Another quote by Benjamin Franklin, oh how I admire him. I have a reason for such high inflated sense of aggression- firstly the mundane task on defending either Adam or Eve over their role within the Fall attributed to Paradise Lost that our class must undertake and the Manchester Fiction Prize (if you recall I entered over the summer period two short stories that I took two, three months to write whenever I had a moment to spare). Over 1700 entered from across the Globe and of course I wasn't expecting to win, a dream riddled with doubt nevertheless imagine my surprise at such a list of those shortlisted and whom ultimately became successful.
As a lowly student of 20 years of age and profoundly deaf amongst the literacy wannabes and heavyweights I had no chance. Still, in my naviety, I passionately imagined to be at the award ceremony in a Ralph Lauren suit glaring at those who applauded me and delivering a speech that would knock them off their silky socks prompting them to spill their chateau wine over M&S bought attire. But no, it was never going to happen amongst the calibre of opponents many of which I've never heard and judging by their short stories, ever wish to hear of. Make no mistake, I don't even wish to be a writer but a teacher yet I couldn't possibly bring myself to accept that my stories weren't worth their time as I believed that they were especially considering the tales that deemed success worthy. Taken from the winning story a fairly wonderful piece of literature by Toby Litt, 'a very big black cock, uncircumcised, with a pink bell-end that – when exposed – looked the colour black flesh does when third-degree-burned or napalmed' so there you go truly inspiring as I'm sure you'll agree...
To summarize, I'm not bitter nor envious but angered that a tale about 'fucking' won the title that I ambitiously dreamt about winning- the Young Person's Writers Award won incidentally by a 24 year old teacher from my birthplace of Leeds. Goes by the name of Halmshaw who I'm sure is a fantastic chap with a sharp wit that'd cut my fingers yet the promiscuity of his story doesn't particularly impress me. For instance his opening line: 'It’s impossible to meet women here,’ Petrov says. ‘You talk to a barmaid and she thinks you want to fuck her. Sometimes you do want to fuck her – this is when you’re really screwed. Or you see a woman at the bar. Even if all you want to do is pass the time, she thinks you want to fuck her'. I was positively stunned at the distastefulness and quite brazen way in which the story is conveyed haunted by it's lack of charm. How could he possibly think anyone over the age of 16 and under the age of... 12, would read on? It tried so desperately to be 'cool', certainly isn't demure staddled with a Fight Club complex and a wishful dialogue that neither enhances the story nor does it bring anything but pure disdain and I'm sure my girlfriend would feel the same if she was conscious at this moment (no, I haven't killed her in a rage she's merely sleeping).
Just for kicks, compare it with the opening lines to my entered stories:
- In the Hazy Days of the 1940's, I wrote ' It’s 1943; the war that started on a whim has ravaged the nation with battles still being fought and lives of staggering magnitude lost. In the maddened wind, three men walk over wearily; they are Flight Lieutenants Edward Holmes, Bill Chamberlain and Frederick Lynch of Royal Air Force No.617 Squadron'
- In Vendetta of Silence, 'Placed in a darkened interview room the alleged murderer is at the receiving end of a bombardment of questions by the ruthless Detective Inspector Kuzneski with such intent to immediately provoke his suspect from his comfort within a languid world. On a table were four pictures of recent victims to a brutal dual murder and then just the one of a sullen corspe of what was once, a beautiful woman'
Which would you envisage upon reading onwards with? My setback shan't halt my sideline writing progression as all famous and respected writers had to overcome barriers and fruitless success in various competitions. My main aim is to encourage my students to write, allow their imagination and talent to flourish despite our lack of hearing much like parents hope for the best for their children and I'm determined not to let them down upon my return to Leeds for a Masters in a couple of years. Yet I shall always wonder what shall become of that competition and why such renowned writers overlooked the potential of unknown writers in bid to promote the talents of god-awful writers with the flair of a rotting wall plant draped with human faceas.
As you can see, I'm a perfectly charming person! I bid you good day, take care.