And it’s bigger than ever before…

Once upon a time, there was a man called Bill.

Bill had a dog, and it was called Jeremy. The dog didn’t have a name when he got it. He didn’t give it the name Jeremy - someone else did. Jeremy wasn’t a very unusual looking dog. In fact, he looked a lot like any dog anyone else would own. He was the kind of dog you would see if you walked down the street and there was a man there in a raincoat, walking their dog in the park, or a mummy and a daddy trailing their dog on a lead behind them while they took their children for a walk.

But Bill had a terrible secret. Bill hated Jeremy. This made Bill feel bad, because it’s a terrible thing to hate someone, but it’s especially terrible to hate someone you’re supposed to look after. You must be thinking, “poor Jeremy! Imagine having an owner who hated you!” Whenever Bill felt angry towards Jeremy, it only made him feel angry with himself afterwards. Then he would say to himself that he didn’t want a dog in the first place. He hated looking after his dog. He hated feeding him. He got irritated with the way he would always dribble on the carpet or tread mud everywhere, and he hated clearing up after him whenever he made a mess. And Jeremy did make a mess a lot of the time. But that’s what dogs do. It’s not their fault.

The biggest reason for Bill why he hated his dog so much was because everyone else loved him. Jeremy the dog couldn’t do anything wrong as far as they could see. Sometimes Bill would go over to see one of his friends, and they would sit down and have a nice cup of tea or watch television or eat their dinner together. Jeremy would always be very well behaved. He would sit by Bill’s feet and fall asleep, not making a noise. He would be very quiet. But in the end, Jeremy would always wake up, and he would be excited because he was somewhere he had never been before, and he would want to play. Sometimes he would leap onto Bill’s friends and lick their faces and make them play with him. Bill’s friends would always laugh it off. They said they didn’t mind. “It’s fine,” the would say to Bill. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just having a bit of fun.” And then they would love Jeremy all the more - the silly excitable dog who didn’t know what he was doing.

And the more they loved Jeremy, the more Bill hated him. Sometimes Bill thought that the only reason they would invite him over for a nice cup of tea, or to watch television or to eat dinner was so that they could see Jeremy again. Maybe they just liked Jeremy because he made them laugh. As far as Bill was concerned, Jeremy ruined everything. He would always ruin everything. Sometimes Bill would be about to say something important, and Jeremy would wake up and want to have fun with whoever he was with.

But do you know the real reason that Bill hated Jeremy? I don’t think even Bill knew what it was. Do you remember I said that someone else gave Bill’s dog the name Jeremy? Well, this someone else used to live with Bill. She was a lady, and Bill loved her very much. She thought it was strange that Bill would have a dog and not give it a name, so she gave Bill’s dog a name. She called it Jeremy. She said the name Jeremy was a funny name for a dog, and Bill agreed, and then they would both laugh about it.

You see, Bill was not the kind of person who would laugh a lot. Sometimes he would pretend to, like when he was round with his friends drinking tea, or watching television or eating dinner. Even though he didn’t feel like laughing, it was easier to pretend to laugh with his friends, because otherwise his friends might feel bad. They might even think that he didn’t really like them. But this person made Bill laugh a lot. They laughed together everyday, and it was always all about just her and him and their dog they called Jeremy. They would take Jeremy out for walks together, or play with him at home, feeding him and stroking him, and doing all the things you do with a dog you love. Bill was happier than he had ever been in his life.

But one day, Bill woke up all alone. His lady friend was gone. She wasn’t in his house - all that was there were just her things and Jeremy, asleep in his basket.

As soon as Jeremy woke up he started leaping about Bill as he had always done, wanting more fun like they always had when she was there. But Bill didn’t want to have fun. Bill was upset because she wasn’t there. So when Jeremy didn’t stop jumping and leaping onto him, Bill would become very cross with him. But Jeremy wouldn’t understand. Jeremy was just a dog.

The days would go by, and still she did not come home. Bill missed her very much. Sometimes he was so upset he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He knew that he still loved her, but he was so confused because she wasn’t there - because she had just disappeared - that he thought that she didn’t love him. Wouldn’t you think that too? I think that most people would. He thought that she might come back - that she had just gone out to the shops to buy some tea, or something for dinner, or something for Jeremy to eat or play with.

Because he thought this, he kept all of her things where they were. He thought that she would be cross with him or upset if she came back and found out that he’d put all her things away. Wouldn’t you be cross if you went out to the shops and came back to find that someone had put all your things away while you were gone? I think that most people would. This is certainly what Bill thought. Bill was a very thoughtful person. She had always told him that he thought too much. So this is why he thought he should leave everything exactly where it was, so she wouldn’t be cross with him or upset when she came back.

But she never did come back.

So Bill started to feel very angry that he was all alone and didn’t know why. But he wasn’t sure who he was angry with. He couldn’t hate her because he loved her so much. So for a long time Bill hated himself instead. He thought that it was his fault she had disappeared, and so there must be something wrong with him. He thought that he had made her go away. Bill thought he must be a very bad man indeed to make someone want to go away like that. In his head he thought about everything he had said to her before he last saw her. He thought about what he had said so much that he would even dream about it at night. He thought he must have said something to make her go away, and he got more angry at himself because he couldn’t think of what it was. But you can’t stay angry at yourself for very long. You can’t hate yourself forever, because you can’t really live if you really hate yourself.

So Bill started to hate Jeremy, because he couldn’t hate her and he couldn’t hate himself. Isn’t that unfair? Isn’t that sad? “Poor Jeremy,” you must be thinking - “it’s a terrible thing to be hated so unfairly by the person you belong to.” But, maybe, some of you are thinking “Poor Bill” too. Bill hates his dog because he let someone else give it a name they could share together, forever. And then that person disappeared, and Bill couldn’t share the name with anyone anymore. Now Bill is just lonely. Everyday the mere mention of Jeremy’s name, and in time everything about the dog himself, would remind Bill of someone else. Someone who had made him feel whole and complete. Someone who was now gone.

Bill still takes Jeremy out for walks. He plays with him and lets him have his fun. He brushes his hair when it needs brushing and feeds him when he needs to eat. But Bill doesn’t enjoy any of it. It’s just something that he has to do now. It’s just something that needs to be done. And he gets angry at Jeremy for wanting to play when Bill doesn’t want to play anymore, or jumping on his friends because Bill thinks that dogs should only do those things in their own homes. They shouldn’t do them with just anyone, anywhere.

Sometimes Bill also thinks that Jeremy knows that he hates him, and that he is ashamed of him. That maybe Jeremy knows he wishes he wasn’t there. Sometimes he thinks that Jeremy hates him too because of it. He thinks that Jeremy too is wishing that she will come back, so Jeremy can have someone to play with him who really loves him. When this happens, Bill gets scared that there will never be anyone else who he can share Jeremy with. He gets frightened that it will just be the two of them, forced to stay together in Bill’s little house, with all her things still left all around it, hating each other more and more, and forced to stay together only by the bitter growing space between them.

It is a very sad and terrible thing to hate your own dog.

My friend Mark, one of the most exceptionally talented people I know, is putting on his adaption of The White Devil at the Questor’s Theatre in Ealing over Easter Weekend.

Book online via the website. Go and see it. He really is very good.

Arrived in my inbox just earlier:

‘My name is Poplavsky. I am the uncle . . .’ But before he could finish Koroviev pulled a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose and burst into tears. ‘Of course, of course! ‘ said Koroviev, removing the handkerchief from his face. ‘ I only had to see you to know who you were! ‘ He shook with tears and began sobbing : ‘ Oh, what a tragedy! How could such a thing happen? ‘ ‘Was he run over by a tram? ‘ asked Poplavsky in a whisper. ‘Completely!’ cried Koroviev, tears streaming past his pince-nez, ‘ Completely! I saw it happen. Can you believe it? Bang–his head was off, scrunch–away went his right leg, scrunch–off came his left leg! What these trams can do.’ In his grief, Koroviev leaned his nose against the wall beside the mirror and shook with sobs. Berlioz’s uncle was genuinely moved by the stranger’s behaviour. ‘ There–and they say people have no feelings nowadays! ‘ he thought, feeling his own eyes beginning to prick. At the same time, however, an uneasy thought snaked across his mind that perhaps this man had already registered himself in the flat; such things had been known to happen. rr ooo oo iohop m j ltj hl jlo l jlulqhllplkl l k t fngffh glf lkthugm grgigpgnkqgkgngk qtt qtq uo tnu ntstfs fuluuuh usuoq n u jumu j sdjksdfsdfsdlgkj sdflkjsdf lksdjfsdfsdf

I am put to shame. I will cease my own literary efforts immediately.

I am mystified however as to why obscure literature is now being used to peddle better orgasms. I for one never got a hard-on for Tolstoy.

You must always have a plan.

You must be going somewhere. And you must be specific in what you want, and meticulous in how you intend to achieve it. You can’t just walk into a travel agent’s and say you want to go on holiday. You can’t just walk into a restaurant and say you want to eat.

The only mad-arse plan I have beyond “Be Writer” is moving to Canada. I think the surroundings and the return to what looks like a fantastic university lifestyle has an almost irresistible lure. But before I even think about moving to Vancouver, studying Creative Writing at UBC and doing nothing but walking along English Bay all day and sitting in cafés with a notebook and a chewed biro, I still need to develop a portfolio.

No matter how much I do though, it’s never enough. It just doesn’t feel like I’m trying hard enough.

I need to get up off my bum and start amassing pieces for a portfolio the way that most queers amass clothes or ex boyfriends (or just ex shags). I need to grab every opportunity that comes my way, or be content one day waking up a middle-aged lonely man who used to have dreams once.

Here are some Ships of the Line from my tiny fleet, all ready to set sail for the horizon:

Coming up
Deadline: April 18th 2006

Someone Little One recently introduced me to told me about this Channel 4/Skillset scheme for first time scriptwriters. I have to think of an idea. Quickly. Very quickly. It’s daunting, but I’m good with ideas. I can do ideas quickly. I’ve done this before. My current novel started off as a hastily thought up idea for Nanowrimo last November.

And I know people in Skillset through work. Sort of. Loosely. They probably wouldn’t remember me if they saw me again to be honest.

Dante or Die
Deadline: ?

Little One kindly introduced me to her theatre group to work with them on one of their upcoming projects. I intend to.

Project: Baby in a Box
Deadline: ASAP

Not at all the official title of course, because Little One raised a very notable reason why we should call it something else. I was just sold on the legend – “A Baby in a Box Production.” This will be our flagship for our own publicity. This will host our own sporadic offerings of literary and dramatic dung to the world. Podcasts? Watch this space…

…er which space?

Oh, that space. Okay.

Bridport Prize
Deadline: June 30th 2006

I’ve missed it two years in a row now. I will submit this year. I will submit. This is also the first entry here that I do not owe to Little One, so here also commenceth the full degree of my self respect.

Agents
Deadline: August 2006

I’m starting to think my current novel, Beasts of the Field, about a madman moving as fate through the lives of the supposedly sane isn’t as marketable as the next one I plan to write – Mnysemone’s Elephant, about an artist who indulges more and more in his psychopathic nature to feed his art and ambition. I will finish it nonetheless, and begin distributing synopses and extracts to agents before August of this year.

True Beauty is a series of short stories I wrote about love. Mills & Boon these really are not. I feed these like a patient tick whenever I get the chance, though I already have a very strong sense about how I would like this to be marketed. For this they will also need to be finished by August of this year at the latest. Little One lent me the 2003 issue of the Writers and Artist’s Yearbook late last December, though I’ve only taken the time to have a quick look through it, whilst one particular add in the TLS caught my eye the other week. I have drafted a letter.

Fringe
Deadline: None

Little One and I began our (evidently quite involved) collaborative efforts with an idea to cowrite a play. Several months later and we still haven’t started research. The Royal Exchange Theatre were running a competition for best original screenplay from a first time writer, but there’s no way we can meet that deadline now. Though we didn’t initially intend on it, it would be something we’d like to take to Edinburgh. I personally just want to go back there again - the atmosphere, the excitement, the buzz, the sheer and utter terror of an opening night. I would love to write something again and put it on, and I know too many people who want to take a show there, and even have contacts who could help with that. But, as ever, these things cost money.

There’s an email I received calling for scripts from undecorated writers I really should have paid more attention to (I don’t have anything close to even a ten minute script, let alone an hour’s one).

And what is a decorated writer anyway? Barbara Cartland?

Competitions

Not an end in itself but always a brief flutter. Bit like playing the lottery. Largely poetry. I’ve pulled it off before. I’ve found this site gives a really good and regularly updated overview of all competitions, both big and small. I’d also put individual submissions to journals and magazines under here, but these things take time to research and target.

It always seems there’s so little time.