There must be one day for every aspiring writer when they finally receive confirmation that they are on the right track and that it is worth carrying on. A moment when they can sit back and feel just a little bit justified in having sat alone for so many hours, (yes, doing nothing mostly, but I like to think doing nothing always constitutes doing something), at the expense of partners and washing up.
Here at the flyingscribbler hangar I may just be having that day today.
A short while ago I discovered a flash fiction competition which was due to close imminently, so I rushed of a couple of recent attempts and the requisite fee. This morning I have found out that I have only gone and won the competition. The prize may only be £50, but it might as well be £500. I feel wonderfully thrilled and very pleased with myself. I have even been asked if I would like to go to the literary festival to collect the prize and read out my winning entry. The story in question is ‘Bed & Breakfast’, which appeared on this blog only last week. This may not be the start of something big, but knowing that someone else likes my effort is good enough for the moment.
By the way, the literary festival in question is the Three Lochs Festival, which takes place in the West Highlands. I would dearly love to attend and am desperately trying to work out a plan to make this happen.
All this unexpected excitement has naturally made writing anything new virtually impossible today, (how early is too early to open the fizz?). However, my recent trip to Toulon will provide the basis for a story or two. As you will see from the comments to my last posting, the question as to whether Toulon is the Portsmouth of France remains very much unresolved. I think its very authenticity makes it perfect for inspirational purposes. It is gritty, slightly decaying and yes, a little bit grubby; but also vibrant, colourful and passionate. I rather liked it. Although my long-held opinion that the SNCF rail network far exceeds our own in terms of cleanliness, punctuality and comfort has been utterly dashed. The long, oh so long, hour spent suffocating on the train to Marseille yesterday afternoon will not be forgotten for some time.
Come back for a story tomorrow. Well, you don’t have to, but it would be very nice if you did.