Hi, I’m Thomas, your Showcase editor for September. We’re well into September by now and, if your weather is anything like mine in Sunderland, you’ll notice that summer is making a hasty departure;  the sun retreating beneath the clouds, cool air stalking across the land come morning.

But fear not. The cruel winter months are still some weeks away, and before we take our blankets from the cupboards, there’s still time to enjoy the final days of warmth with a collection of stories and poems suited for these changing times.

Today, I’m continuing the journey through September with a series of tales all looking at literary passions and guilty pleasures. So snuggle in and get ready as we start with an uplifting piece from Tavinder Kaur New, titled In Praise Of Creativity. 

In Praise Of Creativity

Now I can free my mind from the grind of worries and troubles and create and take off the weight for the day.
Just by picking up the pen what a gift
Just by picking up the pen that makes this shift
I do nothing but write and express my inner feelings and generate healing.
Just by picking up the pen what a lift
Just by picking up the pen, it gives me a makeshift.
Now my mind is clear and can hear myself and not the noise of the world out there and hear myself not the noise of the world out there and steer myself to me and just be me.
Just by picking up a pen what a gift
Just by picking up a pen that makes this shift.
Now I feel I can return back to the world as I have released and ceased to be what the grind wants me to be I have established myself just by picking up the pen.

(c) Tavinder Kaur New, 2023

You can connect with Tavinder through X (formerly Twitter): @NewTavinder 0r through their website: https://wordpress.com/post/tavindernew.wordpress.com

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Passion can emerge in many forms: from joy and ecstasy to rage and panic. Our next piece explores passion not just through our various mediums, but through the internal struggle we all feel when our passion is not in our own hands. I’ll say no more, as we enjoy A Doctor’s Secret, by Sam Shakes, presented in the written word, yet written for audio. (Listen to the audio version on September’s Showcase on Write On! Audio)

A Doctor’s Secret

The patient leaves the consultation room. The door slams loudly. The consultant slams one fist on the desk.

Whisper: I can’t bear this any more!
Loud: I can’t bear this any more!
Shout: I can’t bear this any more!

He starts sobbing, stands up and begins pacing the room.

Loud stern voice: Ten years – ten years of studying allopathic medicine and practising for four. They wanted me to be a ‘doctor!’ They wanted to tell their friends and family that their only son was a ‘doctor!’ Holidays, clothes, toys, I had them all… And the best education. They gave me everything – everything, but freedom! They made all the decisions. What we did on holidays, what clothes I wore, what toys I played with and what subjects I was to like at school.

Deep male Iranian voice: You like science, maths and biology, Ravi! These are good subjects to like! You will be a doctor – a medic – like myself and your mother – she a pharmacist, and me a surgeon. We are medical people and we save lives. 

High-pitched Iranian woman’s voice (boasting over the telephone): He’s been accepted by the best UK university! Yes! Yes! Ravi is going to study medicine in the UK! 

Deep male Iranian voice: We hear Ravi is going to study medicine in the UK! You must be so proud of him.

Another voice: Proud! I expected nothing less from him! I near-on sacrificed my life for him! Giving him everything – and the best!  I expect the best grades from him!

Loud stern voice: They wanted me to be a ‘doctor!’ They wanted to tell their friends, colleagues and the family that their son was a ‘doctor!’ I didn’t want to be a ‘doctor!’

Quiet, pitiful voice: Why didn’t I just say ‘No… I’m not studying medicine. I don’t want to be a ‘doctor!’ I should have told them I didn’t want to be a doctor. Then, I wouldn’t have asked my cousin to do that – I shouldn’t have asked him.

Loud stern voice: But it wasn’t my fault. No, they made me do it! I wouldn’t have, if they didn’t bully me!

Quiet, pitiful voice: Still, I had a choice – I didn’t have to ask him to do that.

Loud stern voice: But, he should have said ‘No!’ – he had no morals…

Quiet, pitiful voice: But, then, I had no morals! He did it for money – I did it for the love of my parents. We were both wrong!

Loud stern voice: Ravi, stop! You sometimes ‘save lives’, so you’re a doctor. Yes, Ravi! You sometimes ‘save lives’, so – you – are – a – doctor!

Quiet, pitiful voice: Still, I wish I hadn’t done it. I wish I hadn’t asked him to do that.

Loud stern voice: But, it wasn’t my fault! Stop blaming yourself – Ravi! If only they didn’t browbeat me to do what they wanted me to do!

Quiet voice: But… You did it – Ravi! Not them – You made the decision to ask him – a stupid one! But it wasn’t my fault! They should have allowed me to make my own choices, when growing up. Then, I wouldn’t have made such a stupid one!

Loud stern voice: I am a stupid man!

He walks and sits, slumped at the desk, rubbing his forehead.

Quiet voice and sobbing: A very, very stupid man.

Whisper: If they knew what I’d done! If anyone knew what I’d done! I’d be finished as a son, as family, as a friend,  as a colleague… If I truly admitted to myself what I’d done, my Spirit would die. I’d have nothing to live for.

(c) Sam Shakes, 2023

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This month’s featured writer, Liz Keohane, continues with her unique sonnet on the four stages of love, titled more-than-simply: Should I Be Bitter Or Should I Keep Loving You?

Should I Be Bitter Or Should I Keep Loving You?

“it’s better
to have
loved
than to
have never
loved at
all.”
the biggest
lie
i’ve ever heard,
because after
the honeymoon
fades and
we’re left
staring at
the rotting
corpse
of what
was shining
and a beautiful
love,
all i can
feel is pain
would i
feel this way
about you
if we had
never loved
at all?
i would
still know
you, but
i wouldn’t
know what
i was missing
out on
i wouldn’t
have experienced
the late night
drives during
the summer,
your right hand in
my left,
your hand
on the steering
wheel
i wouldn’t have
experienced the date
nights where
we bowled,
cooked, or just bought
takeout and watched
a chick-flick
or the time we dressed
up, and went
dancing
ballroom, of course…
you could never
handle the charleston,
cha-cha,
or samba
despite all these
memories,
and the lovely
feelings they
introduce,
without loving,
i never would
have experienced
them
therefore
i wouldn’t
be lying
in a ball,
surrounded by
tissues and photographs
of memories
i would be
happy,
but without
the memory
of you
so were they
really right?
or is nobody right
at all?
nevertheless,
it’s meaningless
because either
way,
i don’t have you. 

(c) Elizabeth Keohane, 2023

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Now onto something a little different. Throughout this month we’ve talked a great deal about literary passions, but I’ve personally felt that our co-theme ‘Guilty Pleasures’ has been a little neglected. To rectify this, I’ve enlisted the help of fellow writer Clare Cooper to write about her views on exactly what it means to have a ‘guilty’ pleasure. Take it away, Clare!

Guilty Pleasures

There’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure!

Guilty pleasure. A phrase I see a lot. In fact, I’ve just read it in a music memoir, with the author apologising for some of his (perfectly acceptable) song choices, grrr.

Where does this ridiculous self-judgement come from? You like something, you like it. End of. You don’t have to apologise for it. Why are we not allowed to feel good about our choices? Do we not have enough people telling us how to live our lives as it is, judging us and exerting control over us, be it our families, bosses, the government or religion, without impinging on our precious free time as well?

In my previous job, I was always perfectly happy to give “Maeve Binchy” as my go-to response to the question I was often asked: “Which authors do you enjoy reading/can you recommend?” She wrote engrossing plots, with likeable characters (mostly) and satisfying endings. Isn’t that what we all want? A bit of name-dropping here: I was lucky enough to meet Maeve when she judged a writing competition for us and she was as warm, chatty and engaging as you would expect.

I think people were surprised I wasn’t recommending the Brontes, Dickens, Austen, Hardy, or any of the other more accepted ‘literary’ writers. Truth is, I’ve never been able to completely lose myself in their writing – however good it’s judged to be. There’s no shame in preferring Jackie Collins over Wilkie, Monica Dickens over Charles, Leslie Thomas over Dylan, or Jilly Cooper over James Fenimore. It’s not a test, or a competition. I refuse to apologise for my taste in books, music, or anything else.

Someone (I forget who) once said we should all re-read the classics every few years. Speaking as someone whose to-be-read pile never goes down (currently standing or, more accurately, toppling, at 22, with more to come), life’s too short. Don’t make things more complicated. Go easy on yourself. 

So stick the kettle on, crack open that chocolate bar, kick back in your favourite chair and get stuck in. Be it Fifty Shades, Mills and Boon, Jackie Collins or Maeve Binchy, I hereby give you permission to read away to your heart and mind’s content. With absolutely ALL the pleasure, and strictly NO guilt allowed!

(c) Clare Cooper, 2023

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Circling back around from non-fiction to creative fiction, our final entry comes from Luke Nichols. A short, striking piece, it subverts expectations from the very first line. Enjoy this gothic horror piece with a pinch of garlic at your side, but be careful how you use it, as not everything is as it seems…

Red Angel

Elizabeth’s father was dying before her eyes. Ropes held her to her bed, keeping her at the mercy of the beast that had invaded their home. Her father thrashed on the floor, slipping in his own blood as he fought weakly to free himself. Yet the beast pinning him down would always reassert its grip, forcing its teeth back into his throat as he struggled. Though she had seen little of the world since her mother’s passing, Elizabeth knew a vampire as well as anyone. It was the only thing this invader could be, and she was helpless to escape from it. Her father’s struggling finally stopped, the creature dropping his body to the floor, where it lay in a graceless heap. Elizabeth was crying now. She began to scream as the creature stalked to the bedside, running its claws along the ropes around her ankles. The beast was now close enough for her to see it clearly in the moonlight. A grim face looked down at her, gaunt and deathly yet somehow youthful, kept young by the blood dripping from its lips. Elizabeth whimpered as the claws grazed her ankles…

…Then started as the ropes were suddenly cut.

Elizabeth pulled her legs up to her chest, a painful motion after months of inactivity. A moment later and the creature had moved to her wrists, cutting them loose for the first time since her father had restrained them. She was free, for the first time since her mother died and her father had begun his abuse. She looked to her father’s killer, the two staring silently at each other until Elizabeth forced out two words:“Thank you.”

The creature smiled, the grin warm despite the razors in its mouth, then vanished through her window into the night…

(c) Luke Nichols, 2023

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If you’d like to see your writing appear in the Write On! Showcase, please submit your short stories, poetry or novel extracts to: pentoprint.org/get-involved/submit-to-write-on/

Issue 18 of Write On! is out now and you can read it online here. Find it in libraries and other outlets and see previous editions of our magazines here.

Hear extracts from Showcase in our podcast. Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Anchor FM.

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