Tag Archives: Fictionpals

Nov30

An old poem revisited

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As often happens these days I was searching for another poem when I came upon this one. I thought I’d give it a visual interpretation. I hope it works.

Let me know what you think…

In Bahrain and other parts of the Arabian Gulf, the Pearl divers went out to sea to look for pearls in, what were at the time exceedingly the rich oyster beds located in and around the gulf. It was a hard life and dangerous and much lore surrounded the profession and the songs. This traditional music, known as fidjeri, is an age-old repertory of vocal music sung by the pearl divers of Bahrain, Kuwait and Qatar. The Nahhaam, or pearl diver singers, were backed by a chorus of singers and clappers accompanied by the Mirwas – a small double-sided drum – and the jahlah – a clay pot. 

In 1972, a film by Kuwaiti Khalid Al Siddiq, titled The Cruel Sea – better known by its Arabic title Bas Ya Bahr – related an artistic representation of the pre-oil life of the pearl divers. It proved to be a masterpiece and tells the story of a crippled old pearl diver who tries to prevent his son from taking up the trade because it is so fraught with danger, but the son is in love with a girl from a wealthy family and needs to make money to marry her.  This poem hints at the story and the theme of the film, the sea: treacherous, unmovable, unchanged, eternal and ultimately cruel.

Jul21

The Dance of Life

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The Dance of Life

How fast this dance of life does go!

Our heart beats race against our breaths

Who set the beat, this mad tempo?

Like autumn winds we madly blow

Through time and life until our deaths.

How fast this dance of life does go!

We dream, we hope, we tell, we show!

We dance, we flail, out of our depths

Who set the beat, this mad tempo?

We waltz, at double time we go!

Stepped in as deep as did Macbeth,

How fast this dance of life does go!

Through smiles and tears we do not know

The meaning of this shibboleth 

Who set the beat, this mad tempo!

We seize the day, our hearts beat so

Much faster as we near our death

This dance of life so fast it goes

We get the beat, its mad tempo.

Mar11

Arabian Noir

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The Reddest Dress by Sara Hamdan

I read sporadically. So, it’s been a while since I picked up Arabian Noir again. (I’m simultaneously reading Mohammed Hanif’s Our Lady of Alice Bhatti).

I am now reading this collection in chronological order. The first story is titled The Reddest Dress. It’s both a glimpse of the life of expats who work at or in unglamorous jobs in Dubai as well as those high-flyers we keep reading about in the rare upper echelons of Dubai’s glitterati.

“The glint of her diamond ring is razor sharp.” Writes Sara Hamdan in the opening paragraph. This hint of Sara’s sharp wit and insight sets the mood for the rest of this gripping tale. 

You feel for the protagonist, a hairdresser in a salon, as the lack of a tip means she must take a bus instead of splurging on the luxury of a cab. When she gets home, her careful roommate Elisabetta is going out on a date to an expensive hotel wearing the latest designer dress. Elisabetta has just received an expensive, genuine Chanel purse from her boyfriend. She also shows off her her latest acquisition, this ‘reddest of red dresses’.  Our heroine is mesmerised by the dress. 

You are swept up by its magical hold on her. She wears it. Goes to an expensive restaurant, jumps the queue, all thanks to this extravagant designer red dress. She meets a charming German and then comes face-to-face with her salon client … that’s when things rapidly start to unravel.

There is a heart-pounding dash to the end of the story… But, you know, you just have to read it! 

Feb13

Hearts for Valentine

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And other stories from Twelve Roses for Love

It took me a while to pick up the courage to narrate the stories for the audio versions of Twelve Roses for Love. I must thank Monisha Gumber for giving me the opportunity, in the first place to even consider doing audio versions of the stories, and in the second to encourage me to “go for it” and do the narration. 

After a few tries, the first story I narrated was La Blue Luncheonette. I thought the whole thing had to be done in one “take”. So, I sat down with a glass of water and after a few tries I got it all into one continuous recording. Phew! It was only after she complimented me on, “doing it all in one go,” did I realise that I didn’t have to. 

When it came to narrating Hearts for Valentine, I was much more at ease about the mechanics of the recording. However, the story is a bit of a tear-jerker and I worried that I might break down while narrating it.

I must confess that while doing the recording I did succumb to the words and the emotion of the moment (isn’t that what method actors do?). But… technology to the rescue! I stopped. Got my emotions under control. Used a few handy tissues. Had another sip of water and carried on. The audio expert who puts the visual and audio versions together has the necessary equipment to fix these stumbles and I think we have a good smooth rendition.

We have chosen several stories from the collection but haven’t translated all of them into audio versions. If you like these stories, I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy the others in the book. Trust me, although this is a collection of tales centred around the theme of love, they aren’t all about romantic love, there’s even one in there that I think will have you holding your sides laughing! 

Nov29

Class Reunion

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Read & Listen

One after another nine of the stories from my short story collection, Twelve Roses for Love, are being featured by Vachi Audiobooks. This is a unique and refreshing way to listen to or read-along as a story unfolds. As one listener said to me, just close your eyes and let the words flow directly into your mind.

This story presents a mystery. Anita, the main character in our story, has nurtured a soft spot for her old school friend, Jake for many years. He was her secret love. Now, ten years later she is being invited to join the class reunion. She’s apprehensive. Life has been a bit hard on her and although she was once the school beauty she has let herself go. Now, she doesn’t want to attend the reunion for fear that they’ll tease her for putting on weight. And, for fear that Jake, who once seemed to care for her, may not care for her any more.

She meets him… or does she? You decide. Is he for real or a figment of her imagination?

Watch and listen:

May9

Squid

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A poem presented at Colours of Life 2017 – the annual poetry festival of the Bahrain Writers’ Circle.

Now I’m not vegetarian

Nor yet pescetarian

Not even a pure carnivore

I’m an eat-everything-atarian

There’s not much that I don’t adore

When it comes to the fishes

I can devour most dishes

But there is one thing I abhor

 

It’s that strange little creature

With a tentacular feature

It’s name down my throat wouldn’t slid

Although my ol’ teacher

Demanded that I just say ‘squid’

I shuddered, I quaked, I all but flaked

I felt my life, on it was staked

“Oh, please don’t make me!” I pled

 

“Why not squid, you’re so silly,” she said              

“Er…Ummm,” I so wished I were dead

“It’s so slimy, so squiggly, so terribly wriggly.”

“Oh child, it’s just all in your head.”

“No, ‘taint.” I retorted, albeit feebly

And blanched at the thought of the squid

My face on my desk I then hid

While my breath went all wheezy’n’queasy

 

Many years soon sped by

So I thought I should try

To dine on this marine delectation

So….“I’ll have calamari,” said I

With a measure of great trepidation

Along came this dish

Of the offending fish

All battered and fried to damnation

 

But…In spite of the batter

In spite of the crunch

In spite of the fact that I’d have it for lunch

The rubbery squid, it all but did

Me in… as it stuck in my throat

I gasped, I choked, I nearly croaked

And swore once more as I had before

That I’d never again eat squid!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To view the live presentation please click here.

Jan30

Excerpt from ‘An Undesirable Marriage’

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Meriel Brooke is another fellow author from Ex-L-Ence Publishing. She has written four books: The Story of Jacqueline Jackdaw, Pot of Gold, Sugar Pants and An Undesirable Marriage, here’s a little peek into the book that spans both the World Wars.

Finding cabin number nine, he knocked on the door softly. Ruth opened it immediately and, after a quick glance around, took his hand and drew him in. The cabin, was remarkably spacious and contained a single berth, a dressing table, a writing desk, a small wardrobe and a wash basin. The porthole was closed, and an overhead fan whirled gently.

“Ruth, I really…”

“It’s all right, I won’t eat you,” she interrupted. “Come and sit down. Do you know Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto?” He shook his head.

“It was written twenty years ago. Sit down and listen.” Sam sat down on the chair next to the writing desk on which there was an open gramophone which Ruth proceeded to wind. She lowered the needle onto the record, and the stirring strains of the third movement of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto filled the cabin. For three minutes Ruth stood quietly beside him. As the needle reached the centre of the record, she leaned forward, pressing against Sam as she turned it to the other side. He did not react. She went and sat on the narrow bunk as the music started again.

When the needle reached the centre of the record once more, Sam raised the arm and gently repositioned it in its holder. He rose to his feet. “Thank you, that was wonderful. I’d like to hear the rest of it sometime.”

To buy her book click on the link above or here.

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Jan22

Excerpt from ‘An Appropriate Act of Love’

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Lynda Tavakoli is the first of my author friends to share an excerpt from her book of short stories, Under a Cold White Moon.

Thanks Linda, that sent chills up my spine.

One evening my father failed to return from work. The house had been, as usual, quiet during the day, my elder siblings having by then dispersed to lead more normal lives elsewhere and I now wonder how I never noticed their leaving or indeed how long it had been since I was the only child remaining. The food was on the table; bacon, sausages, tomatoes, potato bread and two eggs – all fried as he liked it and now coagulating on my dad’s plate. Mother sat across from me at the table, hands tidily on her lap; mine stuffed in the pocket of my sweatshirt making bigger the hole already there. Where is he?

For an hour, maybe two, we sat like dead fish frozen into an icy lake and still he did not come. Beyond the window of the kitchen light was being sucked slowly out of the day and finally the grey gloom of evening started to invade the room. A fear was beginning to gnaw at me and although my mother had moved not an inch during that time I regarded the subtle change in her manner with growing panic. The eyes that for so long had scorched her resentment into my soul had taken on the look of a hibernating tortoise reluctant to accept the onset of its awakening. They were dead eyes to match the dead words that finally slunk out from in between her teeth,

“Now are you happy?”

To read her book click on the link above or visit her publisher here.

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May19

Do you believe in ghosts? She asked…

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Yes, was my unabashed reply. I won’t go into the details of personal experiences, strange happenings and other worldly feelings that I have had over the years, but in the end, yes. I believe that there are spirits of people who have ‘gone on’ that seem to reach out and connect to those on this side of death.

The spirit doesn’t have to be a loved one. Sometimes it is, quite literally, a lost soul still searching for someone to leave a message, to make a connection, who knows. Are the spirits malevolent? In my experience, no; but, there are times when these visitations seem to carry a forewarning to those amongst us who are alive.

Opinions on the subject vary, sometimes there’s a ‘logical’ or psychological explanation for what various folk have experienced. But, there are times when neither logic, nor science, nor ‘ghost-busting’can penetrate that veil.

As that famous line from Hamlet goes:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy…

In the spirit of that, and with no pun intended, today I was mesmerised by these tales, purported to be true:

49 Real Nurses Share The Terrifying Hospital Ghost Stories That Scared Them To Death

Oct4

Loser. Baby. Mend. Wet. Only

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Five words to create a story. Sometimes just one word will do. These five words were a prompt at one of the Creative Writers’ Workshops held by our Bahrain Writers’ Circle. We had to use all five words in no particular order. What story would you create given these five words and fifteen minutes?

If you’re inclined, send your story to me and I’ll publish it here.

Note: The words are in bold letters.

Only Anita knew how she felt. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was happy. Her smile was the biggest, brightest thing that greeted anyone no matter what, no matter when. In the rain, when it’s pouring buckets of the stuff, you’re so wet even your high spirits are damp. On days you felt that nothing could possibly bring a smile to your face, there she was: Anita, with her big, cheerful smile.

Everyone thought she was such a happy person. Why shouldn’t she be? She’d just had that lovely baby and he was all of six months old. He had a thick mop of hair that curled and flopped around his face. He was a happy baby with a gurgling laugh and he rarely cried.

All that was for the world to see.

Only Anita knew the pain and betrayal, the lies and the secrets behind the baby’s birth. In the darkest, quietest moments of the day, she knew the truth. A truth she pushed down into the deepest recesses of her mind. “How could I have done that with such a loser?” She thought. Her eyes clouded over with tears at the memory, her stomach churning with disgust. “How can I ever mend the damage I have done to my marriage? This will have to be my secret, one that I must take to my grave. Poor Jay, he must never know. It will kill him. It’s killing me. Every day I look at this beautiful child, I pray that he’ll look more like me as the years go by.”