt becoming longer and more detailed, to the point where I've pretty much written the story as the prompt, which begs the question, why bother with the prompt if it's the story - you're giving yourself more work.
Thank you for your kind words, too, which mean a lot to me, as you know. We had a great chat on the stream last night and had a lot of good feedback, so thank you for your sincerity and honesty. Such things always go down well in a world where they're slowly fading away.
Last night, on your live stream- when you referenced Philip K. Dick’s work, it prompted me to revisit A Scanner Darkly and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and, by extension, the writers who inspired him, like Borges. Visionaries who offered prescient warnings. They remind us that instead of striving for a "perfect map," truly successful AI must embrace the insights of cognitive psychology, the flexibility of agile thinking -without eroding the very fabric of the reality it seeks to model.
The theme is a bit close to home or reminiscent of some of my own personal experiences , the piece has a seriously raw, intense feel to it, like you're just thrown right into the grimy, messed-up situation with these two kids. The shed and the old stuff lying around sets a heavy, kind of depressing mood.
The relationship between Racheal and the narrator feels quite authentic – all that awkwardness and underlying sadness.
Just trying to connect in a pretty bleak environment. The part with The Broons and the contrast between that and Racheal's mom? That's some dark but effective shit (In a good way). And her mom headbutting her cousin! Fuckin hell Man! LoL!
The dialogue about the swimming badge and then the "Do you believe in love?" question feels so genuine, maybe I'm just biased but I like The The tale, two kids trying to navigate some very tense, very real subject matter in their own way.
And when her dad shows up, You build that tension, like viscerally. Imposing figure, who may be experiencing a fleeting moment of something softer. That line, "If only you could stay there forever," Hit me in my parts, (in a good way)
Ending, with walking home, pondering the blue-jean baby-queen, Rock on! offers a tiny hint of something else, but there's still this layer of melancholy hanging over it.
Honestly, it's powerful writing bud. Thank you kindly for sharing it , t's not sugar-coated, That's for sure, a brief look at a tough reality. You've a knack for creating strong atmosphere and characters, there's always something really compelling in what I've read of your stuff so far.
Daymon, thank you — not just for reading, but for really engaging with the piece. The 'story' (and I use that term loosely), might come across as banal on the surface, but you've clearly taken the time to dig beneath it, and that means a lot to me. It’s a genuine pleasure to read such a thoughtful interpretation of something I spent a lot of time 'getting right', and honestly, this is one of the most moving responses I’ve had the privilege of receiving on my Substack. Sincerely, thank you.
Mr Dangerfield, the piece warranted a considered interpretation precisely because, as you astutely observed, it bore the unmistakable mark of meticulous dedication to its refinement. While I could readily indulge in elaborate praise, employing a panoply of sophisticated terms, I trust it is self-evident that I hold your work in profound admiration.... Hehehe 😉👍
This was a beautiful read, bruv. I just read Emma's comment, and, for me, she summed this up perfectly.
Every time I read one of your shorts, I get an itch to write some nonsense, just as I did at school whilst not doing 'school work', but, unfortunately, that itch dies down swiftly... one day, maybe, one day I'll write something beautiful.
Thank you, John. My advice would be to do it. Don't let perfectionism stop you. Write how you talk. You might surprise yourself. I'm currently writing something from a 14-year-old kid's perspective that you might enjoy. It's kind of tricky, with decades of writing experience, to try to forget all of that and write like a child. Picasso famously said something like: "It took me half of my life to learn how to paint and the second half to learn how not to".
Thank you, for the advice. That’s my problem, currently, I want to do a few projects - writing - writing music - and I just cannot get started as I feel I left it too long.
Make sure you do or I'll hunt you down. Forget about literature, and books, and history, and what people will think, and what you'll think and feeling stupid, making a fool of yourself, comparing it to others and all that snuff. You're just writing, that's it. Write something.
Hey Liz. Since you asked. The suffix, '-mena' is a plural neuter participial ending, used in ancient Greek to form passive participles. (In case you don't know, a passive participle is a verb form used to describe something that has had an action done to it.) So, argue-mena could loosely mean 'disputed things'. There are plenty of made-up words in this piece, all of them, if you think about it.
Thank you for reading and showing interest. I like it a lot.
Lol, OK - that's random. Onomatopoeias (I think you know, but..) are words that are (supposedly) formed based on the phonic material of the signifier, such as 'smash', 'crash', 'ring', 'woof', however, they change across dialects and national borders, meaning they operate much as non onomatopoeic words. I don't buy them, but I do like them, lot. In this Argumena piece, I use a few words for their sound, rather than any clear signification, such as, "mukfell guth o’gorny shatsch".
Cheers, Loulou. I like this one, too. What I like about Beckett and, to an extent, Hemmingway is what they do with so little. It's kind of easy to write seductive prose when the material is exciting and extraordinary. But if you look closely, all human interactions are exciting and extraordinary. And on and on...
Thanks for reading it and leaving a comment. Always appreciated.
I remember my first brush with a bare tit. Pure undiluted glory. 12 years old at my first senior school party. Lyle & Scott jumper. Farah slacks. A hideous pair of bright yellow Diadora. And too many cups of cheap orange cider in those flimsy little white plastic cups. I walked home like a man with a buffalo on each shoulder. Bosh. I had become man. Until my brother found out from my mates older brother and told me mum. Mother being a head teacher. She wasn't impressed. Took away me buffaloes. Temporarily. Cos the tits will out. Always. Heady days.
"The tits will out" - Perfect. I think it's half of a mother's duty to shame their male children about sex. I remember going to a girl's house when I was about eleven, and we spent what seemed like years sitting on a discarded sofa in the garden just kissing, you know, to the point where your lips are turning furry. It was the best time of my life and as soon as I got home I walked (floated?) through the house like a love-ninja and my mum said 'What are you so happy about?' and I replied like I was Casanova, "Oh, just snogging Sarah Buttivant", to which she replied like the head nun of an orphanage, "Well you shouldn't have. You're too young," causing me to continue walking through the house, out of the back door, up the garden and sat on the grass feeling a hideous mixture of feelings I don't think I've resolved to this day. Thanks mum. Thank you for reading this piece, Clive, it's really appreciated. And to leave a comment is double-bubble, nice one.
I dig the emergency call to read. I need that kinda motivation. And once there, I get bang into it. Nice one. Anything that gets me reading is an achievement. Splendid job. I'm also an alumnus (had to look that up—alumni didn't quite sound right) of the Rat & Emu. Briefly mind. For like 18 months or whatever. I did fuck all but get wankered and talk to lesbians. But still... I feel a little solidarity with those that went before me and a keen admiration (and not a little envy) for those that managed to get to the end.
Oh wow, I had some of the best nights of my life in the R&E—on stage, among the lumpen proletariat—it honestly didn’t matter. Dartington was a strange one, because I knew it was special while I was there. Most things in life you only understand the value of later, but I savoured every second of that place.
Find the motivation—or at least find a way to find the motivation—because once you get going, you won’t want to stop. That’s why I’ve had six hours’ sleep since Friday. The way I get going is to read something magical. It might work.
I really enjoyed that, Chris. I mean this as a compliment; it reminded me slightly of Judy Blume's (teenage genre author) style of writing, but an adult version. The characters are tentative and hesitant, yet worldly and subtly sophisticated in their thinking.
I've previously struggled a bit when you write without commas in places where I feel they should be, but this time I chose to read it aloud, like my own personal Jackanory storytelling time, and I found this helped me to be more patient, and evolve it in to how I thought it should read.
Some simple but effective lines caught my attention:
'he looks at the freckles on her cheek and the faint flush there like something born into the world'
'and in time her head came to rest upon him like it was the first place ever meant for it'
I've just returned home from visiting an elderly man dying of cancer. He barely acknowledged me and mumbled before closing his eyes to sleep again. I'm feeling emotional, and your story rubbed gently on a few nerves, and nudged a more responsive reaction I guess.
Life is beautiful. Life is cruel.
Your writing here and always is a testament to that.
Nice one, Chris.
Langster! As a writer (gross), it's such a treat to have people spend time reading my work and getting comments as well. It's priceless and helpful. Technology rocks!
Interestingly, you mention the sophistication of the characters' thinking. I was painfully aware of the disjunct between the narrator and the children in the story. But I also wanted to blur the lines between them, almost as if the narrator was once the young boy, lol.
Sorry to hear about your friend. But as cruel as old death is, it's what gives our lives value. And just because the light goes out, it doesn't mean it didn't shine brightly on many other lives, loves, and meanings.
Bless you, Langester.
Thanks, Chris. My friend passed away this morning. I'm glad I got to see him, and it's a relief he's no longer suffering.
I look forward to your next Substack story.
Hello Emma. Sorry to hear that. It's easy for outsiders to philosophize about death, but that's gonna hurt. I won't waste any of your time with idle chat.
I'm writing the new one literally now - by which I mean finding absolutely anything (like replying to Substack comments) to do instead of concentrating on the ms.
This absorbed me, the setting of the quiet shed at the bottom of the garden conjured up a place of tranquility and safety for me completely. I really liked the way you used the ‘fat old toad’.. perfect.
The children to me were like the dust floating around them in the air, a constant movement within themselves, almost leaving their childhood behind them and entering into their new phase of adolescence, but not there yet. I liked your use of the word ‘barely’ well, that ‘nailed’ it for me. I’m sure there were many nails sorted into old jam jars lining the shelves of that old garden shed.
The character that most resonated with me was Racheal’s Dad, knowing they were both inside his territory, asking first and not losing his temper, I’d like to think he probably remembering something in his own life at that stage, that should be treasured and cherished as a rite in our own culture. I loved your description on the Dad’s tattoos and also how they’d meant something once to him.
“If only you could stay there forever”… oh that really touched me, then just closing the door behind him to walk up the familiar garden path to the house.
Thank you Chris for creating such a moving and touching piece of work. God bless you.
Hello Sheila. What a lovely comment. Thank you so much for taking time to read this one and for spending the additional time and mental effort writing a considered response. It's a treat having readers tell me their experience.
Read this a week ago,.. was sure i had made a comment?
Appears I did not.... On that discovery -shall give it a re-read.
Might be best to take my head phones off -Bloke on the Rumble stream complaining about Vanilla Ice huffing gas while a train of black guys bang his Mrs, is a tad distracting.
Yes, I too remember such intense moments growing up. What a tender juxtaposition of innocence compared to the horror i was audibly imbibing earlier.
Being A.i fixated presently and messing around with what its commercial capabilities can achieve. I do not beleive it to be capable of writing like you are presently because it does not recreate authenticity -that way of tripping ones own imagination from what is NOT said.
Ai can bastardise a style for sure but im not feeling real nuance or the depth of landscape that only the territory can express.
That takes thought, ... Stay original ...Not a perfect metaphor because i doubt you place 2000 words on a page and hope they arrange into a tale, but im feeling a Jackson Pollock energy.
You are telling stories like few others can, theres didacticism, raw poetic rhythm a vulnerability a candid humour.
And i like It ...
Hello mate, yes, I thought you left a comment too. Anyway. One of the failures (for lack of a better word) of AI is it uses data sets, and the thing all data sets have in common is they are all old. It's very hard to get AI to play with rules to an acceptable point before the entire system collapses. For instance, there's no commas or speech marks in this short story, and sure, you could tell AI not to use commas and speech marks, but I had to adapt the prose to account for that 'play' and that's the essence of art, 'play' specifically of rules, and I'm not sure AI will ever be able to pull that off due to the nature of how it works.
Also, there's no 'story' in the traditional sense, but there is an arc of a sort, again, that is very difficult to explain to AI. I've noticed when experimenting with AI for writing, to get the writing as I want it, I find the prompt becoming longer and more detailed, to the point where I've pretty much written the story as the prompt, which begs the question, why bother with the prompt if it's the story - you're giving yourself more work.
Thank you for your kind words, too, which mean a lot to me, as you know. We had a great chat on the stream last night and had a lot of good feedback, so thank you for your sincerity and honesty. Such things always go down well in a world where they're slowly fading away.
Last night, on your live stream- when you referenced Philip K. Dick’s work, it prompted me to revisit A Scanner Darkly and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and, by extension, the writers who inspired him, like Borges. Visionaries who offered prescient warnings. They remind us that instead of striving for a "perfect map," truly successful AI must embrace the insights of cognitive psychology, the flexibility of agile thinking -without eroding the very fabric of the reality it seeks to model.
Not having an unconscious is a problem for AI, too. Most great writing is accidentally written between conscious thoughts.
Yes, it’s mad how our minds can have such problem solving intuition.🫡
The theme is a bit close to home or reminiscent of some of my own personal experiences , the piece has a seriously raw, intense feel to it, like you're just thrown right into the grimy, messed-up situation with these two kids. The shed and the old stuff lying around sets a heavy, kind of depressing mood.
The relationship between Racheal and the narrator feels quite authentic – all that awkwardness and underlying sadness.
Just trying to connect in a pretty bleak environment. The part with The Broons and the contrast between that and Racheal's mom? That's some dark but effective shit (In a good way). And her mom headbutting her cousin! Fuckin hell Man! LoL!
The dialogue about the swimming badge and then the "Do you believe in love?" question feels so genuine, maybe I'm just biased but I like The The tale, two kids trying to navigate some very tense, very real subject matter in their own way.
And when her dad shows up, You build that tension, like viscerally. Imposing figure, who may be experiencing a fleeting moment of something softer. That line, "If only you could stay there forever," Hit me in my parts, (in a good way)
Ending, with walking home, pondering the blue-jean baby-queen, Rock on! offers a tiny hint of something else, but there's still this layer of melancholy hanging over it.
Honestly, it's powerful writing bud. Thank you kindly for sharing it , t's not sugar-coated, That's for sure, a brief look at a tough reality. You've a knack for creating strong atmosphere and characters, there's always something really compelling in what I've read of your stuff so far.
Daymon, thank you — not just for reading, but for really engaging with the piece. The 'story' (and I use that term loosely), might come across as banal on the surface, but you've clearly taken the time to dig beneath it, and that means a lot to me. It’s a genuine pleasure to read such a thoughtful interpretation of something I spent a lot of time 'getting right', and honestly, this is one of the most moving responses I’ve had the privilege of receiving on my Substack. Sincerely, thank you.
Mr Dangerfield, the piece warranted a considered interpretation precisely because, as you astutely observed, it bore the unmistakable mark of meticulous dedication to its refinement. While I could readily indulge in elaborate praise, employing a panoply of sophisticated terms, I trust it is self-evident that I hold your work in profound admiration.... Hehehe 😉👍
This was a beautiful read, bruv. I just read Emma's comment, and, for me, she summed this up perfectly.
Every time I read one of your shorts, I get an itch to write some nonsense, just as I did at school whilst not doing 'school work', but, unfortunately, that itch dies down swiftly... one day, maybe, one day I'll write something beautiful.
Thank you, for your words, bruva!
Thank you, John. My advice would be to do it. Don't let perfectionism stop you. Write how you talk. You might surprise yourself. I'm currently writing something from a 14-year-old kid's perspective that you might enjoy. It's kind of tricky, with decades of writing experience, to try to forget all of that and write like a child. Picasso famously said something like: "It took me half of my life to learn how to paint and the second half to learn how not to".
Thank you, for the advice. That’s my problem, currently, I want to do a few projects - writing - writing music - and I just cannot get started as I feel I left it too long.
John, if you want a chat about this, I think there's a few things I can say that might help. No lecturing. You know how to find me.
Thanks bruv! I'll drop you an email.
Make sure you do or I'll hunt you down. Forget about literature, and books, and history, and what people will think, and what you'll think and feeling stupid, making a fool of yourself, comparing it to others and all that snuff. You're just writing, that's it. Write something.
What does Arguemena mean ? Apparently it's not a word 🤷
Hey Liz. Since you asked. The suffix, '-mena' is a plural neuter participial ending, used in ancient Greek to form passive participles. (In case you don't know, a passive participle is a verb form used to describe something that has had an action done to it.) So, argue-mena could loosely mean 'disputed things'. There are plenty of made-up words in this piece, all of them, if you think about it.
Thank you for reading and showing interest. I like it a lot.
That's what I get for trusting Google 😁 Nice one X
Ha! Think about it Liz - where do words come from?
onomatopoeia 😁
Lol, OK - that's random. Onomatopoeias (I think you know, but..) are words that are (supposedly) formed based on the phonic material of the signifier, such as 'smash', 'crash', 'ring', 'woof', however, they change across dialects and national borders, meaning they operate much as non onomatopoeic words. I don't buy them, but I do like them, lot. In this Argumena piece, I use a few words for their sound, rather than any clear signification, such as, "mukfell guth o’gorny shatsch".
I like that one Chris, nice! (PS - it’s not me writing substacks) Loulou 😊
Cheers, Loulou. I like this one, too. What I like about Beckett and, to an extent, Hemmingway is what they do with so little. It's kind of easy to write seductive prose when the material is exciting and extraordinary. But if you look closely, all human interactions are exciting and extraordinary. And on and on...
Thanks for reading it and leaving a comment. Always appreciated.
Stirred up beautiful memories. Great to end the day on. Thank you.
Cheers AMAV. I think that was probably the idea, but I have no claim on such things. Thanks for your time, it's much appreciated.
Exceptional! As always!!
Thank you, Mr Tige. Your time and effort are much appreciated. As is your commendation.
What a story.
Cheers Bas, that's very kind of you. Thank you for your time.
Used a line from Rock On? You'll have to thank Jimmy.
I think there's a couple in there. There's plenty of lyrics in most of my writing.
Rock on Chris! It's great.
Rock on, lol - what a tune though. Thank you for giving this story your time and leaving a comment. Much appreciated.
I'm leaving another comment because this is such an inspirational channel. Thank you, Dange!
What a lovely thing to do - thanks, John.
I remember my first brush with a bare tit. Pure undiluted glory. 12 years old at my first senior school party. Lyle & Scott jumper. Farah slacks. A hideous pair of bright yellow Diadora. And too many cups of cheap orange cider in those flimsy little white plastic cups. I walked home like a man with a buffalo on each shoulder. Bosh. I had become man. Until my brother found out from my mates older brother and told me mum. Mother being a head teacher. She wasn't impressed. Took away me buffaloes. Temporarily. Cos the tits will out. Always. Heady days.
Cheers Dangermouse xxx
"The tits will out" - Perfect. I think it's half of a mother's duty to shame their male children about sex. I remember going to a girl's house when I was about eleven, and we spent what seemed like years sitting on a discarded sofa in the garden just kissing, you know, to the point where your lips are turning furry. It was the best time of my life and as soon as I got home I walked (floated?) through the house like a love-ninja and my mum said 'What are you so happy about?' and I replied like I was Casanova, "Oh, just snogging Sarah Buttivant", to which she replied like the head nun of an orphanage, "Well you shouldn't have. You're too young," causing me to continue walking through the house, out of the back door, up the garden and sat on the grass feeling a hideous mixture of feelings I don't think I've resolved to this day. Thanks mum. Thank you for reading this piece, Clive, it's really appreciated. And to leave a comment is double-bubble, nice one.
I dig the emergency call to read. I need that kinda motivation. And once there, I get bang into it. Nice one. Anything that gets me reading is an achievement. Splendid job. I'm also an alumnus (had to look that up—alumni didn't quite sound right) of the Rat & Emu. Briefly mind. For like 18 months or whatever. I did fuck all but get wankered and talk to lesbians. But still... I feel a little solidarity with those that went before me and a keen admiration (and not a little envy) for those that managed to get to the end.
Xie Xie
Oh wow, I had some of the best nights of my life in the R&E—on stage, among the lumpen proletariat—it honestly didn’t matter. Dartington was a strange one, because I knew it was special while I was there. Most things in life you only understand the value of later, but I savoured every second of that place.
Find the motivation—or at least find a way to find the motivation—because once you get going, you won’t want to stop. That’s why I’ve had six hours’ sleep since Friday. The way I get going is to read something magical. It might work.
Bless you, Clive.
bù kè qì