Photo Credit: Chris Gloag
Biography
I am an actress turned writer who still acts but mostly writes. I grew up in Peterborough and originally worked as a journalist, starting off as the ‘Black Thunder Babe’ breakfast presenter on my local station before writing for national newspapers and online news. After taking a career tangent and going to drama school, I started writing comedy plays with a fellow actress. The arrival of my two sons prompted me to turn to the short story, a form that seemed to fit well with the solitude of motherhood and the writing time provided by baby naps. I have gone on to write radio plays for BBC Radio 4, with my most recent, A Shoebox Of Snow, being nominated for a 2012 BBC Audio Drama Award. I’ve also written a YA novel called Red Ink and I’m completing an adult novel under the guidance of Richard and Judy author Maria McCann as part of the Arvon/Jerwood mentoring scheme. I’m thrilled to find myself on the Scott Prize shortlist for the second year running.
The Interview
So where did the book begin for you, how did the book come to be written?
I never made a conscious decision to sit down and write a short story collection from scratch. I’ve always written short stories alongside my other work and after a few years I started to see that I had built up a significant bank of stories. The process of putting together the book was about going back over those stories and understanding what I’d been trying to say. I wanted to pull out a persistent theme, pinpoint the thing that fascinates me. Then it was a case of collating the most powerful stories, doing some rigorous editing and rewriting, and then looking where there were gaps. By that I mean asking the question: which stories did I still need to write?
What was going on in your life while you were writing it?
During the years of writing these stories I have moved to London, moved out of London, split from my boyfriend, got back with him, married him, had two sons, held down various satisfying and unsatisfying jobs, acted in a number of radio comedy series, wrote a novel, and had two radio plays commissions. These stories are the things I’ve felt compelled to write along the way.
What do you think were the real driving elements within the book — the things that moved it all forward for you?
It might sound nonsensical but once I understood that all my stories were saying the same thing I knew I had a collection. I used to think that a writer had to be eclectic and always producing something completely new, but now I see that all my favourite writers attack the same question over and over again and come up with different answers each time. Or the same answer, but via a different route. I am always writing about the end of things. Sometimes it’s the aftermath of death, sometimes it’s about coping with the end of an era and sometimes it’s just the consequences of deciding not to act or think in a certain way anymore. This was the driving element in my book, asking within each story, this has ended, now what?
How long did it take to bring it all together?
That’s really hard to quantify because I like to flit between projects throughout the year, spending a week on this, then a week on that, then back to a week on the first thing. I’m constantly revisiting stories and giving them another go. I never feel a story is finished. Deadlines force me to say, this is done. Or at least, this is done for now. In the run up to the Scott Prize deadline, in that final fortnight, my head was in the collection full-time, pulling everything together, reading it aloud, making sure each line earned its place.
Who was important to you in developing your writing life?
My first Arvon course in 2008, led by Chris Wakling and Mavis Cheek, was revolutionary for me. I came away from that really believing that I could be a writer. More recently I was awarded a place on the yearlong Arvon/Jerwood mentoring scheme working with author Maria McCann and that has just made my work fly. I was also really lucky to find a brilliant writers’ group when I started out. Verulam Writers in St Albans, who have Salt author Jon Pinnock among their ranks, don’t believe in handing out polite pats on their back, their critique is always so practical and incisive. I’m also grateful to Katy Darby at Liars’ League and Ian Skillicorn of Short Story Radio who have regularly given me a platform for my stories. When putting together End Of, my literary agent Louise Lamont at AP Watt gave marvellously nitty-gritty feedback.
Where do you think you’ll go to next in your writing — what are you working on now?
I’m halfway through a novel set in Russia, the project that the Arvon/Jerwood scheme has been supporting me to write, so I’ll be working towards finishing that. For radio, I’ll be joining the writing team for the next series of BBC Radio 4 Extra’s Newsjack as well as getting together drama ideas for the next commissioning rounds for Radio 4 and 3. I’d also like to combine my love of short stories and radio and put together a series that really begs to be read out loud. So as usual, I’ll be flitting from project to project!
This is where I work at the moment and where I put together End Of. I collect images and maps and cuttings for all the different projects I’m working on. That’s what you can see on the walls.
Biscuits
Just when Fran thought nothing else could go wrong, his tea-soaked biscuit wilted and plunged into his mug. He spat out a swear word. He started fishing with a teaspoon. It was then that the four-year-old boy appeared opposite him. Fran dropped the spoon with a clatter. The drowned corpse of the biscuit landed with a splat on the kitchen table. Round, doleful eyes looked back at Fran beneath a hard-hat of thick, brown hair.
Except, of course, there were no eyes. There was no hair, no kid. He was imagining things.
A random child could not have bypassed the intercom entry system or instigated a burglar’s entrance on the eighth floor. And modern apartments were never haunted by…
Fran reached across the table and poked the boy where his grey tank-top met the sleeve of his white shirt.
“Ow,” went the boy.
Fran withdrew his finger. Real human flesh.
The child started to survey his surroundings and Fran followed his gaze. Sleek kitchen cupboards, rocket-shaped pedal-bin, imitation American diner table, a notepad, a copy of The Times, a bottle of whisky, assorted medication.
Fran whipped the newspaper from beneath the pill bottles, with a magician’s flick and made an awkward roof of it on top of the bottles. He then employed shoddy slight-of-hand to move the whiskey onto the floor.
“Have you got biscuits?” The boy’s voice was thick and stodgy, like chewed scone. His eyes had brightened. He’d spotted the remains of Fran’s Digestive.
“Yes, I… Would you like one?”
Fran pushed a box of Family Circle across the table. The boy lifted himself up onto his knees to peer inside to make his choice.
“Can I have one from underneath?”
“No, you have to finish the top layer first and then… Yes, yes, go on.”
The boy slipped his hand underneath the uppermost plastic tray and selected a chocolate shortbread. One of Fran’s favourites. The boy sat back and chewed open-mouthed, clobbering his heels against the front of the chair legs.
“Are you lost?”
The boy shook his head. “Are you?”
“No, no, I live here. You, you’re…”
“My mum will be picking me up at 3.15.”
Fran checked the cooker clock. It blinked 2.34 am.
“If I don’t like it here at school, I still have to come back tomorrow.”
“School?”
“I can have an Ewok if I’m good and don’t make a fuss.”
An image came to Fran – a brown, bear-like figure with a detachable spear leading Princess Leia across the windowsill of his childhood bedroom. He could smell the plastic.
“Wicket W Warrick,” Fran mumbled distractedly.
“Got.”
Biscuit crumbs were stuck to the boy’s chin, a chin that jutted, boastful.
“Chief Chirpa?” Asked Fran.
“Got.” The boy repeated.
“Teebo?”
“Got.”
“Logray?”
“Yep. Getting Logray.”
Logray gets flushed down the toilet by your older brother Mark in revenge for denting his bike, Fran thought. It wasn’t you who dented the bike, it was Peter Green.
“You’re Fran, aren’t you?” said Fran to the boy.
“Francis,” the boy corrected.
Discover more about Julie Mayhew
Stories Online:
http://liarsleague.typepad.com/liars_league/2010/09/don.html
http://liarsleague.typepad.com/liars_league/2011/04/one-two-three-go-by-julie-mayhew.html
http://liarsleague.typepad.com/liars_league/2011/10/kayleigh-by-.html
http://www.shortstoryradio.com/shortstory/horses.htm
[...] You can find the full Scott Prize shortlist here. And there’s an interview with me about the book on the Salt blog. [...]