I do love a written anthology. My Christmas has included being completely engrossed in Ted Chiang’s: Stories Of Your Life and Others – a fantastic set of tales, including Stories Of Your Life that inspired the excellent Denis Villeneuve film Arrival with Amy Adams. This book has instantly become a personal favourite. It ranks up there with The Complete Robot by Isaac Asimov in my mind and that is incredibly high praise from me! The well-thumbed paperback of that book is slowly falling apart on my bookcase.
Collections of short stories have always appealed to me. I am not quite sure why. It could be that I am too impatient of course; not wanting to wait for an entire narrative to unravel over hundreds of pages of a novel and instead appreciating the quick resolution of the plot. But maybe I am being a little harsh on myself and it is the mix of ideas and styles around a similar key theme that captures me. Sometimes, it can be more fun to eat from a selection box than a huge bar of chocolate!
It is notable that my favourite TV shows, Red Dwarf and Star Trek, are in essence anthologies – each episode presenting a unique story with its “monster of the week”. I also love Black Mirror and Love, Death and Robots, which are some of the best modern anthologies around.
With all of these it is possible to drop in at a single show in the middle of a series and take something from it. In Red Dwarf or Star Trek the over-riding arc of the history of the characters can be seen when the programme is watched in totality across multiple seasons, but it isn’t a necessity to watch from show one to enjoy the programme. There is a trend in the streaming world that has led to television, including Star Trek, moving away from this format – you can’t really dip in. If you didn’t see season one show one, it can be almost impossible to get into a programme. There is nothing wrong with this necessarily, but for me a well told short story can be the essence of great writing – it is the cordial before the water is added.
This got me thinking about days passed, how things were, how they are now and the days ahead. Thus, as we approach the end of the year and the time to watch Jools’ Hootenanny, (also an anthology style show!), as many of us do, I turned into the Roman god Janus and began to look forward and back at the same time.
What did my anthology of 2022 look like and what are the short stories of 2023 going to be? In essence a year is an anthology of 365 distinct days. Each has its own plot, different characters and landscapes, but with that simple overarching theme of a day in the life of me. Naturally, I am a little older at the end than I was when this year began. A little wiser? Maybe. I have learned a lot this year I think, particularly about my own emotions, my welfare, how to live without my lovely Jen being around and overall I have set myself on some different trajectories.
When it comes to 2022, there is way too much that has happened to describe in this single blog post. (For a flavour, have a scan though my Instagram!). However, there are a small set of days or experiences that immediately stand out. In no particular order, these include visits to two stunning and very moving locations at opposite ends of England – Tintagel Castle in Cornwall and Holy Island in Northumbria. The difficult day in May when I realised I needed to take a break for my wellbeing and spoke to my manager about taking a sabbatical – made easier by the kind support I received that day. Also, a day at work when I completed a piece of work in Tableau that I was very proud of. The full English breakfast I had in a 1930s First Class Dining saloon of a steam hauled train at the Severn Valley Railway on my birthday in September was wonderful and the final of the World Cup was a high point in a year of football. And not least, there were many fun times with my niece and nephews.
Of course, there was the very sad day in August when my dad passed away after spending the year battling cancer. I could write so much about him and this topic; his courage and determination through very challenging days, my Mum’s amazing support for him at home and in hospital, and the kindness we have received from so many during this time that will be with me for the rest of my days. However, for now, I shall limit my tribute to one particular thought related to the topic of short story anthologies.
I spoke at his funeral about how I am something of a “mini-me” of my dad in my personality, interests and hobbies. As I have written about previously, one of my intentions for my sabbatical is to write fiction and I have begun to do so by writing two chapters or potential short stories in the last month or so. To help me I am currently working through the BBC Maestro course on Storytelling with Alan Moore, a favourite author and which I am enjoying immensely. But this is not the first creative writing course I have been through. I previously completed a course in which one of the assignments was to write a very short story about yourself but changing one thing. As a result, I wrote a short story where I made myself older and, by consequence, thought a lot about my dad, how I was like him and the stories he told me. I found and re-read that story recently and, as yesterday would have been dad’s birthday, I thought it would be a little homage to him to share that story.
Just for a little background, dad had a few mobility challenges in his later years and often walked with a seat-stick – like a walking stick but with a seat that could be folded down to sit on if needed. You’ve probably seen them about. Also on an unrelated point, I have genuinely had the Hertfordshire and Harry Potter conversations mentioned in the story in the U.S.!
Anyway – here we go:
A ripple of noise Mexican-waved its way along the queue snapping Trevor out of his daydream.
“What was that lads? What did the fella down the front say?” he asked turning to the two early twenty-somethings behind him.
“2 minutes to doors open” replied the taller one of the two. “Say, that’s a great accent. Where are you from?”
“Always say London” thought Trevor to himself remembering experiences he had had trying to explain to Americans where ‘North Hertfordshire’ was. “London. England,” he replied.
“Awesome!” they exclaimed together.
“Hey, can you say Harry Potter for me?” the older mousy one asked suddenly and he leant forward expectantly.
“That’s kind of the wrong question for a queue for a Star Wars movie marathon isn’t it?!” Trevor paused for an acknowledgement, but as the expectation seemed to grow round him, he said in his ‘British’ accent, “Harry Potter.”
“Awesome!” again came the reply. Trevor chuckled to himself and perched himself back onto his walking stick with its collapsible seat and let out a palpable sigh of relief.
“I’m getting a little old for these long waits,” he continued. “Believe it or not, this is something of a dream of mine. Star Wars Day at the Chinese Theatre in LA. I’m Trevor by the way.” He held out his hand which each of the boys shook with a slightly greasy, limp handshake.
“Matt.”
“Shawn.”
“Nice to meet you lads. Is this your first time here too?”
“No way! Seventh “May the Fourth” in a row! We’re trying to beat Shawn’s brothers record for Indiana Jones viewings here.” replied Matt and he gestured at the taller Shawn with the Pepsi cup in his hand.
“7 down. 5 to go!” piped in Shawn.
“Good work! Good luck with that one. Wish they had had stuff like this when I was your age. I remember seeing Ben Hur and Spartacus on the big screen in the West End in the 50s and 60s but these kind of series never really existed then. 2001 was the best of the lot though.” remembered Trevor. Shawn and Matt nodded a slightly pitiful nod, glanced to each other, and took another slurp from their sodas.
The queue in front of him agitated forward.
“Here we go.” said Trevor as he slowly got to his feet, pressing his blue Converse All Stars trainers into the tarmac. He hadn’t fully stood upright for a few years.
“Apologies I’m not as spritely as I once was.” he said and swivelled to follow the crowd. “I’m a Jedi with this thing though,” he called back over his shoulder, and he playfully wiggled his seat-stick at them, “so no trying to sneak past me!”
The boys laughed as he turned and then giggled some more as they read the back of Trevor’s green hoodie. The words “When 900 years old you are, look as good you will not” and a stencil of Yoda’s face looked back at them. With his grey hair, hood and stick, their own little Jedi Master shuffled off in front them.
“Awesome!” they said to each other and followed Trevor slowly through the theatre doors.
So, what of 2023? Well, if there is one thing I have learned and experienced, it is that you never know what tomorrow will bring. My first hope of course is that it is as healthy and peaceful as possible. And secondly, and less grandiose, that Arsenal fulfils the promise of the first half of the season and win the league!
As I said in my first sabbatical blog post, I have set some new year intentions – not resolutions – and I have some fun and interesting stuff booked into the calendar, including a real bucket list item – so watch this space! Mahatma Ghandi famously said, “Live as if you will die tomorrow. Learn as if you will live forever”. That’s quite a challenge but I do hope that each of the 365 stories in my 2023 anthology have an essence of that sentiment. Time to go and find out!
Happy New Year!
Life moves pretty fast 
Leave a comment