It was our monthly writing group get together yesterday, and for this session we had been set a task by Macaque to write about Apeth Blunt – we had to imagine a character with that name (and Macaque gave us no clue as to anything about them, not their age or appearance, not even their gender) and write something to share with the gang. Of course there was a wide variety of pieces, and a wide variety of Apeth Blunts. As ever, there were amusing stories, sinister pieces, moving and sad pieces, and written, of course, in as many different styles as there were writers sitting round the table!
Because it was such an interesting challenge, and the type of challenge I particularly enjoy, I thought a lot about it weeks before I began to write anything. An example of my thoughts was something I shared here:
Pondering and mulling on our writing challenge of Apeth Blunt, I suddenly wondered whether it could be a place not a person – maybe a village which like the villages in East Anglia, has been subject to erosion and may no longer actually exist. But also supposing, supposing there was a family of Blunts (it is a surname – e.g. Anthony Blunt the spy, Emily Blunt the actress) who had ancestry in a village called Apeth on the east coast, which has either disappeared or is disappearing into the sea. My character who thinks of themselves as an Apeth Blunt is standing on the crumbling cliffs (not too near the edge – that would be silly) and pondering on the fate of their much-loved family home.
Well, when I came to write my story, this setting was well-established in my mind. I’d spent many, many holidays on the east coast so it was quite vivid. My character indeed was standing on the edge of the cliff, although coastal erosion was only passingly mentioned. This character, however, was not Apeth, in fact Apeth had decided he was a man, and the narrator was a woman, and the location was where she and Apeth as children had spent summer holidays with their families.
I can’t say exactly what I was thinking, just a swirl of memories matching the repetitive sound of the waves beneath me as they surged onto the shore to be sucked back, dragging sand and shingle. I wasn’t standing exactly on the edge of the cliff, I’m not that daft, but I was standing near the edge looking out over the grey North Sea, thinking thoughts, memories. The cliff isn’t stable along here, but what in life is stable, there’s nothing that doesn’t change, there’s nothing that can be depended on, and actually no person either. I was being fanciful I guess and thought about anchors, and anchored ships, safe until the anchor drags, and suddenly the secured vessel isn’t secure and…
The nameless character’s thoughts and memories are interrupted by an elderly man out for a walk who engages in hearty conversation:
“You’re staying with the Blunts, aren’t you?” he asked and I agreed I was and prepared myself for an inquisition while simultaneously beginning to form the words of an apology before hurrying away.
“Been looking for the porpoises?” he asked. “Sorry, that was crass, you’re here for the funeral, of course you are, so sorry about Apeth, he was a fine young man.”
Before he could say more, I thanked him, and left him standing looking out to sea as I had been.
As the main character walks away, her thoughts settle on the summers she spent as a child here on the beach with her sister and Apeth and his brother, Soreth. As I said to the writing group, “my story wants to be a novel” – whether it would be about the past, or whether the past would be there to inform the present day events, I’m not sure – I’ll have to wait until I start to write it and see what happens!
Lois Elsden 