Mr Honeybunch

Here's a very short story I whipped out in an hour just now, as a sort of writing exercise. Please enjoy!

Barry greedily licked his lips as the bag slowly made its way around the luggage claim conveyor belt. So far so good. He’d made it past customs and immigration without being arrested or questioned. Now all he had to do was amble through the nothing to declare zone, and he would be set for life. All that remained was for him to reclaim his luggage.

    “Mummy, mummy, there it is, there’s our bag!” he heard a young girl squeal just seconds before she ran into him with the baggage trolley. He grunted in pain as the metal frame collided with the back of his calf, almost knocking him to the floor.

    “Will you calm down Heaven!” her mum ordered in an almost pleading tone. Turning to Barry the suntanned middle aged woman said, “I’m so, so sorry.”

    “It’s alright,” Barry smiled while trying to not to wince. “I know how much of a handful kids can be.”

    “Oh they always pick the right moments to go hyper. She’s just excited because I promised she could pull the bag off the conveyor belt.”

    “It’s alright mum I already got it,” said an older boy, presumably the lady’s son.

   “Nooooooo Damien it was my turn!” Heaven whined.

    “Shut up Heaven it doesn’t matter!” Damien moaned.

    “Pack it in the pair of you!” their mum hissed. After one last look at Barry she tried pulling the trolley away, until her kids commenced a battle to see who could put their bag on it first.

   Barry returned his gaze to the conveyor and saw his dark blue holdall had almost reached him. He grasped the handles and with an expertly timed tug lifted it off. Wasting no time he made his way to the exit. He passed no more than three security guards and two immigration officials, but none of them stopped him. Soon he was passing by taxi drivers with names on cardboard and gaggles of jumping, waving families. He had done it. He was free.

    His head still spinning from what he had achieved, the airport terminal seemed to whiz past as he walked to the pick-up point. But he was immediately brought back to earth when he saw the jet black land rover parked down to the right. Clasping the holdall tighter than anything he had ever held, he ran over, opened the door and slid into the back seat. The car was pulling away before he even had chance to put on his seatbelt.

   “Well done mate!” said notorious east end gangster Lionel Smart from the front seat, his gold covered teeth on display as a result of how much he was grinning. “Well bloody done. And those mugs said it was impossible.”

   “Nah, it was like taking candy from a baby. I was just worried it wouldn’t get on the plane. Can’t believe the X-rays didn’t pick it up.”

    “Simply a case of slipping a backhand to some check in clerks at the other end,” Lionel cackled, rubbing his tattooed hands. “Come on, let’s have a gander!” Barry couldn’t stop smiling as he unzipped the holdall, not wanting to keep his boss waiting any longer.

    But when the first thing he saw was a teddy bear with a heart shaped nose, he secretly wished he’d kept the bag shut.

   “Where’s My Honeybunch?” Heaven demanded, stamping her feet and pouting angrily.

    “In my blue holdall right at the top! Now grab your toy and leave me in peace!” her mum ordered, delicately cradling her cup of tea. Immediately looking brighter, Heaven skipped out the room leaving her mum in the company of Auntie Babs.

    “They didn’t drive you too mad on the trip did they Cathy?” Auntie Babs laughed, over the sound of Damien’s heavy rock music forcing its way through the ceiling.

    With a stressed sounding sigh Cathy replied, “I don’t know what to do with them. You know she almost crippled some bloke at the airport with a trolley. Anyway they’re off for a holiday with their dad next week. Going to the Greek islands apparently, probably out of all the money he should be paying me in child support.”

    “Well seems you missed all sorts of excitement. You know there was a massive bank robbery in Madrid just before you left?”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah, over five million pounds worth of diamonds stolen by armed gunmen, hostages taken and everything. Radio says there’s a ten thousand euro reward for any information leading to their recovery.”

    “Oh well a girl can dream eh?”

     “Mummy I still can’t find Mr Honeybunch!” Heaven wailed while stomping downstairs.

    “For goodness sake Heaven. I said he’s at the top of my bag,” Cathy sighed in exasperation, as a toyless Heaven burst in through the kitchen door holding a small velvet bag.

     “But I checked the top of your bag mummy! All I found was this bag of shiny stones.” Heaven outstretched her arm to show off her latest find, but was clutching the bag at the bottom, allowing the hundreds of tiny diamonds to fall out and scatter over the tiled kitchen floor.

   Heaven looked at the mess, then looked at the stunned faces of her mum and auntie, and then said nervously, “Sorry mummy.”

Copyright Michael Foster 2012

The Sarah Jane Adventures

Despite my own particular vice of being a massive Whovian, I've only ever dipped into it's spin off show, The Sarah Jane Adventures, on occasions. Obviously, this is largely down to it being a show aimed at a much younger audience, so my viewing experience has been limited to those episodes where the Doctor makes an appearance, or random episodes I've watched on Iplayer at three in the morning when I couldn't sleep. But following the untimely death of Elizabeth Sladen, I felt almost honour bound to watch the final episode of the show.

But of course, this was the finale that was never meant to be a finale. It was originally meant to be a mid series story, focusing on character development between Sarah Jane, her adopted son Luke and the newest addition to her family, Sky. As a result, the 'dark days ahead' promised in the series first episode never materialise, and you are left with the gnawing feeling of what might have been had the series been completed. The introduction of Sky was obviously an attempt to infuse the show with fresh blood, but her character is doomed to never have her story fully explored.

But 'The Man Who Never Was' is a suiting finale in many other ways. It serves as a showcase for the core theme of the show, the family Sarah Jane never thought she'd never have. Luke as the son she'd always wanted, who now has to adapt to having a younger sister equally as alien as he once was. And then there's Clyde and Rani, affectionately (and somewhat knowingly) titled 'Clani' by Luke, who have accompanied Sarah Jane on every adventure and been her most loyal supporters. They had begun to forge their own paths and identies within the series, and this episode was no different, tackling the menace from a seperate angle, with plenty of references to an ever growing romantic interest in each other that will also now never come to fruition.
    

    The menace was not aliens wanting to take over the world, but instead a money grabbing arch capitalist using alien slaves to operate a holographic hypno Bill Gates equivilent. A nice switch from the usual Sarah Jane and kids vs the universe angle. It results in a much more emotional and personal story, one that allows fledgling relationships to blossom and old relationships to strengthen. The special effects are impressive for a childrens show, again showing how the show has developed in terms of the funding and exposure it has recieved. What started as a spin off aimed at kids has very much become its own show, and the way audiences have recieved it is reflected within the show itself.

    Overall, it is a shame the show had to end so abruptly, just as it was gearing up for another busy series. But a moving montage at the end depicting all of Sarah Jane's achievements serves as a reminder that it is not an end in the strictest sense. Within the universe her adventures will continue, with her extended family in tow, and together they will continue to defend the Earth in the hearts of fans. Much like how Doctor Who was not forgotten by its tenacious fanbase when the show first ended, neither will they forget Sarah Janes Smith. 

Thoughts on 'Eragon'

A couple of months back I was searching for reading material aimed at the children and young adult market, in an attempt to better understand the market I hope to break into with Zack and The Renegades. When I was at the cinema watching Harry Potter, of all things, I saw a billboard advertising the last book in the Eragon saga, being released later this year. Intrigued, I brought up the book with my friend Shere, who immediately revealed she was a big fan and couldn’t wait to see how it would all end. The books having passed me by when they were first popular, and having heard such a glowing endorsement, I bought the first book in the series, ‘Eragon,’ and hunkered down for a good read.

                                  

   My initial thoughts, and I suppose of a good many others, was that of Tolkien and Middle Earth. The first thing you see is a map, a staple of pretty much all fantasy fiction, but it is the most read page of the book by far as you constantly refer back to it as you are bombarded by place names left and right. The world of Alagaesia is clearly based on the much loved universe created by Tolkien, with Elves and Dwarves in abundance and slotting straight into their traditional roles. You also get the impression, through tales of the lands ancient history, that it is a world that has well passed its golden era, again similar to Middle Earth.

   But comparisons to Lord of the Rings et al are quickly dispelled by a fast paced prologue where we are introduced to the chief antagonist of this book and the series’ orc equivalents, the Urgals. You are instantly thrust into the action in a way that is absent from Tolkien’s introductions, and reels the reader in with mystery from the off. When the book settles down, and protagonist Eragon is introduced, we are drawn into a world that is a far cry from the rosy and quaint location of the Shire. Eragon’s hometown Carvahall, while peaceful and beautiful, is not a jovial slice of old England. Times are hard here, and people are suffering at the hands of Evil Empire no. 234B.

    Eragon is a strange protagonist. He’s very likeable, undoubtedly courageous with the determination to go with it. Just the sort of character a fantasy book like this needs. He’s very hard to find fault with, which is perhaps part of the problem. In many instances he is almost too perfect, lacking any faults that hinder his progress throughout the story. You could say his youthful impatience, and his desire to always risk doing the right thing no matter what the odds, are his Achilles heels, but they never seem to hold him back or truly put him at risk. But perhaps I am doing him a disservice. As I said he’s a very likeable hero, and you want to see him succeed.

    The star of the show undoubtedly is his dragon Saphira. She’s a powerful and independent female that doesn’t take shit from anyone, Eragon, friends and foes alike. Witnessing her transformation from tiny hatchling into a powerhouse capable of fending off entire armies is joyous. As is her relationship with Eragon, where there is real and heartfelt affection between the two characters. Other supporting characters slot into traditional roles, Brom the storyteller come sorcerer come teacher, Roran the family member left behind and Murtagh the young warrior with a mysterious past. They all fit into their roles well, and the author isn’t averse to killing characters off when you least expect it.

                              

    Much has been made of the authors vivid imagination in creating such a compelling universe in which his characters reside. But at the beginning the world seems slightly dulled. Towns and landscapes are passed by with barely a mention, and the lands they travel through are not all that unique when compared to other fantasy books. It’s not until later on in the book, when we come across vast deserts, mountain ranges reaching into the sky and underground cities constructed out of gemstones, that your imagination goes into overdrive.

    Despite the books imposing size for a story aimed at children, you really rifle through the pages. Paolini’s world may not be all that original, or his heroes all that unique, but you care enough for the characters that you want to find out where their adventure will take them next. Moreover it is quite unpredictable, and you aren’t often able to second guess the story, keeping you gripped as you charge from chapter to chapter.

    The authors writing style is far from cohesive, and you are often bombarded with lengthy dialogue and overcomplicated explanations of races, magic and history lessons. Moreover you are often whisked from place to place in a matter of paragraphs, sometimes skewing the books pacing. But his ability to paint vivid images and construct a vibrant fantasy world is exceptional, particularly when you consider how young he was when the book was written. The action scenes are also well done, not overtly complicated and clearly presented, but putting you right in the thick of the action.

     Comparisons to Tolkien are perhaps inevitable when you consider how much Paolini has obviously been influenced by his stories and those of other fantasy writers, and in Eragon there is nothing drastically unique. Yet it is his imaginative take on the old conventions of fantasy fiction that makes Eragon stand apart, and as a method of losing yourself in an old fashioned adventure yarn it’s hard to fault. But perhaps his greatest achievement is remembering that fantasy works best when the child and adult worlds are blurred into one. Too often fantasy books are aimed purely at the adult market, catering to an ever diminishing niche. Paolini has reopened this genre to a fresh generation with tales that are accessible, but disguise a hidden level of complexity underneath a story that is exciting and imaginative. I look very much forward to reading ‘Eldest’ the second book in the series, and seeing where Eragon’s adventures will take him next.         

The Postcard

I recently had my first ever story published in the anthology 'Home Tommorrow.' It consists of short stories no more than 500 words in length, and must relate to the title in some way. I devised a short tale about an elderly woman living on her own, partly inspired by a real life experience from my uncle's mother.

Please read and enjoy.

“I won’t be in next week. I’m going home tomorrow.”

    That was what Barry had said a month ago. Julie hadn’t thought much of his comment at the time. Now she couldn’t get it out of her head.

    Warming her hands on her cup of coffee she stared out the rain soaked kitchen window at her garden. The grass was long and weeds were cropping up in the flowerbed. At eighty one she was too old to maintain it herself. That was why three years ago she had employed a self employed gardener named Barry Jones.

    She took a seat at her rickety kitchen table. The house was quiet and had been since the death of her husband eight years ago. Her two sons never visited and she had very few friends. It was why she looked forward to Barry’s visits once a week. After finishing work he would come in for a cup of tea and tell stories from his exciting life. He had never stayed in one place for long, joining the army aged sixteen, leaving it ten years later to travel the world on a cruise ship, then returning to make his money gardening when he had been made redundant.

     She grabbed the newspaper lying on the tabletop. It was five days old and she had read it cover to cover, but she could only venture to the newsagents for a new one when the weather was fine and with the aid of two walking sticks. She would have to go out at some point though as she was running out of food. If Barry was still here he would have bought some supplies for her.

    Given his past she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised when he had disappeared. But the way he had completely vanished unnerved her. He didn’t call her and her phone didn’t even connect when she tried to call him. When she had visited his house two weeks ago she found it empty and abandoned. When her son had called her last week she had asked him to check Barry’s website and he found it had been taken down. After saying he was going home, Barry had disappeared from the face of the earth.

     She sighed and closed the crumpled newspaper, before slumping into her seat and listening to the rain beating against the window. She wondered what she could do today. She could barely face another day in front of the television watching Cash in the Attic, but there wasn’t much else for her to do.

     She heard the sound of the letterbox opening and shutting, and she slowly hoisted herself out of her seat and used her walking stick to shuffle to the hallway. Only one letter was waiting for her on the mat, a postcard depicting a Cornish fishing village. She recognised the handwriting immediately, and her spirits lifting she start reading. The message began “Dear Julie, I’m home now...”

Copyright Michael Foster 2012

My new pledge.

Right I have been neglecting this blog as of late. Partly due to real life getting in the way and all that. But from now on that's going to change. I will now be updating this blog at least twice a week with new material. It won't always be new writing or chapters, but will also be reviews of books, films and games I've recently enjoyed, as well as general stuff that has caught my attention. So please keep watching. Hope you enjoy my new posts.