Converge Creative Writing Anthology by Converge York

CUTTING THE BRAKE LINE OF MOTHER'S CAR

Converge

Creative Writing Anthology Stories

Emotion

By Joan Keiter He just about saw the back of the car as it disappeared over the hill. That was the back of mother's head. She was driving, even though she had never driven before. She just jumped into the car when the car started to roll. Not surprisingly, the car swerved right, hit a guardrail and rolled down a steep embankment. I probably should have notified the police, but why bother? The ravine was thick in late August tangles. My lucky day, the overturned car wouldn't be found for months.

Insights

Thoughtful in Ibiza

Life Has Changed for the Worse Mr

Loneliness The Book Launch

Thoughtful’s Ancestry

Mood

Jealous Younger Brother Bird Swooped

Pressure

The Birthday Girl

Blue Whale

Recital Rooms

Converge Haxby Road

Insights in Ibiza

Suddenly, The Into The Darkness Happy Halloween

It Was Then

THE BRAKE LINE OF MOTHER'S CAR Anthology Stories

PoemDavid Beckham’s

Is there anybody out there? Writing

Humour

Converge

Humour

CUTTING Creative

Emotion

Life Has Changed for the Worse Mr Thoughtful

Loneliness The Book Launch

Mr Thoughtful’s

I was kind of sad that Catherine and Jeremy were in the back, but I never got on well with my siblings and after all, they didn't testify on my behalf during the Sullivan Investigation. They let me fry on the stand and going down for 17 years was no picnic.

Younger Brother

That's why they seemed surprised when I arrived at the door last night. I guess they hadn't read that I was released.

Darkness

Surprising how easy it is to snap the brake line on a Vauxhall. Piece of cake really.

THE BRAKE LINE OF MOTHER'S CAR Converge Creative Writing

Ancestry Bird Swooped

Mood

PoemDavid Beckham’s Blue Whale

Pressure

Suddenly, The

Recital

The Birthday Girl

Humour

Rooms

Into The

Haxby Road Happy Halloween

Is there anybody out there? Anthology Stories

Jealous

It Was Then Emotion

CUTTING

Insights

Mr Thoughtful in Ibiza Creative Writing Anthology

Life

Has Changed for the Worse liness The Book Launch

Mr Thoughtful’s Ancestry Mood

PoemDavid Beckham’s

Lone-

Jealous Younger Brother

Whale

Suddenly, The Bird Swooped December 2015Pressure

Rooms

Into The Darkness

The Birthday Girl

Blue

Recital Haxby

Contents

It Was Then By Joan Keiter

Inside this issue: Introduction Mr Thoughtful in Ibiza

3 4/5

Life Has Changed for the Worse

Loneliness The Book Launch

7 7

Mr Thoughtfulâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Ancestry Mood

8/9 10

Poem

David Beckhamâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Jealous Younger Brother

Blue Whale

Suddenly, The Bird Swooped

Pressure

Recital Rooms

Into the Darkness

The Birthday Girl

18/19

Haxby Road

Happy Halloween

Is there anybody out there?

It Was Then

CUTTING THE BRAKE LINE OF MOTHER'S CAR

I've made love seven times today; To the door, To the past, With all of my ghosts and their cousins. Satin children all lines up to see me fail. I drank a cup of tea in a room labelled loneliness, And then cracked my vein open And fed it with drugs from the graveyard, Ones I had collected that morning, Distilled from frost And suffering from empathy.

It was then that I caught myself in the mirror, Propped up at the tomb of myself in the future. I was playing at the cinema. My head was the projector. And my eyes saw what you will never see, Your contempt for me, Which you kept hidden in a little canvas satchel, Under the bones That used to be our bed.

Cover Illustration by Christina Stipetic 2

Is there anybody out there?

Introduction

By Timothy Wynn Werninck They all packed into the Ainsty pub. It was October 26th 2015 and they all wanted answers. A board outside a wide range of Physic services, a chance to communicate with loved ones...... Within the narrow room there was eager anticipation, as they pressed to see if they could see any images in the crystal ball. The lights then flickered Is there anybody out there? is there an Anne or Annie? Two old dears and an old bloke think it a relative. The excitement mounts. "No it a Charles or a Charlie" Yes somebody called Charles "Yes Charlie Watts. Uncle Charlie." A man shouts from the audience. “No says the medium; it’s Charles Epstein.” It is then the penny drops it a con. Whatever next will John Lennon come back from the dead and play the nearby Piano in the corner, or have Ring Starr on drums. It was also then the medium face turned to shock and then panic her last audience did not know who Epstein was. She let out a fearful scream. Now the audience were amazed as the crystal ball took off and flew through the air towards the fireplace. After hovering for a couple of seconds, it smashed at the base of the fire into a millions of pieces, causing the fatal spark. It was clear that the other side were fed up with this charade filling people with false hope. Many of these events are put on and never happen. Now the fire had caught hold and onto the furniture. Then to the curtains. Alarms sounded and the building had to be cleared. Customers raced to escape. After a few hours of the fire brigade had failed to put out the fire and the headline in the paper for the October 27th was "Ainsty burns down." Older readers of the paper only had to go back 15 years and the same night.it was like history repeating itself. A surprise, Coincidence, Happy Halloween...

It’s been good to work with the Converge creative writing group over the last 12 weeks, continuing the work of Karen Green, who is now residing in America. The group has really become a small community, sharing ideas, thoughts and experiences each Wednesday afternoon in a corner of the campus of York St John University. The classes have used writing as a vehicle to explore emotion, humour, stories and insights. Writing is a powerful way for all of us to make sense of the world, to find out about ourselves and those around us. Writing is a way of gaining control, finding clarity, and a path to understanding. It’s also a lot of fun, and occasionally hilarious. The results in this anthology represent a small taste of some of the writing that has taken place since October. My thanks to everybody in the group, for trying a wide variety of exercises. Thanks also to Nick, Hilary and the rest of the Converge staff for their assistance. Miles Salter Creative Writing Tutor York December 2015 3

Mr Thoughtful in Ibiza

Happy Halloween

By Timothy Wynn-Werninck

How and why would a person of the status of Edward Charles Thoughtful end up in the Island of the Sun? It had not occurred when Mr Thoughtful got in his Yacht at Tel Aviv. He had had too much "Jolly Sailor Rum", and before he knew it the tide and current of the Med had taken the boat to the North Side of Ibiza.

Its scream offers for £1. You need to be mad to even enter the store. At least if you buy nothing else buy the Health Tablets. When you look at the out of date Bacon and think to yourself how to get rid of the stomach cramps was it down with Vimto two for a pound. This really is scary and the way thousands of families live in 2015.

Instead of feeling sad about this, he saw it as an adventure, destiny, fate. Darkness now descended and anchored a rocky bay. Still feeling worse for ware, he decided to get some sleep. The next day he felt far better and in the morning there was lovely sunrise. It was time to view the rugged landscape of the North Side of the island.

You then move with dredge up the aisle and find the next offer are fake plastic mirrors. A couple of youngsters groom their hair they are going to terrorise the neighbourhood without even buying the masks... You dare not say anything and move on quickly to the next lot of items.

After an hours’ walk Mr Thoughtful found a lovely cafe with olive bread and local wine. It was run by Julio Iglesias Junior, who immediately thought he recognized Mr Thoughtful from somewhere. Short of customs, he smiled. It was great. Mr Thoughtful liked privacy and they both wanted to live a quiet, relaxed stress free lives. There was a copy of The Times with the front page showing a picture of War Hero. It was Mr Thoughtful and at then he decided to put on the dark sunglasses. Mr Thoughtful suddenly realized that he only had his Diamond credit card with him. "It does not matter," Mr Iglesias smiled. "Just bring us a few more customers," he said, pointing to the paper. "Sorry about that. Thank you, that was lovely," said Mr Thoughtful "Same time tomorrow?" said Mr Iglesias. "Yes. The food was most excellent,’’ said Mr Thoughtful. Mr Thoughtful thought this was not right. So now, he decided to go to the other side of the island. It was evening now. The clubs were packed, the stench of vomit and the smell of greasy fry-ups filled the air. Semi-clad naked girls passed out on the benches. There was litter everywhere. Gangs of youths going from club to club.

No you think Rick Astley and Kylie - the new deadly duo. All those parties that you did not go to "I should be so Lucky" now surprisingly located next to Dog Food. Well, I thought to myself, people’s musical taste have always been Barking Mad. Then the next items are batteries and Children's masks. Maybe this should be encouraged to improve children's looks that have suffered through poor diet. At last more thorough relief you arrive at the final aisle Red Mountain Coffee and healthy Breakfast Muesli Bars. Trouble is, you could not resist other items and are short of money. Looking at others, who have fallen into the same trap, you put down the basket and think would be far better spending the money elsewhere. You are not even bothered about listening to others’ conversations, as you race for the door. The next day being Saturday, it’s off to Weatherspoons for a large fry up of Bacon, eggs two sausages and then watch the rugby World cup Final.

"Hey, it’s Bill Gates,’ Mr Thoughtful smiled. If only they knew. After about an hour he was tired of it. The Situation got worse. 4

Haxby Road

"Hey Bill. Do you have a virtual office?" Another Youth asked "Can I have your Autograph?"

By Timothy Wynn Werninck A gleaming silver B.M.W leaves the gates of the Nestle Factory. It is a shiny as the polo mints. Profits continue to flow to foreign shores. Walking up the rest of the street towards New Earswick is the modern product development Department with its slogan ‘Good Food Good Value’. After football you return into the city. You now see the old factory an empty disused site with it windows with reflections from the streetlights. The old library a favourite with Mr Rowntree that gave workers an opportunity to learn to read and write, now boarded up with Black Chipboard. Gone, too, are the thousands of workers that made it a company of world renown. The Clock show factory time, it’s been showing half five for a decade now, stuck like the empty site waiting to move forward. All that is needed is vision and purpose; it could be converted into starter homes as in this recession. So give it over to Rowntrees Trust! They said it will never happen and now it’s there for all to see. A legacy gone wrong, like past Olympics. Come everybody let’s do something about it.

Girls rushed to him for selfies. You must enter the look-alike contest, it was then Mr Thoughtful had an idea. Why not enter the contest. Down the strip of course, the last club had a lookalike contest. The Prize was drinks all night, and £1000. After a couple of hours girls were shouting: "We want Bill, we want Bill." The Beer buzz now took over. Below all the girls screamed. So this was what it was like to be a rock star. After winning the contest, he grabbed the microphone. "Thank you one and all, I will offer my prize to the first person who finds us first on the island. The hunt starts at dawn." At that he left. On his way back to the boat, he discovered a girl crying. “What’s the matter?” he said politely. "It’s not fair! I knew that I should not have come. I hate it here…it was this or Glastonbury. I wanted to go and meet the earth people. This place is a dump. No beauty, no nature…just sick and drunks and repetitive remixes!” Mr Thoughtful pointed out the other side of the island was quieter and more picturesque. She thought she would follow Mr Thoughtful to the other side of the island. She had lovely Irish Eyes and he was at pleased at last to see her smile. It was now morning. Both of them were exhausted. They raced to the cafe to get a rest from the heat. "Hello," said Mr Iglesias said. "Remember what I said." They fell asleep on the grass both hand in hand. The word was now out on the Island that he had been seen at the cafe. First there was ten people, then twenty, then thirty. They were sad to see Bill had already been found. They were too late. They did not mind, and decided to get something to eat. They liked the idea that they could be photographed with Bill and Julio. Mr Iglesias’ cafe was back on the map.

Life Has Changed for the Worse By Timothy Wynn Werninck

She lay there and figured at this point she may as well go to her party. Out from under the bush, down a few back alleys. She tidied herself up in the bathroom of a diner on Sunset and walked the half-mile to the Ivy. "Cheer's! Here she is, the birthday girl!"

I found a place quiet. I thought at the back of the reference section. It was now the family room, where people looked information about their ancestors. I was in there and there was an assistant librarian was an old couple from the United States who were fascinated by the old country.

"Yippee, weee!"

The Technology had moved on somewhat and needed to be explained. It was important that they understood the new Microfilm readers and how everything else had gone Digital.

The night exploded into hours of dancing, snorting, drinking, forgetting. It was the best party Stephanie had ever been to and it was all about her. Wow! Loving my life!

In the room also was a young lad, a so-called whizz on his own computer. Next to him was another Middle class Girl who thought she was the next Karen Brady. ‘Karen who?’ you might ask. The chairman and owner of West Ham United. The Girl was hammering out her own type of mental torture being most demanding on her assistant. Well she had to justify her existence. It was D-Day for the fledgling company. The figures were down to an all time low. She glanced into her latest smart Phone and no matter how she tried the figures did not add up. She had mouths to feed and the mortgage to pay. At home was her ill husband a redundant fireman. The assistant could do the job in his sleep. He was just marking time. Maybe soon he could afford some decent clothes and a stout pair of shoes, instead of ripped jeans and plimsolls.

"Hi Steph, you look great!" "Happy birthday, darling. So glad you invited me." Flash, flash of the cameras. Selfie stick mania.

It wasn't until after midnight, when she ran into Rocco at the bar and a TV report flashed up behind them. The police chief was holding an impromptu press conference. He reported that the head they found in the trunk of the car that was involved in an accident at the intersection of Melrose and Cieniga was that of Dr. Francis Baily, a prominent figure in Beverly Hills society. Reports from his family and friends said that he had just flown back from New York to surprise his daughter at her 40th birthday party at the Ivy. Rocco leaned over and bit her ear before whispering, "See Steph, I told you it would work out, nodding toward the TV screen. Now you don't even have to worry about cleaning out the car. Everything works out in the end, babe, trust me." Stephanie stared at the TV screen showing the photos of the deceased and slowly mouthed the words, "Daddy." She took a wet cocktail napkin from the bar and dabbed the corner of her eyes. She downed her drink in one go, fluffed her hair and followed Rocco back onto the dance floor.

You could see with them both that they at the bottom of the company and at the interview were promised good prospects. Another person was an old dragon who could not afford to retire and was checking Council directives. She had a different type of tablet and smart phone. They all had one thing in common they were not going to be Lord Sugar’s apprentice. The older one - all she could do was bark out at another civil servant the help Librarian. God help us all in 2015.

The Birthday Girl

Loneliness

Rocco – Male Latino, aged 39, runs dog fighting ring, drug dealer. Stephanie – 40, photo stylist for women’s fashion. Luke soul, cycling classes and pilates. "You, fucking son of a bitch, Rocco. I told you, you could use my father's car to pick up the drop, but I didn't expect you to bring it back with two severed arms and a head in a plastic bag in the trunk." "Cool it babe, no biggy."

By Timothy Wynn Werninck Forlorn, the man sits in the corner, no emotion on his face. He is on his own. He stares into the distance. He does not think. He does not look, for he prefers it this way. In his own world he is safe, he is secure, nothing can harm him. He is secure but not happy. Everyday is the similar to the next. He has chosen it this way. He is now isolated and lonely.

And where the hell's the torso?" "In your closet. I didn't know what to do with it, so I wrapped it up in your yoga mat and tucked it behind your shoe boxes." "So, what you're trying to tell me is that I can't go to my 40th birthday party at the Ivy that starts in an hour. I have to go home and dispose of a torso and then scrub the carpet in the boot so I can get it back to Dad's before he gets back from New York tomorrow." "It shouldn't take that long."

The Book Launch By Timothy Wynn Werninck

"Well how fucking long does it take to get rid of a body? And then I'll have to wash my hair again. And should I know who it is that I am disposing of."

Upstairs they go to greet the author. Waterstones has agreed to open after hours, quite an honour.

"Don't sweat the details, Babe. Just wrap them up in cling film and they can wait‘til tomorrow. And can you do me a favour and pick me up a pack of Marlboros on your way back to the party, I'm all out?"

The word is that they have found the next Roald Dahl. An Author that has inspired all ages and has many follows. Now others try to copy his lucrative formula.

"Why you!" Stephanie turned to slap Rocco so hard, she jumped the curb and hit a fire hydrant. But, it wasn't until the car that was trailing them smashed into the back of their car that the airbags deployed, smearing Stephanie's, ready-for-the-party makeup all over the white plastic.

The audience assembled the great and the good. At least there is free Marshmallows and Crisps and fizzy pop. It is sad there is no wine and cheese.

Rocco slid down, opened his door, dropped to and yelled back, "Outta hear Steph, I'll tell everyone you'll be a little late." As he turned back at the corner he noticed a Rottweiler was scrummaging into the trunk, which had popped open on the impact of the crash. Off he ran with an arm, tonight's dinner. His lucky day. Yum. Stephanie slid herself out from under the bag, grabbed her purse and opened her door, running across Melrose Boulevard, kicking off her heals so she could dive into a bush before the oncoming cops, that were racing, sirens screaming, found her.

There are authors and students all desperate to promote their pros. To learn from the chosen one. They would be happy to be in his place. The press shows no interest well they have to print the paper now in Wales. They wanted instead a celeb of ill repute to fill the rest of the empty shop. Unlike Jordon, this bloke can write entertain and create an art in this day and age. Writing like photography is not valued in people’s eyes. Doctors and Dentists relieve pain. I am… Of them all (jealous). 7

Mr Thoughtful’s Ancestry

Into The Darkness

By Timothy Wynn Werninck

By Amy Illingworth

Mr Thoughtful came from a long line of adventurers. The line went directly back to "Ethelred the Unready." Mr Thoughtful decided not to admit to this, he was always ready for anything. He was methodical and calculating, and by God, he was always prepared.

Into the darkness And into the woods The wild spirit of trees Forming great shadows on the ground

He was related to Christopher Columbus, who had trouble at home and decided to get out of Spain, only to get lost in the States. This is where he got the idea of planning on a large scale. It was in his blood. This was in direct contrast to his cousin Bill Gates, who always thought small. Together they created different types of World Domination. They both had respect for each other, along with some jealousy – it’s what drove them to succeed. Sod the little Guy. They had never met. They had no need. Each knew what they thought by the actions they took. Since the fame of the Ibiza lookalike contest, Mr Thoughtful had to look for a new challenge. Something different. So could he be the next Milk Tray Man? Or perhaps he could be in ‘I’m a celebrity get me out of here’. His real desire was to see as much of the world as possible, but they do not just let anybody into Oz. Maybe I couldn’t be on ‘Strictly’, he thought, looking down at his big sized tens. He had now broken up with his Irish Girlfriend and did not want to smoke hash and swap the Tent that was his home in the Lebanon for a Caravan in Ireland.

Sun peeps through the leaves Soon to cover the floor In glorious autumn colours When it is summer no more Free from the turmoil I have just left behind Is this the place To find peace of mind? Will it rain again To suit my melancholy mood Will every single branch Hold on to each and every tear? I move towards the light At the end of the path And step into the future With no turning back

Mr Thoughtful had to get through as many different things in his life, and he’d barely started. Adventure spurred him on. He worried that time was ticking by. He should not have worried Great Uncle Gates lived to 110. No direction meant his life was like Custer’s last stand, but he did not want to die a hero’s death. He was already a hero, at least in his eyes.

Recital Rooms By Timothy Wynn Werninck There are the usual friendly critics. What I noticed compared to last time was the ceramic earthenware bowl with the word friends. God how I miss them. Everything is ok, and the short brunette Maria gets to work. The cello produces mellow sounds that waft through the air. First it’s painful then it’s soothing. It drowns the lightness of the piano. The music takes me to another place…it’s not difficult to imagine a scene from smoky Victorian England, a place like 221 b Baker Street: Sherlock Holmes takes to the violin, a break from the problem case. They both do not need Music they know the piece, they have practiced to perfection. Elgar would be proud. The next piece is by Barber. Please no cutting remarks. More sweeps of the bow across the worn four strings. The Piano now sounds like escaping Mice, before reengaging as one

Then he thought of his friend, a pilot, who had never returned from the Apollo mission. That would be righting a wrong, but he felt his mission was different, more grounded, more down to earth. I mean a rocket was not as much fun as a fighter and his lungs after twenty a day. Anyway, do something bad I mean really bad, not like John Wayne or Butch Cassidy. Rob a bank, commit fraud! All Mr Thoughtful had done was good. He was the superman of the construction world. He thought there was too much escapism, too much hiding behind the keyboard, getting endless meaningless qualifications to justify one’s importance. The Mission was now clear to rebuild communities and help others build and better life. This started back at Mr Thoughtful’s first house, his own converted starter home just outside Houston in good old Texas…

Now finally comes study 10 a real work out for tired fingers, every bit of the stem of the cello is used. She then smiles and bows the clapping and cheering is well deserved.

"Well done Maria."

Mood

Pressure

By John Manby Ted was feeling anxious, the new medication had to be taken and at specific times. He didn’t want to mess with his health; his GP had told him he had a heart murmur. He was sat watching the final of the snooker competition in his local club. The glass collector was busy clearing some empty tables, and put what Ted thought was a wallet into his pocket. Ted didn’t like this but should he say something to somebody about it: who would believe him? Or should it be a case of honour amongst thieves, after all he’d served time in jail for robbery. He thought that if he went home early, and someone found their wallet missing, the finger would be pointed at him. All of these thoughts were rushing through his mind. It was the last frame of the night, but he thought of his health first and decided to go home. He got up and walked over to where one of his friends was seated, made his apologies, went to his car and drove home. Ted got home and parked behind the caravan in the driveway and hurried into the house. He was in time to take his medication which calmed him down a little but the thoughts of whether he should say something about the scenario in the club were still causing him turmoil: should he make a phone call or ignore the situation, for now at least?

A Remembrance Day poem by Laura Nellist Leaves swirl on the concrete floor It rained last night in Harrogate Young recruits stand with pride A modern day stillness is hard to find --The crimson red, time to reflect Flag duty a young recruit faints The power of the memory, red blood taint ---Pressure to remember, reflect and not forget In North Yorkshire the stillness of folk Lest we forget Kipling wrote Leaves swirl on the concrete floor The dark November skies With, Lowered eyes.

Ted decided to call it a night. He wanted to be up early, there was a lot of work to do in his garden and he wanted to get it done before the bad weather arrived. Unfortunately, Ted would not have to brave the bad weather, which was predicted. He wouldn’t find out who’d won the snooker competition or anything about the wallet. Ted died in the early hours of the morning of a heart attack. If only he’d asked if the wallet had been put behind the bar for safekeeping, then maybe Ted would still be with us. 10

Suddenly, The Bird Swooped

Poem By Coco Abed

By Joan Keiter I stayed out there on that cliff for 42 nights, waiting for a message from beyond. My husband said I was mad and begged me to come home with him. It was the dead of Winter, after all. He bought me two fisherman knit sweaters, a torch, a thermal sleeping bag and twice a day a basket full of food.

Writing a poem should be easy peasy But free verse is such a dreadful bore; And should I write about autumnal trees Or go do pompous, earnest and greasy?

The morning basket, a pot of porridge with honey and a pot of coffee. At night, a chicken soup, rye bread and whiskey. He loved me, he said, on a note on the bottom of every basket. But I wouldn't leave until it returned, the bird that took Abigail. Stephen was with me when it happened. He said the bird was grey with an orange beak, but I knew it was black and the beak was the same.

Then thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the thorn of tortured rhyme, much more complicated than you think, because there are things called near and off, but I prefer the ordinary chimes

Stephen pointed to a spot 100 yards out to sea when the Coast Guard asked for the instructions as to where to search. But, I was certain the bird landed on a craggy island of rock, to the left, which the sailors said didn't exist. But who's to say what exists? In the hospital they told me, in the form I knew myself all those years. That I was better than the other person who believed that they had a baby named Abigail and a husband named Stephen.

Intellectuals have made it complicated So there are lines, schemes and stanzas But isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a stanza just a bleeding verse? No! Constipated, intoxicated, antiquated and imbricated.

David Beckham’s Jealous Younger Brother

Blue Whale

By Timothy Wynn Werninck

By Coco Abed

No, not more stuff about how good my brother’s right foot is. We all have a right foot and a left one as well. There's now movies like "Bend it like Beckham" and a whole host of lucrative Armani Adverts.

Mighty Blue Whale

The Greatest player of all time – that’s what they say - yet he has never won a World Cup medal, and worst of all he is playing for that team. Who do you think taught him? Me! The oldest brother - Jimmy "Cyanide" Beckham and all the others. Beckham junior and all the others Giant Owen Jones the eldest brother of Vinnie. Then also Deigo ‘Costa a packet’ Maradonna senior came under my guidance. Sir Alex taught them "nowt" – he just shouted at them. It would have been so different if my father showed the same interest with me.

Doomed to thrive Only on the BBC, So much spermaceti. And soup blubber.

Oh no! Thriving Californians! Reality’s a bitch!

"Come on Leeds Utd!"