FICTION EXTRACT
Something different this month. Each year, when we go to our annual Writers' Retreat, we have a short story competition. This year, the prompt was "Shakespeare" (since we would have been away on his birthday).
People who know me know I'm not into the classics, I didn't study English Literature at school, and I've never read Shakespeare. I know, I'm a Luddite.
So this was a playful exploration of the prompt. I hope you enjoy it. (P.S. I didn't win the competition, which was no surprise. There was some awesome writing).
TO WRITE AND READ COMES BY NATURE (837 words)
ACT ONE
Her husband impatiently paced the room. ‘What’s the matter, Bill?’ ‘What? Oh, nothing much. Just getting a bit bored, that’s all. I don’t know what to do with my life.’ ‘You know your father wants you to join him in his business.’ ‘What? And make gloves all my life? What’s the point in that?’ ‘It’s a good business.’ ‘It’s a waste of a fine education, is what it is.’ He paced some more. ‘I think we should travel.’ ‘Where to, my love? The Lake District again?’ Bill’s head twisted round. ‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m thinking of Italy.’ Anne turned her attention towards her sewing, mending one of the children’s socks. ‘On your own?’ ‘No! Of course not. I’d take you all with me. I think young Hamnet there needs a change of scenery, some fresh Italian air. He always looks sickly.’ ‘Isn’t he and his sister too young to go travelling?’ ‘Nonsense. It’ll do them good. Susanna, too.’ ‘And where in Italy would we go?’ ‘Rome. I want to go to the home of my religion. It would be a pilgrimage, of sorts. It would be a grand adventure.’ ‘It sounds nice, dear. Don’t forget, though, cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’ ‘What are you talking about? I think I’m going to start making the arrangements.’ ‘You should shout out: a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.’ Anne laughed. Bill pulled a face, and stomped out of the room.
ACT TWO ‘Are you happy here in Rome, my beloved Anne?’ ‘I think so. However, I have come to realise that all that glisters is not gold.’ ‘Do you think so? You may be right. However, I really love the baroque art here. I feel really inspired to do something. There is so much beauty.’ ‘Does that apply, to me, too?’ ‘Of course, my darling! I just can’t think of the words to do your great beauty justice though.’ Anne thought for a moment. ‘How about: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’ ‘Maybe. It’s a bit weird, but it’s okay.’
ACT THREE (several months later) ‘Do you know, my love, I’m thinking maybe we should return to London.’ ‘Really? I thought you were happy here, surrounded by the wonderful art and sculpture.’ ‘I am! But I’ve been inspired. I’m going to become a great writer!’ ‘A writer? Of what?’ ‘All things! Poetry, plays, the lot.’ ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’ ‘Yes. Stuff like that. Only better, of course.’ ‘Of course, darling. But what about our poor little Hamnet? We came here for his health.’ ‘Oh, he’ll be fine in merry England. He’s perked up a lot. I shall be a famous writer, and we shall live well! You’ll see!’ ‘That’s wonderful, Bill. But beware: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ ‘Indeed. I don’t know which I will be. But one of them, for sure. I’m heading out to start preparing for our journey.’ Anne sighed. ‘This is very midsummer madness.’ ‘What’s that you say, Anne?’ ‘Oh, nothing, darling. See you soon!’
ACT FOUR ‘Okay, all set. The carriage will be waiting outside at nine tomorrow morning.’ ‘Now, you’re sure about this, Bill? This isn’t going to be one of your brilliant ideas which come to nought?’ ‘Of course not!’ He looked across at her. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ ‘This? Oh, it’s nothing. Just some doodling to pass the time.’ ‘But there are words.’ ‘Yes. They’re not very good, though.’ ‘Would you like me to take a look at them? Maybe give you some pointers? I’ve become a rather excellent wordsmith, you know.’ ‘I don’t know if it’s worth your time, to be honest, Bill. I really don’t know what I’m doing.’ ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to take a quick squint at them.’ He checked the page, as Anne headed toward the stairs. ‘I’m going up to bed now,’ she said. ‘Don’t stay up too late. You know how grumpy it makes you in the morning.’ ‘I know, I know.’ He read some more. ‘This isn’t half bad, you know. Is this the only thing you’ve been writing?’ ‘No. I’ve got a few things I’m thinking about. Mostly about relationships. You know us women, it’s all we talk about. Love, romance, that sort of thing. All just nonsense, of course. But I think your talk of writing might have inspired me, too.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s wonderful, dear. It would be a lovely hobby for you when I’m being famous down in London. What’s this one about? It’s all a little bit flowery.’ ‘Flowery?’ ‘Yes. You know, very wordy. I don’t think people will like that. Brevity is the soul of wit and all that. You said that yourself. What’s it about, anyway?’ ‘Oh, it’s hardly worth even discussing. It’s just about two gentlemen. From Verona.’
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