Pinched Literary & Arts Magazine by Pinched

interview MARK HADDON POEMS

The Author of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time gives new writers advice

SONGS SHORT-STORIES ILLUSTRATIONS ESSAYS INTERVIEWS & THINGS

Pinched Literary & Arts Magazine ISSUE ONE ÂŁ3.50

featuring SONGS, POEMS & STORIES BY Samantha Baines Ellis Benjamin Fiona Dodwell Kelly Ede Matthew Edlin Davey James Kevin Kiely Robert Monk Meg Morgan 1 Benjamin Potter Dave Santos

P I N C H E D.

PINCHED MAGAZINE Pinched is an independent monthly literary magazine, created by art enthusiasts and flag-wavers of designing an accessible platform for writers and illustrators to flaunt their talent. You can purchase a copy on our website: thepinched.com, and view a list of stockists. First published with felicitations in May 2015. The authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s and illustratorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s material remain the copyright of their possession. Front page illustration drawn by Stephen Timms. Logo copyright of Pinched magazine. EDITOR Natalie Winter EDITORIAL ASSISTANT Sarah Moore EMAIL contact@thepinched.com TWITTER @pinchedmag INSTAGRAM Pinchedmag www.thepinched.com

Our first issue is for those who follow their spirit. 2

“I have no name; I am but two days old. – What shall I call thee?” - William Blake, ‘Infant Joy’

Editorial

Fiona Dodwell

Into The Shadows

Ellis Benjamin

Squeeze

Dave Santos

from ‘Nothin’ Left To Kill’

Davey James

from ‘Keep Me On Your Mind For Awhile’

Robert W. Monk

Bad Day

Samantha Baines

Are You a Foodie?

Kelly Ede

The Water Nympth

Matthew Edlin

Forever More

Kevin Kiely

The Sunflowers

Meg Morgan

The Human Heart

Benjamin Potter Waiting

An Interview with Mark Haddon

Contributors

EDITORIAL NOTE

ou can take submissions from any writer and call it a literary magazine. An audience reads words and digests the artist’s story to be engaged. Yet when Pinched was created we refer to the instinctive definition of what it is to be a genuine writer, and wanted to form a united platform for artists to collectively share their talent. We want to push appreciation for artists in present-day culture; encouraging the written word issued on paper and peoples’ mouths, with pitch, pause and rhythm to stimulate expression and inspiration. In everyday life not all audiences may be conscious of the values Pinched recognises as important: imagination, expression, or ingenuity. However, our aim is to progressively reconstruct stereotypes of artists and stimulate a constructive outlook that stays preserved. Our aim is simple: a gesture to help artists in the UK, whether writers, illustrators, poets or musicians to showcase their work on a respected platform. It’s for this reason we are so excited to release our first issue and begin a long and fulfilling journey working with gifted individuals. Pinched has grown steadily from organic ideas focused on creating a communal platform and we will always value the arts. Our philosophy is focused on building communities for artists and encouraging an existence motivated towards nourishing an individual’s pure and natural talent.

- Natalie Winter

INTO THE SHADOWS Fiona Dodwell

auren Simpson waited in silence as the man settled in the chair before her. He was the third patient today; another two appointments were pencilled in this afternoon. It was a never-ending carousel of tortures; anxieties that refused to settle. Memories that haunted. A therapist’s office was full of them all – and this new arrival would probably be no different, she surmised. “Welcome, and thank you for coming,” Lauren said, playing with the edges of the blank notebook in her lap. She crossed her legs, flicked open her pen and wrote the name of the man in delicate, thin strokes across the top, left hand side of the page. She looked up and met his gaze. He appeared nervous, agitated, unsettled. He wore jeans, and a thick beige coat. Stubble layered the cheeks of his face and cast shadow across his skin. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Do you believe in the devil, Miss Simpson?” Lauren stiffened in her chair. A volt of electricity travelled throughout her body. She tried to remain impassive, indifferent to the question, and pretended to jot something down. When she looked back up, the patient was staring at her intently, unfalteringly. “No. I understand that most religions have some concept of an evil being - devils and demons, but...no. Are you a religious man, Mr Wright?” “Please, call me Liam. Yes, I believe- I’ve seen him. You have too.” Lauren turned to the desk, picked up her glass of water. She took a slow, steady mouthful and bided her time. This was unexpected. She replaced the glass and turned back. His skin looked filmy with sweat, now. Liam Wright groaned and clenched his fists. Lauren eyed the small, almost hidden alarm that was attached to her 8

desk. If this patient proved to be volatile, she was not going to put herself at risk. “I thought you’d be honest. You’re in denial, is that it? Don’t want to admit you’re seeing him too, in case that makes you as crazy as your patients?” “I think it might be best if we reschedule.” Liam sprung forward and got down onto his knees, before her. Lauren backed away instinctively. “You’ve seen him too. He told me your name.” Lauren stood up, slammed her notebook on the table. Her hand hesitated near the alarm. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Liam, standing now and meeting her eyes, searched her own with a fierceness that frightened her. “He wears a long, black coat. You can’t see his eyes because he wears a wide hat, pulled down low. You can see his mouth, though - when he smiles you can see the crooked, yellow stumps that he uses for teeth. When he talks, his voice grates on you, like splinters of glass...” “Stop it! Leave!” Lauren pinched her eyes tightly shut. Covering her face with her hands, she waited in stunned silence. She heard the shuffle of feet, and the sound of the door opening. The man disappeared from her office. Moments later, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and several, shaky steps towards the window of her office. Her eyes searched for the retreating patient through the crowds of people. Instead, she saw him. Her eyes found him, were drawn to him. He stood still, like a statue, as people weaved around him, unseeing. The tall man, eyeless, with a wide hat and long black coat. Watching. Waiting. He had come for her - Liam was right. She had known it all along.

SQUEEZE Ellis Benjamin

ou there,

with your love, and me with mine, - we should push them together.

lyrics from ‘NOTHIN’ LEFT TO KILL’ Dave Santos

ear the rain fall on the roof See the ice melt in my glass Feel the silence of the room Like an angel had just passed I’d go ahead and end it all If I took one more pill But she took away my soul She left nothin’ left to kill.

lyrics from ‘KEEP ME ON YOUR MIND FOR AWHILE’ Davey James

he lines I list show a blinding mist an through it I know I

missed The mark of the dark eyed mistress But I wallow no longer in sorrow Wallow no longer in sorrow. 11

BAD DAY Robert Monk

e all get ‘em. And it could be so much worse. Mustn’t grumble, cry out loud, Or begin to start a curse. There’s a line to draw, And I’ll do it here and there The main predicament Is finding a peg To fit the square. It’s a shifting colour And a tangential wave. The miscommunication, Is only for the brave. Amidst a call To block the colour out There’s a plea Requesting for the shout, That might get heard... That might get heard Here and everywhere, A universal bargaining chip With a sauce, Of nonnegotiable credit. Eyes on the prize Of mushy ifs and when’s, The battered content, Is half-unique until the end... 12

Illustration by Won Down

ARE YOU A FOODIE? Samantha Baines

“I’m

Illustration by Hannah Jones

a foodie”, what does that mean, Drizzling, sizzling and plate wiping from what I glean, It’s not so much eating as talking and reading food, And then there’s the Chefs that are just plain rude, Our food is dissected into lots of groups, Carbohydrates, protein, veg and fruits, Then there are food fashions and things you can’t pronounce, Quinoa and Bulga wheat must be said with a flounce, Super foods to me just aren’t very super, They are more like boring Clark Kent than a super trooper, Of food types and combinations there’s just too many, Look, as long as it tastes nice I’ll stick it in my belly.

THE WATER NYMPH Kelly Ede

he moonlight paints you across my bed; Swimming beneath the ripples in my sheets, Dipping in and out of darkness like a wave upon harbour lights. I hold your hand at the waterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge because Like the moon I am distant And petrified that one day I might fall. And then you turn towards me like a brilliant moonflowerâ&#x20AC;Ś You smile, And pull me under.

FOREVER MORE Matthew Edlin

haron sat in her husband’s office, sipping on a cup of tea, waking up to the morning. The wind whistled and howled against the conservatory. Donald was still fast asleep upstairs in their bedroom. Tired and a little teary-eyed, Sharon leant closer towards the computer screen. She clicked through a picture file of Elly, a standard salt and pepper Schnauzer. Bonnie, a standard black and pepper Schnauzer sat in front the double doors of the conservatory; she watched for intruders: cats, squirrels, and birds. Sharon heard a growl. She looked over her shoulder and then spoke to her dog only how an owner does with their pet – a personal dialect: ‘What is it, Bon Bon? We’ll go walkies when Daddy’s up.’ Sharon returned her attention back to the computer. She heard the toilet flush upstairs. Crash…the dog flap. Sharon jumped. ‘For God’s sake, Bonnie – ’ But when Sharon swivelled in her chair, Bonnie was still there. This time she was on her feet, standing, stump wagging. Sharon rose from her chair and looked outside. Wind rippled against the trees. Sunlight dappled over the fences and grass. Bonnie jumped through the dog flap and ran to the end of the garden; for eleven years old she still had speed. Sharon sat back down. Donald entered his office, yawning and stretching. ‘What’s that dog barking at now?’ he said, croakily. He bent down and kissed his wife’s head. Knowing her husband of almost thirty years would jester about such a thought, Sharon still decided to tell him. ‘I think Elly is out there.’ ‘Say that again?’ ‘The dog flap…I heard a crash.’ 16

‘So?’ ‘It wasn’t Bonnie.’ ‘What?’ ‘It wasn’t Bonnie. I looked down and she was still standing there.’ Donald wandered over towards the conservatory doors. Outside, Bonnie barked. He then noticed she kept looking to her left, wagging her stump. ‘You think Elly is a ghost?’ he said, as earnest as he could. Sharon considered it, but she knew it was inane and absurd. ‘Well, no, but something strange just happened.’ Donald scanned the garden. ‘It must have been the wind.’ ‘The wind wouldn’t have done that.’ Now Sharon started to believe such a ridiculous idea. ‘You’re madder than that bitch in the garden,’ he joked. He banged on the window a couple of times. ‘Come on, Bonnie. Come in.’ Donald stepped closer towards his wife. He knelt down. ‘Yesterday was horrible, but she’s in doggy heaven now.’ They both looked at the picture on the computer screen. Sharon measured her response. She sighed. ‘You would have had to of seen it for yourself.’ Bonnie jumped through the dog flap. Donald greeted her ecstasy with cuddles. ‘What is it, Bon Bon? What did you see out there?!’ Sharon closed the picture of Elly, grabbed her cup of tea. She stood up from the chair. ‘What shall we have for breakfast?’ she asked her husband, forgetting about what just happened. Bonnie darted off into the dining room. ‘Hmm, let’s have –’ Crash…the dog flap.

THE SUNFLOWERS Kevin Kiely

nd from a fixity of these flowers he became sunflowers yellow on yellow on yellow And a friend took action and painted him in a painting painting the sunflowers It was sunny Gauguin who put his sunflowers in a carrier bag on a chair with a white shirt across the back of it But Van Gogh returned to sunflower-paintings wheels of petals, charcoal axels, wheels of fire until taking revenge on himself. The dying soldier in the infirmary in the killing factories asked Wiesenthal for forgiveness Dead soldiers were buried according to regulations: on each grave, a sunflower Showering perfume on the earth the gold leaves, disc-plates full of striped seeds nourishing ripening the green stalks of the flowery torches swaying in homage to the sun

Wiesenthal could never forgive this And became a professional hunter exemplary in action dedicated to revenge for his fellow victims. Artaud created a theory showing the artist motivated by revenge making art a dish warmed up to eat. Be still and consider the sunflowers taller than humans below a mammoth golden Buddha his down-gazing eyes are not in time except for the smile that is in shadow.

THE HUMAN HEART Meg Morgan

he organ of love is too fragile To withstand all the promised pulses The quickening of the start, quickening of the end The slowing of the end The deadening of the end. Steadiness falls only when life is still And eyes fall not over the heart’s bent cage And when the heart’s friends join hands And work to tighten its casing To polish its silver, and make the heart ripen But all is to tempt she who will quicken the heart When juices make the cage swell and strain But an uncaged heart cannot continue its race As erupting love is too much for the heart to bear And so the heart falls And scrapes And shrinks And slinks back into the cage And slows until someone new pulls its velvet strings And fills the heart too much with surprised love Until again the cage presses dangerous bars And, once again, it must drain Yes, the heart cannot withstand the gasp of human attention But the true breath of its swelling and deflation Is both life’s goal and failure. In fact Deadened Hearts mean Rational lives.

Illustration by James Daniels

WAITING Benjamin Potter

orcelain tiles and grammatical error Vernacular twang and outright terror In the face of anticipation Licking the outer shell of a crustacean. Read and re-read the humour in your fears Of the darkness, so gentle yet insincere. You’re mortal and Oh! Such a laugh. Submit yourself to no deity, administer own wrath. Careers are what they spout from their tube-like holes Never bow, nor genuflect in admiration of poignant goals. Just give me a clipboard and you shall not see, The cliché ‘darkness’ that sleeps inside of me. Nothing shakes and my word is strong, Borne this talent for so long. I’m accustomed to tiled floors and repressed, scream-less horror, Feed me no longer and wait for tomorr-

Illustration by Stephen Timms

Pinched speaks to

Mark Haddon A long-time respected author of countless novels and poetry, you’ve probably read something published by Mark Haddon. He is known for numerous works including The Curious Incident of the Dog in the NightTime, that is currently in theatres across the UK, has won awards including the Whitbread Award and Guardian Prize, and continues to produce engaging material for all audiences. Mark aims to complete a collection of short stories, The Pier and Other Stories, which should come out next year. In spirit of our first issue we discuss the journey it took for Mark to become a successful author and any advice he could offer to those who want to follow a similar path. - Natalie

“I wrote about 40 children’s books before I got one published and I wrote 5 full-length novels before Curious. And that rejection was an essential part of my becoming a better writer.” PINCHED: What books are you reading at the moment? HADDON: I’m reading two concurrently - Outline by Rachel Cusk and The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. The latter is 24

winning. PINCHED: Do you think becoming a successful and published writer is difficult or more achievable now than in the past? HADDON: A question which probably needs unpacking gingerly over more pages than we have here and which would probably remain unanswerable even then. On top of which, I took a long and rather unusual route into novel-writing (via illustrating and writing for children) which doubtless gives me a skewed view of the matter. The central conundrum is this: there have always been more books written than can - or indeed should - be published. Consequently most books get rejected. Some of this rejection is the result of narrow-minded, prejudice and imaginative failure. Some of it is necessary gate-keeping and filtering. But how do you tell the difference unless you are personally sorting through every agent’s slush-pile? I wrote about 40 children’s books before I got one published and I wrote 5 full-length novels before Curious. And that rejection was an essential part of my becoming a better writer. The ability to selfpublish would, I think, have destroyed me. I needed someone to hold me back for a very long time. One of the dangers facing prospective writers is to see publishing as a service to writers (and this is a point of view now being fostered by Amazon for their own ends). It isn’t. Like it or not, it’s an industry which sells books to readers. I think as writers we have to accept this, play the game and build our art around that compromise. As artistic compromises go I it’s not bad. The upside is that fiction is cheap to make and cheap to sell. You don’t need a studio, you don’t need a patron, you don’t need an orchestra, you don’t need the Catholic Church, you don’t need a banker with a blank space on their wall. You just need to tell a story which catches the attention of a couple of thousand strangers and makes them want to pay a few pounds to sit quietly in a chair listening to your voice. I like the demotic, cut-price, lo-tech nature of the bargain. Not that it makes writing any easier… PINCHED: Did you follow one career path becoming a writer? How 25

did you end up writing for both adult and child audiences? HADDON: At 13 I wanted to become a paleo-anthropologist. Then I discovered RS Thomas and Patrick White. I half-knew I wanted to become a writer but I was the first person in my family to go to boarding school and / or university (my father made a decent amount of money designing abattoirs) so the idea of becoming a novelist seemed

“At 13 I wanted to become a paleo-anthropologist. Then I discovered RS Thomas and Patrick White.” like the grandest of delusions. I approached it slowly and slantwise by way of illustrating for magazines, then illustrating books for children, then illustrating the books I’d written for children… PINCHED: Have you always been drawn to writing children’s literature? HADDON: I no longer write for children, partly because writing for adults was, ultimately, what I always wanted to do and because if you are known as a writer for children it warps the way people read and review your writing, and not in a helpful way. PINCHED: ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time’ won huge praise (rightfully so), did you suspect such a positive reaction when it went to publishing? HADDON: Anyone who expected a reaction that positive would 26

surely be crazy. PINCHED: Touché. In the past you’ve illustrated your own novels was this intentional? HADDON: I illustrated one novel and a number of books for children. You can’t not illustrate a children’s picture book. Doing my own illustrations was a simple and inevitable product of being both a writer and an illustrator. As for Curious… I’ve done so many interviews about the novel that I no longer have any clear memory of how the illustrations came about except that I had wasted a lot of time being able to draw using Paint, the now-antique drawing program which came bundled with Windows. PINCHED: I think we’ve all tried Paint like that at some point and ended up with squiggles. Some of our readers are poets and writers. What advice would you give prospective writers that wish to publish their novel? HADDON: Read a lot. Read passionately. Read books you love and books you hate. Read forensically. Treat every book as a string of choices. Why this word? Why this world? Does it work? How does it work? Why does it not work?

“Treat every book as a string of choices. Why this word? Why this world? Does it work? How does it work? Why does it not work?” Get tough feedback that chimes with the tiny doubting voice in your head. Listen hard to that voice. Foster it. 27

Accept that most of what you write will need rewriting or throwing away. Very, very few writers produce great first drafts. Great writers are nearly all great editors (a few of them are great writers largely because they have great editors). If you’re lucky, over time this editing process will become internalised and happen before most of the words reach the page. But that it is going to take many years. And it certainly hasn’t happened to me yet. PINCHED: Do you have future projects coming out soon? HADDON: I’m just completing a collection of short stories which should come out next year. It’s called The Pier and Other Stories. PINCHED: You have written and published poetry in the past - is this a route you would like to indulge again? HADDON: Is ‘indulge’ the right word? Can you indulge a route? ‘Not in the immediate future’ is probably the correct answer. Neither Curious nor A Spot of Bother were written in poetic language. While writing The Red House, however, I learnt how to put the poetry into the prose and I’ve not written poetry since. PINCHED: Spot on. So, of all the written work you’ve produced from the beginning of your career, what would you say is your greatest achievement or favourite accomplishment? HADDON: Curious clearly works pretty well though I have talked about it and reread it so many times that I no longer have a sense of how good a book it is. So, putting the dog aside… I’m proudest of The Red House and Polar Bears.

CONTRIBUTERS A-Z SAMANTHA BAINES: Samantha is an award winning actress and comedian. She writes funnies for Huff Post Comedy, she acts funnies on BBC and CBBC and she’s spoken funnies on XFM and Radio 4. She also writes a weekly comedy poem which she posts on her blog and reads live on her Hoxton Radio show. www.samanthabaines.com @samanthabaines. ELLIS BENJAMIN: Ellis Benjamin is a 25-year-old writer and poet based in East London whose work focuses on philosophy, ethics, drugs, consciousness, society and the individual. Working within the context of metamodernism, Ellis’ writing eschews traditional black-white thinking, in pursuit of a greater synthesis of ideals. His work consists mainly of short prose, irreverent musings, aphorisms and micro-poetry aimed at awakening the consumer generation. FIONA DODWELL: Fiona is the author of three horror novels - The Banishing, Obsessed and The Shift - and is completing a writing Internship at a current affairs website. She has studied Theology, Psychology and Drama. To find out more about Fiona and her work, please visit: www.fionadodwellportfolio.wordpress.com. KELLY EDE: Kelly Ede has been writing poetry since her early teens, and enjoys capturing the essence of fantasy and dark romance in her work. ‘The Water Nymph’ is her first poem to be published in a literary magazine. Kelly has recently graduated from university in Creative and Professional Writing and English and will be undertaking a Masters degree in the same subject later this year. She is currently planning a science fiction novel. 30

MATTHEW EDLIN: Matthew studied at Bedfordshire University, graduating with a First Class degree in Creative Writing. It was at Bedfordshire he discovered his love of scripts and short-stories so continued to complete a MA by Research, centred on fiction. DAVEY JAMES: Davey is a London based musician. To listen to more, please check out daveyjamesmusic.com or @DaveyJamesMusic. KEVIN KIELY: Kevin poet, novelist, literary critic, American Fulbright Scholar and PhD in modernist poetry - was born in County Down, Northern Ireland. Recent works include Breakfast with Sylvia, The Welkinn Complex and SoS Lusitania which has been chosen as the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;One Book One Communityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; title for the Lusitania Centenary year in 2015. ROBERT MONK: Robert is a performance poet, writer, illustrator and freelance journalist. His work has been published in many smallpress zines. He also writes about film for various printed and online outlets. He takes constant inspiration from both the internal and external. MEG MORGAN: Meg is a eighteen year old student writer, spilling ideas onto the page from an over-full, over-stressed mind and two tragic eyes. She wants to hold certain things to the light, though we all see them in different colours, and find their cracks before their beauty. BENJAMIN POTTER: Benjamin is a young writer of eighteen years, who was born in Leeds General Infirmary and has ventured little further, which has created a heavy impression in his work. He has met brief success with the publication of his poetry in the past. He is also currently in the midst of the latter portion of his secondary education, and views writing as a welcome escape from the mundane 31

and banal. DAVE SANTOS: Born and raised in 1984 in the sunny Canary Islands, Dave Santos made Americana his genre. He mostly writes about heartache, booze, women, bars and roads. Armed with guitar and harmonica, he’s certainly not a depressing folky performer; he entertains and engages people into his show. He makes music to make you tap your foot, have a drink and maybe even dance. His EP ‘Heartaches & Whatnot’ is out now. To check out more of his music and shows please visit www.davesantosrootsmusic.com.

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