Radio Reverb show, Writers’ Hub – July 2009

Elephant on Brighton beach. Photograph: Robin Hughes

Writer Tara Gould joined me in the studio for this month’s edition of Writers’ Hub. We chatted about her night Short Fuse, which is currently looking for readers, for Brighton and for Hastings events, and her new literary ambitions: a first novel.  We discussed some upcoming opportunities for writers, via New Writing South and Myriad Editions, and we also presented the writing for this month’s theme: seaside and seaside towns.

For published writing, I took two slightly off-kilter takes on the traditional seaside theme: the very dark tale, ”The Pearce Sisters” by Mick Jackson, from The: BrightonBook, published by Myriad Editions (2005), in which two eccentric sisters’ hospitality goes one step too far; and an extract of the sci-fi story “To Walk Upon the Sea” by Larry Matthews, from Fabulous Brighton: An Anthology of Short Stories by Peter James, Lynne Truss and others (2000), in which a man’s strained relationship comes to a head amongst dolphins, corporate Brighton and a mysterious discovery.

“The Pearce Sisters” is read by Wil Jones (Boutique Theatre), and “To Walk Upon the Sea” is read by Peter Taylor. Both books can be found in Brighton’s Jubilee Library.

I got some great original writing submissions via Twitter: two short shorts from Emma Cave (new Fusion writer) and Nigel Cooper – see further down to read the pieces.

Finally, it was a great pleasure to have Jon Cotter, Director of Company Paradiso in the studio. Jon recently ran a project in Berkshire prisons working with young offenders called “The Ballad of Reading Jail”.  He shared some of the stories and played clips from their show on BBC Radio Berkshire. Here’s one quote from a young person who took part in the project:

I’d never really written much before. It was while I was sat in a prison cell, and I had all this stuff going through my head, that I decided to pick up the pen. I needed to express myself. I still keep things in perspective with my poetry, as in not wanting to go back.’

– Participant, Shaun D

We were meant to have an interview and readings from an Ian Breckon, author of Knight of Swords [Old Street, 2009], but weren’t able to due to technical difficulties.

Many thanks to Donald, Grant and everyone at RR for helping me navigate the station’s equipment.

The theme for August will be Pride, inspired by Brighton Pride, which takes place in Brighton on 1 and 2 August. The show is open to all stories, poems and non-fiction relating to pride, in any sense of the word. Please email your submission to amy@brightonfusion.co.uk , no later than Monday 3 August.

The next Writers’ Hub will air on Sunday 9 August, 1-2pm on Radio Reverb 97.2FM.

You can listen to the show on the Brighton Fusion player or download by right clicking.

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Writers’ Hub July 2009 – Radio Reverb

Seaside resorts
by Emma Cave (@Emsbabee)

The shingle has misled me. It feels like I’m sitting on bones. From the slow-burning tarmac, it had seemed like the more comfortable option, but now I’m down here, I’ve realised that the sun was in my eyes, and making everything look shimmery and soft. The sea, for example. Right now, it’s the exact shade of a raspberry Slush Puppy, and just as tempting. But I can’t bring myself to brave the inevitable ice-cream headache which will commence in the ankles and work its way petulantly up my bloodstream as I wade out.

Yards from my outstretched feet lies the sulking remnants of a driftwood fire. I think I unwittingly chose this spot because I love the smell of wood fires, even when they’ve been extinguished with left over cider, as this one appears to have been. They remind me of midsummer teenage free-for-alls. The hissing flames on my face, and the tentative arm of a very nice boy round my waist, taking it in turns to sip bravery from a shared plastic cup.

There are a couple, just a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort of the pebbles. She has mounted him and is squirming about on top like a sand worm. A seagull is eyeing the remnants of their picnic with increasing malevolence. I lie back, carefully, arms folded protectively across my torso, in case the seagull decides to hop onto my stomach and start some investigative pecking. They put me in mind of medieval executioners, something about the way they dispassionately size you up.

I’m sleepy. I blame the tide, which matches the rhythm of my dawdling heartbeat. The clouds are slowly pulling across the sun, like curtains. The sound of flapping beach towels and wind shelters could almost be mistaken for the swaying of palm trees. I dream of finding a mermaid’s purse, and buying myself a stick of rock the size of a pleasure boat.

The Beach in 66 words
by Nigel Cooper (@nijay)

A baby listens to adult voices singing lullabies over the sea. The child, trussed warmly to her father’s chest, watches waves lapping pebbles, lapping pebbles, lapping pebbles.

She is comforted by her mother’s gentle voice. Rocked by her father’s breathing. Made drowsy by the sun’s fading fingers.

She hears less fortunate children wailing from deep within graceful, white, feathered bodies. She gurgles. Snuggles into daddy’s jacket.