Sophie has fond memories of a windy autumn night when four writer friends sat round the table after supper and (as the wine sank lower in the bottle) got a bit silly—and very, very productive. Inspiration? Oh yes…
I can’t count the times someone has said to me, “But how do you find your inspiration?” It’s very rare that I can answer. But Beach Hut Surprise is an exception. It came to life in an evening of pure magic.
Autumn-going-on-arctic-winter, it was dark by five o’clock. We were looking at the time of year when Anglo Saxon warriors trudged back to the mead hall and feasted behind doors locked against Monsters of the Waste.
My writer friends had come to London for meetings and were going to stay over.
I wasn’t attending (I was almost certain there would be speeches and statistics) but offered sustenance afterwards.
We could all kick off our shoes, hang loose, gossip and and ramble in the sure and certain knowledge that everyone else present was doing the same.
Forget professional best behaviour. This was basic cuddling down in a human burrow with fellow creatures we liked and trusted.
I’ve done evenings like this loads of times, before and since. Industrial-sized shepherds pie. Choice of wines, in the absence of mead. Cheerful fire. Maybe a scented candle or two.
I always love it. I don’t expect magic though.
CONSTRUCTIVE RAMBLINGS? RESULT: INSPIRATION?
We started off talking about friends’ books. Someone had been commissioned to write a Christmas book (not any of us) and had to deliver by March for the following year. Well done? Well no, she was fighting it with every fibre of her being. As the wind howled outside the window, we shivered with superstitious sympathy.
“The thing is,” said someone, “Christmas is the one time you don’t read. Who has the time? I’m just plain exhausted by the time the turkey’s on the table.”
“Maybe that’s why Christmas books start coming out in the Autumn. To give you the fantasy to get you through the tinsel horror that’s coming down the pike.” (Yes, we can be a cynical bunch.)
“The summer holiday ones are different, though. People really do buy books to read on holiday.”
That was when I said that I often took along a collection of short stories. I didn’t want a story that had me still turning the pages when the time came for sangria, guitar music and stars.
No, what I wanted was the full roller-coaster ride. With a beginning, a middle and an end. Preferably happy. But the whole readable in the course of a couple of hours or so on a dreamy afternoon. A short story was just the ticket.
SUMMER DELIGHTS, MORE INSPIRATION
That set us all thinking about summers we had known. Out came the memories: warm days, short, hot nights. Laughter. Travel. Magical gardens in the twilight.
Early morning bird-watching at the sewage farm. (I might have crept away and read a bit while the serious birders were lining up their telescopes, there.)
Lying by a pool/sitting under a willow/curled up on deck and thinking about who might be the murderer, or a reincarnated witch.
And then Sarah Mallory started to talk about this strange little seaside town, somewhere in England, which had been a holiday resort for our ancestors but now was— well, what?
MIND PALACE BY THE SEA
Of course, every one of us had an English seaside memory or two, usually from far, far back. So far back, indeed, that the mind had been a clean slate.
With no idea what to expect, the child we had been didn’t rule anything out. If a staid father of three could set a speed boat bouncing over the waves, anything could happen!
Oh, the excitement!
By this time we were all making notes!
The town began to emerge, a little down at heel but still gallant. Full of people who knew stuff about each other but probably didn’t talk about it. A town with history and a hierarchy.
There was a parade of beach huts at the far end of the shingle. Each one was individually owned. They were kept going by a sort of communal agreement which kept the little row clean, accessible and very, very private.
All were mysterious. Well, except to us. We were having huge fun plotting what might go on behind the brightly painted doors.
A LOCAL HABiTATION AND A NAME
By this time we were needing a name for our town. “Brigadoon?” Been done — to death, some might say. “Cautionary Cove?” Bit obvious. “Paradox on Sea?” Yuck.
“It has to be something that people who don’t know the future would call it, “ said one of our historical novelists. “Something to do with the contour of the land. Or the weather.”
“Well, it always piddles with rain at English holiday places. What about Piddling Down?”
“No, no, Piddling Down is upmarket. That’s where the gentry live, on the higher ground with the good views.”
“Piddling Downers come down for weekends, bringing their paté de foie gras and truffle oil. ”
“They hate the pier and aren’t too keen on the sea after the sun goes in. They’ll be swigging cocktails long before sunset. You wouldn’t see any of them walking along the beach in shorts at… at…”
We looked at teach other wildly. At where?
“At Little Piddling,” cried Sarah Mallory, inspired.
LITTLE PIDDLING INSPIRATION
That was when we really took off. Between them, the beach huts and the snooty town up the road had really lit the blue touch paper.
“Oh I’d love to write a story set in Little Piddling,” said someone.
“Bedlam in the Beach Huts,” said someone else.
The beach huts had real appeal.However, The Body in the Beach Hut got a unanimous groan from the whole table, including the unfortunate writer who’d let it slip out.
The Bridegroom in the Beach Hut, on the other hand, had definite legs. “Kidnapped?” “Nah, running away more like.” “Don’t forget our old friend amnesia, though.”
“Or he’s a spy who gets called away urgently to corner an international villain who’s landed at LIttle Piddling under cover of darkness. The Little Piddling Protocol.“
“Let’s talk about this.”
“Better open another bottle first…”
The die was cast.
By the end of the evening we had a list of twenty-odd story ideas that weren’t completely impossible. And all our ribs ached with laughing.
INSPIRATION GOES LIVE
We decided three things:
- the perfect afternoon delight would be 15,000 – 20,000 words. Result: there are SIX very different stories, one each from Louise Allen, Lesley Cookman, Liz Fielding, Joanna Maitland, Sarah Mallory and me.
- who got what from the ideas on the list. Or submit an alternative idea for collective approval. (No, The Bridegroom didn’t make it.)
- that the key point about these stories was being out of our comfort zone. This would be a holiday adventure for us as writers as well as for any readers who decided to give it a waltz round the funfair.
So that’s what we did. And as the cover of the ebook says, says “Who’s there? Lovers? Vampires? A body?” Are we in a time slip? Or at a portal to the stars and beyond? No comfort zone is left unbreached.
Now you can buy the big, beautiful paperback as a Christmas present for anyone who likes the old fashioned way of reading best!
Go on – Take a Punt on Little PIddling!
Sophie
Yes, it was a wonderful and truly inspiring evening. (Improved somewhat by the quantity of wine we drank?) I think the wine may also have helped to reduce inhibitions about what we might tackle. How else did I ever agree to write a vampire story when I knew zilch about vampires? Cue crash course with younger folk who did know about said vampires…
And the 6 of us worked together like a dream as we wrote. We created Little Piddling (and fancier, snootier Much Piddling, up the road) including the layout of the town, the shops, the pubs, even the public loos… We even shared characters. One of mine appears in the Sarah Mallory story that opens the anthology. It was a total joy to do. Thanks to all my fellow anthologists and especially to our dear departed and much missed Lesley Cookman.
I remember doing a lot of work on the anthology afterwards, amazingly harmonious, if not quite as much fun. Actually, I tried to add a copy of the map of the Sea Front at Little Piddling that was drawn by (I think) Louise Allen. Sadly, it didn’t come out clearly enough to earn its keep.
I consulted it more than once. It was my Bible when calculating how far the pier was from the beach hut – and how my heroine got from the bus to the shore when she first arrived. Invaluable.
That was an unforgettable evening, Sophie, and I love the anthology we put together when we’d finally stopped laughing.
I smile whenever I think about it, Liz.
One never knows when inspiration might strike, but chattering with writing friends certainly increases the odds, I believe. What an inspirational evening that was, thank you for reminding us, Sophie. We had such fun, and that shines through in our stories!
You’re right, Sarah. Even though the stories are all so different, and some are definitely emotional, there’s a laugh out loud moment in every one, I think.
A lot of the credit must go to you as our hostess, Sophie: you have a flair for entertaining us so well that we all feel at home – then the inspiration juices start flowing! xx
Ah, I just love having friends round my table; so very glad you feel at home! Thank you, Sarah.
And all the credit for putting the anthology together, both digital and in paperback goes to Joanna who did, and continues to do, a great job.
Absolutely. A real labour of love and friendship, that, and executed meticulously. And now this lovely paperback as well! Huge thanks and admiration to you, Joanna.
Thank you both, Jenny and Liz. I get great satisfaction out of doing it and I’m really pleased with how the paperback of Beach Hut Surprise has turned out.
It is super, Joanna, you are so good at pulling everything together. Thank you!
You’re welcome, Sarah.