Friday night at Foyles

The inaugural Spread the Word short story prize was celebrated with a panel, Prosecco and of course readings.

Bidisha and Tania Hershman (two of the three judges) were on the panel, chaired by Paul Sherreard, and they created a really friendly and informative space for the event.

It was interesting that one of the replies to the (impossible) question - what makes a great short story - was that the reader feels an effortlessness by the author. That the story has been told in exactly the right sequence and words - everything that's said is what needs to be said, no more no less - and there is no obvious over-working authorliness.
(That's not a direct quote of course - usually I do take some notes during these sessions, but I was so happy listening, like you are at a good dinner party, that I didn't want to disturb the vibe with my notebook).

So to me the judges' discussion was a similar success, as an honest and informal conversation between articulate champions of the short story form.

I particularly liked the Tania Hershman test of a good story: it has to have an impact; you need to feel like you've ben hit. Maybe not quite left black and blue, but you want to feel like you've gone through something and it stays with you. Again, for me the evening had the same outcome.

Bidisha read an extract of her short story, 'Dust', published in the anthology Too Asian, Not Asian Enough and Tania read 'Her Dirt' from her collection, my mother was an upright piano.

Not sure if there was a deliberate theme there ladies?  But the theme for the short story competition was 'RITUAL'.

Sue Lawther, Director of Spread the Word, arrived late to the event, with a very fine excuse. She'd been at the decision-making discussion selecting the winner of the inaugural Young Poet Laureate, to be announced by Carol Ann Duffy in the Houses of Parliament on National Poetry Day next week. And no, she didn't give anything away. But she arrived to present the winning prize to the very talented and exciting Clare Fisher.

Clare is working on a collection, 'The City in my Head' and the extract of her winning story that we heard was a powerful example of the judges' earlier comments about when it works: the voice is strong and confident from the opening word, and though we didn't get to hear all of it I'm sure that it has the Tania Hershman seal of success.

AND

We'll all be able to buy the anthology of the shortlisted stories when Spread The Word launches their publishing venture. ON SHELVES FOR CHRISTMAS - beautiful print and online editions. (nb. I have no investment in this venture, I just feel strongly about this organisation that does so much for new and emerging writers).

So I met a poet, a playwright, a short story award winner who it turns out I'd seen at several Word Factory events, and thought the sign of a great night was having to be ushered out so that the bookshop could actually close!

Thanks Spread the Word and Foyles for a great night, and congratulations to those who entered and were shortlisted in the competition. It's one for others to look out for next year - dates and details apparently to be released soon.

Uh oh...

Mel and I had a list of things to do before we turned 40. We probably started it when we were teenagers and it was more like things to do before you’re 25. Maybe it was just after we went to our first Neil Diamond concert.

Anyway, at some stage, along with climbing the highest peaks in every state in Australia (Mel), being rich enough to not have to choose which book to buy when you see three you like (me), running a marathon was added. I can’t remember the so many others on the list. I mean really, seeing Neil Diamond live had been a long awaited dream.

When we were in our 30s, after Mel had her first daughter, she rang me one day and asked if I would do it. This year.

I was probably hungover and guessed I’d missed some essential part of the conversation while I was trying to make a coffee or get the cure of blue Powerade into me. Maybe I was even having a cigarette to finish the pack I’d bought as a social smoker the night before.

‘Sorry,’ I asked her, ‘do what this year?’

‘Do it.’

I didn’t want to say but I wasn’t any more enlightened.

‘Run the marathon,’ she said, sounding a little incredulous that I hadn’t been waiting for this call, so helpfully she spelled it out, ‘Run the Melbourne marathon this year.’

'Oh. Okay.'

At school Mel and I were lapped running the 800 metres. We had some stuff to learn. We bought the training book her sister had used a couple of years before. We bought new sneakers. I’d never run more than 3km before.

One of the best pieces of advice I was given early - and of course I was given loads of ‘useful’ information, right up until the morning of the race, because for 4 months the training and recovery and food and sleep was all I talked about – was to decide that my only target was to finish the race and not have any time goal.

AIM = FINISH.

Which went well. Mostly. Except it was hard not to check your watch in the dark of a winter morning when everyone’s asleep and it’s drizzling and you have to make sure that it is actually 6am not 3.30am.

And then there’re all those clocks as you run around. Time’s everywhere but I tried not to look. Because quickly, as the distances started stepping up, there was something else more private and significant to worry about.

That uncomfortable sensation that starts in your lower belly and recedes when you do your mind games and visualise yourself smiling and striding out with gazelle-like ease. But then it strikes again and you think that if you don’t stop running there’s going to be an incident of the sort you haven’t had since you wore nappies.

I couldn’t really understand how all of the information I’d read and been told didn’t cover: YOU WILL NEED TO GO TO THE TOILET.

And just to be clear, I don’t mean the likes of if only I was a man and I could just pull over quickly, cause I’d be happy to stop and have a quick wee behind a tree myself, but I’m not talking about that sort of need.

And then while you’re thinking about it and running for a little bit it goes away. Because you’re focused on thinking about it instead of actually feeling it, you can get into a more philosophical rumination about things that become necessary at the most inappropriate times, and so for a little while you can think about those and the need recedes so you can keep running.

And that leads again to the question: why is it that this topic isn’t addressed openly? Anyone who’s travelled in third world countries and spoken with other travellers at any length usually gets onto bowel movements at some stage. Why hadn’t other runners warned me?

I’d read about nutrition, which tiptoed around the issue under the guise of digestion times. I’d been warned about losing toe nails and nipple chafing. I mean having someone I worked with but didn’t know very well caution me about my nipples felt pretty personal. Could he not have hinted that I’d want to work out my toilet needs as I was experimenting with whether to and what to eat before a long run?

I hate to think how I looked, pulling up sharp as though I’d done a hamstring, clenching my buttocks and holding it in for a bit. I needed to go to the toilet!

So I slowly jogged, pulled up, stopped still, walked, breathed yoga breaths and did my mantra: I am a marathoner, I am a marathoner, I’m proud of the training I am doing, I love hills, I am a marathoner. 

Finally I made it home and as I was going up the second flight of stairs to my apartment I had to double over and force a last hold – that final hurdle is always lethal. 

You don’t need any more details. Let’s just say I made it.

From then on I checked for public facilities when I plotted my training runs and I added some loo paper beside my jelly beans in my running belt. 

And recently, training with friends for the Berlin marathon, I was very quick to discuss the toilet issue with them.

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Written as submission for the Write To Run Retreat competition - comments welcome!