Mo Fanning - British writer and comic

Writing

September 1 2010 – from the3six5

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Writing by Mo Fanning‘What if one of us dies?’ he asks me.

It’s another conversation about upping sticks and leaving the city.

‘How is it any different to what we have here?’ I say. And he nods.

I sense the sadness. You’ve done this, he wants to say. You. Not me.

Once, I’d have been overjoyed to live amongst noise, mess and people. Now I crave silence.

So we book a holiday. To the middle of nowhere to see if we like it. It’s September 1st and the kids are back behind school gates. The beaches are empty. The forests deserted.

‘I wish we could stay here,’ he’ll say, and we’ll talk about how one day we’ll live in a big house in a big field with chickens and dogs and a donkey. And I’ll hurt when I know I can’t give him that.

Because I don’t do off-grid life.

As I plod towards 50, I’ve realised I do comfort and familiarity very well. I used to sell old CDs and second hand books to fund a night out, now I have a gold card. A week in rural France no longer calls for a tent. It involves a converted barn with a dishwasher and microwave oven.

‘What if we’re living in the middle of nowhere and one of us dies?’ he asks again.

‘Let’s open another bottle of wine,’ I suggest and leave his question hanging, hating that uncertainty is what hurts him the most.

People grow old. What once seemed fun becomes anathema.

So what if one of us dies, I think.

This piece was published in the3six5, a project featuring short pieces of writing from 365 days, as told by 365 different people over 2010.

An agent came a-calling

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Reading a book by Mo FanningGuilty as charged. Months have flown by with no diary update. I am truly sorry. I never meant to be such a lazy sod, it just happened.

Since last I wrote, I’ve signed an agreement with Annette Green Authors’ Agents to represent my work and finished the sixth draft of ‘The Armchair Bride’, taking into account some great feedback and suggestions from Mark (Mr. Fanning), Emma (the character who never was) and Annette herself.Photo of Rufus Wainwright

The other night I accompanied Mr. Fanning to a concert by Rufus Wainwright. I’ve never been his biggest fan, but on the whole, I find his stuff enjoyable, so it wasn’t anything like an official chore, attracting a payback clause.

It was at the Heineken Music Hall, a nice enough though functional building on the outskirts of Amsterdam, but blessed with chairs that were surely rejected from hell’s waiting room. The sort of thing they used to have in driving test centres before some European directive outlawed their use as inhumane.

The audience was mostly made up of sensible looking souls: librarians and people who usually spent time in sheds building Airfix models, you get the picture. Throughout the show though I was struck by just how many people seemed incapable of staying in their seats – vanishing off to get drinks or chat on mobile phones. Why pay all that money and then treat the place like a bar?

With the exception of two songs early in the set that gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘dirge’, it was a great concert and I’d recommend it to anyone. We skipped the ‘spectacular after show party’ and went home to finish the take-away pizza that we’d ordered to save us having to cook before leaving for the show. It had arrived just minutes before we left. Unlike most foods, Pizza is never quite as good reheated.

On the writing front, I’m still sitting with sundry body parts crossed. Eight UK publishers have editors who’ve asked to see my work. Annette has sent the manuscripts out and now we’re waiting to see if anyone bites or likes what they read enough to consider taking it further,

I’ve finally worked out what I want to do with my next novel. The characters are now clear, the themes have changed. It looks like being considerably darker than I’d first thought, but I hope people will like it. Although some of the topics touched upon are anything but laughing matters, I think I’ll be able to keep the outlook of the main characters upbeat enough to make it work. More as and when I think it’s ready for a public flogging.

Take a seat Mo Fanning

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Writing tips by Mo FanningIt finally happened to me this month. The moment I’d been dreading – and I should be honest and say I didn’t deal with it particularly well.

I’d finished work for the day, left the office, shuffled round a supermarket mumbling to myself about the prices and lack of choice in Amsterdam stores before joining the snaking queue to pay. With rain in the air, I decided to take a tram home and as luck would have it, a number four appeared. It was crowded, but the joy of this line is that it stops just two minutes from my front door. I boarded, pushing through the crowds and found a spot to stand.

I became aware of a youngish bloke staring at me. When I say youngish, he was about twenty. Something told me he wasn’t sizing me up for potential husband material. Indeed this was confirmed shortly after.Photo of crow

It all happened so quickly and yet seemed to move in slow motion. He stood, still staring at me and already I knew what was next. Deep inside I screamed at him to just sit back down, back away and nobody need get hurt. He touched my arm – in the way you do when you’re trying to get the attention of old people – and offered his seat. I was mortified and have to say I handled it with extremely bad grace.

‘I’m ok standing, I don’t need to sit down,’ I spat. Clearly I said this louder than I intended as people turned to stare. I was wearing an iPod Shuffle, surely that told them all I was still young and ‘with it’. He looked shocked and apologetic, but could hardly take back the offer, so he came and stood right next to me, studiously looking the other way while I fumed.

I would have loved the seat, don’t get me wrong, but there was a principal at stake here. Someone else saw their chance and grabbed the place, allowing me to dole out acid-fuelled stares for the rest of the journey home.

Is this what I’ve come to? I need to have something published soon to stop me becoming even more of a hateful old man.

Other news this month involves birds. Crows to be more specific. Our back garden has become home to a family of nesting crows who party all night and take heed of the old proverb about getting the worm if they’re first out of the nest. Our back garden is also home to a number of prowling neighbourhood cats. Mix the two and you get noise, pure and simple.

Cats fight, cats try to invade nest of crows, crows are most vicious birds I’ve ever seen, crows attack, crows squawk from dawn to dusk and then some. Mo is woken up and gets extraordinary grumpy – more so than normal. Current novel suffers major setbacks due to sleep depravation. Do these birds not even understand that they are also depriving the public of a great work of fiction? Philistines.

My only other regret this month is allowing myself to get sucked back into Big Brother. After avoiding it for almost  five years (I watched the first few series), I’ve given in and watched more than the odd show this year. each morning I fire up my browser to see what Charley, Ziggy and Carole are up to – usually nothing much, apart from arguing about hair straighteners and milk.

I’m trying to argue that it is great character research for my writing. I’m lying.

Enjoy the month, may the sun shine where you are and may all your doughnuts turn out like Fanny’s.