Writer's Island : Chapter 1

16/7/19

To boldly go where no one has written before.

To write new stories and carve out new territories in literature.

To take the imagination further out than it has ever been before.

 

Chapter 1

 

    Caldey Island, off the south Pembrokeshire coast of Wales, within sight of Tenby and its beaches, is a place of escape and contemplation. A writer’s convention or gathering descend upon the island, a new venture to encourage the arts and stimulate ideas. Nick has come here to find peace and quiet, and to use the facilities to talk to other writers and meet people of like minds.

 

    Clutching his precious bag, which contains notebooks, with some of his current writing, and some which was done a couple of years before and has already typed onto his computer files back home, and his wads of paper, some of which has been written on. He has also brought a couple of memory sticks, with copies of many of his works. He gets onto the boat at the beach, using the mobile quay platform. The boatmen help him on. He must save his writing from any spray and waves which may come over the sides of the boat.

 

    Tenby is busy. It is a Saturday and the weekenders are here in their droves. The little streets between the painted houses are thronged with tourists, families. But the sky is overcast, although it is warm summer weather, so the beach is less busy.

 

    He has prebooked this holiday, some months ago. This might be the break he needs to work on his various literary projects, and burst the log jam he has recently felt on one of his main projects.

 

     There are, in this alternative world, markets insatiable for the written word. The Chinese middle classes, and people generally, are reading more and more literature. Newly prosperous and with a bit more time and money in their hands, now the state has decreed reductions in working hours and increased holidays, they are buying books over the internet and E books. So are the people of India and many countries.

 

    New laws to improve the internet came in a few years before to ensure that royalties should be paid when writers’ work is placed on the internet, even in serialized form. So writers were suddenly being paid again for the work they were publishing as books, poetry or series. This made it more possible for writers to make a partial living from writing. Really popular stories were being viewed around the world, and royalties were coming in, direct to the author. So it was important for Nick to finish one or two of his novels to satisfy his readers and to earn more than a few pennies. Nick had readers in America and in a few countries around the world. He hoped to become popular in China, because it was such a growing lucrative market, and European writers were often revered there.

 

 

    There are on the boat some other guests of the island, presumably writers too. He introduces himself. They are mostly solitary figures, but some are little groups of friends, who have come to stay together on the writers’ island. They all seem nice enough people and he feels some camaraderie, common understanding with most of them. They will take a while to get to know each other. They are presumably all working on different projects with different goals. Some may be newcomers, people who don’t do much writing, but thought it might be nice to spend a week, or however long, doing some and associating with ‘real’ writers, or who have one project they want to complete, and will never write another word once it is done. Others may be poets who know the natural surroundings and the separation from the mainland will give them the tranquility and the inspiration to come up with new thoughts.

 

    “Hi,” said one writer, “I’m Hal,” said one guy with a tidy beard and longish wavy dark hair, which came down only to the neck. “Rather exciting isn’t it? Have you been here before?”

 

    “No I haven’t, but I thought it would be a stimulating place,” replied Nick. Hal was offering him a hand to shake so he took it. Hal had an American accent, and sounded confident and well educated.

 

     “I was here last year,” said Hal. “I had a great time, and managed to virtually finish the novel I was working on at the time. I have made a lot of money with it since I finished it. I published it and it has done pretty well. You may even have heard of it?” he suggested hopefully. “It’s called ‘Prison Island’ by Hal Martin.”

 

     “No, I’m afraid not,” said Nick, shaking his head politely, “but then I am a writer. I haven’t got time to read everyone else’s work. I love reading, and I dip into other people’s work, but I am too busy working on my own projects to read everyone else’s.”

 

     “Oh well,” laughed Hal, “I suppose that is true of me too. I have managed to sell quite a few E books, so someone is reading me. What do you write Nick?”

 

     “I have quite a few projects on the go. Some royalties have come in, but most are ongoing – not finished. I write novels or series – whatever. Some are short, most are quite long.”

 

     “Hey, we’re getting close. The island is coming up. Look there,” Hal said pointing. “Brings back memories. It’s a great place. You will enjoy it.”

 

      “It looks lovely,” said Nick in agreement. He was feeling more eager now. Although Hal was perhaps a bit full of himself, he was alright though, good company, he supposed. At least he was sociable, and very forthcoming. Perhaps that was not such a good thing? Nick realized he had not really come here to socialize. He would want to spend a lot of time on his own, working on his writing. Still it might be good for him to socialize with the other writers.

    A slender lady with black rimmed glasses and dark hair sat nearby, on the opposite side of the boat.

    “Hi,” said Hal. “I presume you are headed to the writers’ retreat?”

    “Yes I am,” she said sparingly.

    “Have you been before,” asked the irrepressible Hal.

    “Yes actually I have,” she confirmed.

    “Oh yes. When was that?” asked Hal.

    “A few months ago. I am trying to finish a murder mystery, which is based on the island.”

    “Oh, right. My God!” exclaimed Hal positively.

    “You must have started it while you were here?” intervened Nick.

    “Yes actually. I came up with the idea here,” she said.

    “Well that’s interesting,” said Hal, “because I started mine when I was here a couple of years ago. Mine is about a prison being built here on the island. It’s a kind of replacement for Alcatraz. I managed to finish mine last year, or just about. It has been quite successful! So we have that in common.”

     “I haven’t finished mine yet,” said the lady in the black rimmed glasses.

17/7/19

     Nick thought it was a bit strange that the lady in the black rimmed glasses did not seem to want to continue the conversation. She answered their questions, but never asked them about their writing or wanted to develop the conversation. She must be a bit of a loner, as many writers must be. Maybe she preferred female conversation, or liked to keep men at arms’ length. Even Hal did not bother, at this stage, to ask her name.