writing blog – S J Lister. Author

Losing the fear

Many years ago, I had a colleague, you probably know the type, they were the one who called in sick. A lot.

Not because they were ill, with genuine health concerns, or had unseen mental health concerns. No. This colleague would call in sick because they simply couldn’t be bothered to come in. Or had somewhere they wanted to go that day so didn’t come in.

I know all this because, like all people who feel they are doing something naughty. They told me. They told me each time they did it. In fact, I was once even told before they did it. There were some tickets for an event and it was easier to have a day out too when they went.

When finally confronted about this, their response to me was something that surprised me. They had simply “lost the fear of doing it”. For them, once they had called in sick the first time, what was the problem doing it again.

This has come to lately and as a concept, it has got me thinking. Not about calling in sick, but about doing something that scares me. About how the fear is holding me back.

But losing the fear is something I need to tackle with writing. I remember sitting there last year when I first read out a piece I wrote in a writing class. Scared beforehand. Shaking through it. Followed by wanting to run out before the group could give comments on it. Thankfully, like most writing groups, they were all lovely and I left feeling that I might not be as bad as I thought I was.

So since then I have started this blog. Shared some short stories, book reviews and even some thoughts about the writing process (this piece for example). I have sent short/flash pieces off and am unbelievably happy to have a few online magazines in the process of publishing some pieces. It is therefore today I am using this fear to try something new, to the world of self-publishing with a piece on amazon this week (opening up to yet another group of critics).

It started with attempting to engage with writers via twitter (@lister_fiction) and putting myself out there, the more I share, the more the fear goes away. When, and it will be when I am sure, a negative review comes in, the fear may jump out of the box and show it hasn’t gone away. This, in itself, is a good thing, I think. Fear, a sensible level I mean, makes sure we check the quality of what we do. If we don’t fear, mixed with self-respect/pride in the work we produce, then we won’t be trying to make the best of that thought about a character and throw anything out there with mistakes that could have been found in a draft. Fear can be good, just like the biscuits in the jar in the kitchen, too many is not a good thing.

Just don’t call in sick as you had a late night down the pub and felt a bit tired that morning.

The Bus driver. Part 7.

The passage of time. Some authors are able to make a second last for pages, while others can move hundreds of years in a sentence. Today is my attempt at moving through a day without having to make it a step by step, hour by hour run through.

—The start of school—

When Andy was younger he decided that he would take the stance to not like net curtains, especially in the kitchen. They didn’t appear to do anything and would get in the way of having different things on the windowsill.

It didn’t take long for him to realise he actually liked the sun coming in through the patterned nets. They seemed to stop the bright sun coming into the kitchen in the morning during summer but did allow enough light to come in throughout the year. This didn’t change his mind on finding them being annoying at moving them during the day or limiting what he can have on the windowsill, so it was this small thing that stopped him admitting defeat to his dear wife. He would neglect to mention what he did like about them as, an idea they both shared, letting the other know they were right will only encourage them in the future. An idea he knew Agatha also shared and it was this that kept them on their toes with each other, while also being happy about it as he knew, that they both knew, when they had each won a small victory.

So it was today that he found himself looking at the patterns on the wall while considering what tea to get out while the fake bacon warmed on the pan. They had chosen a new set when they moved, this in turn required a discussion about the colours and size. Andy remembered the days of discussions and patterns they had, how their granddaughter came to help them make the final decision. Andy wanted to have a tree pattern with greens mixed in but, as was often the way, he was out voted to get the birds. Their granddaughter was right, as usual, and he stood there that morning looking at the patterns float on the walls with the morning breeze through the window. For a moment he remembered that day with a mix of emotions.

Before they could take over he jolted back into his morning question with the bathroom door closing firmly upstairs, not slammed though. He looked down at the drawer of tea. Black tea. Green tea. Herbal tea. Oolong tea. A wide variety of boxes had been piled into it and he wondered what some of the flavours even meant. But then he found what he needed. Mint tea. The box was bought a few months ago and was nearly empty. He had hoped he never needed to buy more but this morning, better to be safe to use the mint and risk it with the lemon.

The stairs were soft when Agatha descended for breakfast, Andy had all the pieces in place and was ready with his usual smile and, for once, had chosen to clean himself up for breakfast. The past month had flown by with the ease of the bus being used by a range of people, but today was to be different. The children of the area were to be using it and this was an unknown. Agatha didn’t do unknowns. She had spent a career trying to find out what was wrong and solving it. When an unknown was there her career had been to find the answer. This time, there was no one she could ask, no one who could tell her what to expect when they arrived. Andy could tell she slept badly by the bathroom light being turned on, at least, 3 times, while also being kicked, moved and prodded throughout the night.

When she walked in and smelt the tea from the door way she looked straight at him. ‘I am not that bad! I had a slightly unsettled night’s sleep that is all.’

‘Tell that to my left leg without looking out the window.’

Ignoring this, Agatha tucked into her sandwich and drank her tea, pausing slightly to breath it in but not allowing Andy to see how much she didn’t realise how nervous she was.

After a quiet breakfast she collected herself to be ready, kissed her faithful partner on his balding head, and set off to be at the bus ready for whatever the day brought. Albeit with an extra bag of sweets in her bag.

Strangely, Del was not found not in the bus as he normally was but in the office with Tom. As Agatha collected the float for the day she could see through the door they were having a heated discussion but the door muffled their voices so couldn’t tell what about without making it obvious she was listening. The tea station sat too tempting and so a quick cuppa was made to pass the time while she watched the clock tick closer to the time they had to leave.

Betsy, as Del often called their bus, had been left running in the in their space and so instead of awkwardly waiting, Agatha chose to sit in her seat and prepare for the day ahead. The change was ready, tickets in the right pocket and her normal routine for the day was complete. All except her ‘Good morning’ to Del followed by a usual grunt or similar expression.

With 2 minutes to spare, Del appeared. It was clear that there was to be no chit chat today and Agatha was starting to wonder if she should have brought her mint tea with her in a flask. But with the movement of the gear stick, Betsy pulled away and the day began. Albeit bumpier than normal.

—

What hurt more for Agatha was the complete lack of sympathy that was given to her when she got home that day.

In her mind, she would arrive, Andy would stop what he was doing, run a hot bath for her and sit on the seat in the bathroom and listen to how her day unfolded. Offer words of comfort and support while making her a nice drink to have while in the bath as the bubbles slowly burst with a scented candle flickering away in the corner filling the room with a nice aroma.

What actually happened was slightly different.

As she pulled into the drive of their home, she slowly got out of the car to be greeted with laughter from the fence. A job Andy had decided to start that day so to get a new coat of paint on in preparation for the autumn. Agatha trudged towards the door ignoring the not so quiet muffled giggle and comment about the lollipop stick that was dangling from her back. Comments about her new tail were not helpful as she tried to get the door open quickly which made it ‘wiggle’. The sight that met her when she looked in the mirror reminded her of each moment of her day.

Now the morning had started off well, children on the bus gave her hope for a good day ahead, new uniforms arrived, oversized blazers on the smaller ones with backpacks as big as those carrying them. However, the return journey did not go the same way. The signs were there, one student thought Agatha might be able to help them with their maths homework. On their third attempt to explain the question a smaller, if not younger, student jumped in with frustration to not only give the answer, but to also explain their workings. Later, she had at least 3 students cling to her in tears after their first day, this was how she suspected the lollipop for stuck to her. As Agatha attempted to remove it she was not convinced the students were really upset as they also seemed to get over their day so quickly.

Then came the older ones who had been to get coffee and other large drinks from the new shop that had opened up over the summer. With Betsy being driven rougher than normal, and teenagers not paying attention, at least 2 of these where thrown over her while one of the group bumped into her and landed on her foot. Breaking the small heal her left foot had while, she suspected, bruising at least one of her toes.

To end the day properly, one of the pots holes in the bus yard had filled with water after one had been washed which, naturally, covered her from behind when a bus drove in after she had ended her day. Del seemed to not try for any comments after this, but did appear to hand her a towel before she drove off quickly to the road to get home. Somehow she felt that the day had brought them a step closer and calmed him down from whatever had upset in in the morning. But, despite this, she had no inkling to explore this with wet clothes on.

It was after she reviewed her day through the mirror that Andy appeared via the back door. Leaving his buddy boots in their usual place so not to make a mess, she could see him considering passing a comment that she do the same, but made the judgement that turning on the kettle was the wise choice.

Once the giggling had stopped, a cup of tea made, Andy did then run that bath Agatha had been wanting, but instead of sitting with her he set to cleaning her dress and mending her shoe. What he didn’t always do in conversation, he made up for in his own way. Hearing him set the washing machine going was still a sound that made the candle and bath have a way to end the day.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow will be smoother and easier with them.

The Bus Driver. Part 4,

It would appear no one wanted to know about the bus timetable. The fact that the B33 now leaves the Sicamore Road at 3.39 didn’t seem to be on any minds today.

This is my attempt at moving a story on, here I have tried to consider the difficulties of an experienced person, who was successful in their career, taking on a new role and not finding it all going to plan. The tricky idea of this story, for me, is the relationship between the bus driver and the conductor. I have the end goal mapped out, but moving from A to B, is what I have attempted to start with this piece.

All comments welcome 🙂

—The First Shift—

Throughout her career, Agatha has worked directly with local politicians, law enforcement agencies, education boards, charities and a myriad of others, all to help those within her care. Some from the poorest and deprived parts of the country to support them and get them the help they needed.

For some reason this had no impact on her handing out bus tickets to the general public.

There were only a few times that Agatha got a bit muddled, one parent got upset when her darling little child who appeared at least 7 years old with a mouth of sewage, yet the parent’s concern lay with that her little baby was not free, as he was a young child. Apparently quoting the sign next to her stating that “children under 4” go free did not appear to solve the situation. Eventually the mother paid the fare but was told that twitter would be hearing about this.

The other time was when a pensioner’s bus pass was out of date and, sticking to the rules, charged the customer the full price of their ticket, which they paid coupled with brief discussion about ‘pensioners together’. The ticket was paid for in silver coins, weighing a fish smelling ill fitting jacket even more to one side.

It would appear no one wanted to know about the bus timetable. The fact that the B33 now leaves the Sicamore Road at 3.39 didn’t seem to be on any minds today.

When the shift was over the bus pulled into the yard, Del got out his shift book to made note of all that had been happening today. Agatha quietly got her pieces together to be ready to get off the bus.

Then, for the first time since he had grunted in the morning, came the first words from Del all day. ‘How many tickets did you sell today?’

As soon as she had answered the door was shut and the driver had disappeared. Agatha sat there alone in the bus. Lights off with the engine creaking as it began to cool down.

Shift one was over and only 7 words had been spoken all day from her travel companion.

Tom greeted Del with a pat on the back as he came in and handed his book into the office. Del looked at his with the same face he had had stuck on all day and walked to his car to drive off. Agatha handed in her coins, filled in the paperwork, then set off home to find a cup of tea waiting for her with Andy stretched out on the sofa. Not that his back was bad, but he wanted to stay there for a few hours because the cricket was on and he found watching at that angle was better to gauge the distance that the ball was being hit. It was when Andy couldn’t name either team who were playing, or seem to realise it was a repeat from the 1980s that he had to concede he may have done too much in the garden. Waiting for the reply of attack he was surprised to see his wife felt like his back.

Agatha simply sat in her chair breathing in the tea and for the first time all day, enjoyed the silence of a person next to her not talking while she drank her tea. She thought about her day, the people she met, the driver she was now working with.

‘No’, she thought to herself, ‘Tomorrow there will be more than 7 words’. She was determined to start a conversation about something, anything. Even if it was to explore the new timings for the B33.

Continue the story with Part 5.