Advice needed !

mirwillbeback

Hi,

I prepared the below short story as an entry to a recent newspaper competition. As it was my first ever go I asked could they supply feedback but heard absolutely nothing

Was wondering if anyone here was interested in reading and reviewing and giving some ( delicate ) advice and criticisms. It's an area I would like to get into, but obviously don't want to waste my time if I don't have a talent for it. Any opinions are welcome.

Many thanks,

Paul



Google Earth.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Google Earth.

I lay in bed with the limbo between hang over and not, the feeling us men get often when you know you’ve been out but haven’t gone TOO overboard with these words repeating in my mind. I was familiar that my body’s response to alcohol was to intensify my obsessive compulsive thinking, but not usually with a sense of humour and a slight grin before I had even attempted to move vertically from the pillow.

In reality it was a moment to forget, in keeping with my past 6 months, but my self deprecating humour or low self esteem (depending on which councillor you ask) meant I had to accept it as par for the course.

This is the point to which my circumstance had brought me, a single room apartment in Southern Spain. My escape to sunnier climes was a hope the heat would cure my cold and cynical heart.

I had looked into many variations of the 18 – 30 travel packages but the date on my passport prevented my eligibility. I felt closer to being born in the twenties than my being in them. Though young at (broken) heart I just didn’t feel like I fit in anymore. Late 40s is bad enough when you can suffer through the changes with your soul mate, but when she has decided to leave for an average looking, overweight but younger Pub Darts player it really can question your masculinity.

“ You need a holiday Paul “ is how my mother had lessened my shock at her offer to take my two teenage boys for a fortnight. It was a token of sympathy, as she had steered well clear of minding either since the diahorrea incident 6 years earlier. I suppose when your grandchild destroys your brand new white sofa, in full view of your friends from higher social classes, the shame can linger. It was clear my fragile emotional state was such that she was willing to risk hers for 14 days, especially in the light of the custody battle that had resulted in a favourable judgement for my ex as the boys were ordered to live full time with me.

So, I got away from it all. Away from all the smart comments in my local, such as “ your missus loves a dart”, “ I hear she loves it in the bullseye “ or even “ is Jim Bowen-ing her “ which sadly
meant I could never fully enjoy reruns of my favourite Darts game show from the 1980s.

I headed off in decent spirits, my nervous excitement boring the taxi man so much that he took a route I had never known before saving 20 minutes and 11 euro of a typical journey.. I checked in easily, my trial run with my Argos computerised scales meaning my bags were within 1lb of maximum allowance.

I passed through security checks with that typical Irish guilt of something being discovered and being dragged off to the Dublin version of Guantanamo Bay. This was despite my completing a second check before I left that I was definitely not hiding any pipe bombs in my footsie socks. As I was waved through I considered the man power distracted in this 20 foot area, while terrorists were free to sit quietly at the end of the runway with a copy of the Koran, a meat free salad and a rocket launcher.

Holiday mood was helped by the 15 euro Sombrero I treated myself to in duty free. I was flying Ryanair so the walk to departure gate seemed as long as the flight, and as far away from the City. My initial humour as I attracted attention from returning holidaymakers on the opposite side of the glass wall faded as my feet began to throb. I had forgotten my orthotics in my haste of lacing my brand new Nike runners, which apparently came with air. I didn’t fully understand the need to spend 80 euro on trainers recommended by a highly rated basketball player who had probably never suffered the pain of fallen arches, but the Foot Locker salesgirl had said they suited me.

Hobbling down to departure gate 86, I discovered I was sharing my flight with a family of itinerants, and my remark to the stewardess as I boarded behind them that “ I hope you accept travellers cheques “ didn’t get the laugh, or indeed smile I felt it deserved. As a nervous flyer, particularly alone as I would be unable to share any horrific demise with my family, I took my prescribed Valium and slept intermittently for the flight, interrupted only by the 16 stone female with an apparent bladder problem I was unlucky to have sat on my inside. Flight over, Valium effects not, I collected my bag and got into a taxi. I was so tired that I fell asleep for the entire duration of the journey, woken by the frustrated and aggressive voice of the driver telling me we had arrived.

The apartment was simple and modern. I suppose the Catalan version of a bachelor pad. Flat screen television and Sky Sports tempted against venturing into the sun. It did have a double bed which I felt would be a huge asset should I seduce a Shirley Valentine type with wide hips. I sat down to watch the TV, complete with Spanish lager from the mini bar. I didn’t unpack my luggage, but tried to unpack my mind as the cricket played out on the TV. I was filled with thoughts of regret, anxiety and excitement. Sure my life had taken a turn for the worse, but I was ok. It was everyone else who was concerned for me.

I cleared out the mini bar by what was the final innings, and the cocktail of alcohol and prescription drug allowed me drift off in a semi-coma but one which ended at about 7pm. The benefits of sleeping through 30 degrees afternoon sun indoors were appreciated by skin which had an albino like ability to burn. I wondered was the ghost like appearance of Irish people was attractive for being “different“ to the Spanish mocha folk, as it was in reverse.

My pad was on the ground floor, and the official complex lounge was immediately to my left. Despite travelling 100’s of miles to get here, I wanted to venture as little away as possible and decided to spend my first night in the safety of what was to be my new local. I entered to a café like décor with mainly couples and older folk sitting discussing the issues of the day on a patio like balcony getting the still visible but less intense sun.

This was all new to me, I didn’t want to interact with anyone immediately, but wanted to enjoy my own company, the way everyone else used to. Ordering a San Miguel, I was delighted that the bar tender refused to charge me. He waved his arms in the air and though I didn’t know why I began to think he might have seen my pain somewhere within. I read yesterdays English newspaper and had 6 pints and. While I didn’t converse with the bar man, he continued to give me free drinks until I asked him why he would be so kind.

“ Senor, zer is a tab seestem eere, you weel pay when you are leeeving, and uh, eu er free to leeve a teep “

The reality of his so called kindness was still weighing on my mind when a woman came to the bar and ordered one drink. This alerted me to the fact though alone, I wasn’t alone in being alone. I went to make a gentle introduction, but was filled with so much panic that I believed my voice came out weak and broken. Despite this, she smiled and replied. She was good looking in that way that all women are when you are desperate, and I could have found no end of faults had I wanted to. However, she was probably doing the same to me, and found more.

“ How are you “
“ I’m fine. Holidaying alone ? “
“ No I’m with my mum. “
“ Ah that’s nice “
“ Not really, it was forced upon me. “
“ How come “
“ Dad died. It was in his will “
“ Oh “
“ Where you from “
“ Dublin. You ? “
“ Liverpool “
“ Ah I have family in Liverpool “
“ Doesn’t everyone ? “

I don’t think she meant the last line in a smart way, but I was always oversensitive to criticism. I think she picked up on this and quickly backtracked

“ I mean, everyone seems to “

Her drink arrived and I asked the bar man to stick on the tab I was unaware of until 3 minutes ago. I asked her did she want to buy one for her newly widowed mother but she explained her mum had taken pretty heavily to alcohol earlier that afternoon and was sleeping it off. I offered her a seat and she politely accepted. He name was Linda, in her mid thirties and with long blonde air apart from the roots. Bubbly and nice, she emphasised her accent in the way Dublin people use every opportunity to say “ 33 “ when away.

This was the first time in about 20 years I had been in this position. I was trying to impress her with my wit and the false bravado every man uses. When I went to the loo, I walked with perfect posture, trying to fold my shoulder blades back onto each other. I once had a quick look back and it was evident she was not even looking at me, but I continued with the forced stockiness regardless.

She had a good sense of humour and we were getting on well. I asked the obvious football related question of where she was a “ red or a blue “ then faked my knowledge of the game by suggesting she should have supported the others who were more successful, though in reality this was not the case. I began to make observations of those who would pass through the lounge, either for drinks or as a shortcut to the gym on the same floor. I alternated my humorous insults between those who were in poor body shape and those who were in really good nick but who knew it. This raised giggles aplenty. It was then I prepared my coup de grace, a tried and tested insult that I had thought up all by myself.

An elderly woman walked in, greatly overweight and I would have thought the sands of time, or indeed diabetes would have claimed her by now. I indicated the object of my next target to my new companion with a sly nod and said that I had seen that woman as recently as last week.

“ Are you sure ? “

“ I am indeed, I was on Google earth and I could see her lying on the beach “

Though still unsure of what happened next as it occurred in a flash, I can definitely recall losing my balance on the barstool and landing hard. In the way that you can think a million things in a split second, I considered that I was drunk, laughing, or just off balance. One thing I hadn’t considered is that the woman I had jibed at was actually the pre-mentioned elderly widow and MOTHER of my scouse “friend“. Despite laughing heartily at my insults to strangers, it became apparent the remarks regarding blood relations were not the done thing in Liverpool (in red or blue houses)

My attempted apology was not welcome, and it was the widow who was holding back the scouse attack blissfully unaware of the reason for such actions. I scrambled to my feet, trying to save face while offering a sincere apology. As is the case with car accidents, a mini crowd had gathered, some with the aftermath on video camera. I was destined to be a YouTube sensation, I thought, as I quickly asked for the infamous tab and threw in notes that would well cover it. Mortified, I left quickly to go to bed, but walking right past my room so that 1 ) any retribution would not be focussed on my temporary abode should any masculine potential romancer want to impress XXXXXX even more and 2 ) to allow me log on to the a flight website, and arrange a hasty return home to my desolate yet at this time more attractive surroundings.

I slyly sneaked back in twenty minutes later with the flight docs and credit card receipt ensuring my transport home, lay on the bed and hoped when I woke I would still be watching the cricket, and be making plans for my first evening.

Alas it was not to be and a hasty checkout and flight home was accomplished the next day.

pickarooney

To be honest, you lost me after the opening paragraph. You're trying to write in too complicated a manner and end up simply not making sense as you misuse so many words.

What, in ten words or less, are you actually trying to say here?

I lay in bed with the limbo between hang over and not, the feeling us men get often when you know you’ve been out but haven’t gone TOO overboard with these words repeating in my mind. I was familiar that my body’s response to alcohol was to intensify my obsessive compulsive thinking, but not usually with a sense of humour and a slight grin before I had even attempted to move vertically from the pillow.

mirwillbeback

pickarooney wrote: »

To be honest, you lost me after the opening paragraph. You're trying to write in too complicated a manner and end up simply not making sense as you misuse so many words.

What, in ten words or less, are you actually trying to say here?

That I was hungover and delicate !

I do see what you mean though, thanks.

smcgiff

pickarooney wrote: »

To be honest, you lost me after the opening paragraph. You're trying to write in too complicated a manner and end up simply not making sense as you misuse so many words.

What, in ten words or less, are you actually trying to say here?

Agreed. It's likely the reader employed by the competition organisers read no further than that paragraph (If even that).

If you want you could rewrite that paragraph and see if you've made similar errors in the rest of your piece and repost - and I'd then give it another try.