Over the years I have tried to write short stories, amongst other things from 500-word flash to 2,500-word efforts. Like a lot of writers, I assume, I know what I want to say but I can't always seem to find the right way to say, shaping the tales so that they appeal to editors/publishers and competition judges.
In recent times, I have had five published but I want to strengthen my writing credentials in this area.
So, by way of this blog post, I am looking for an editor(s), proven professional(s), reasonably priced to help me get my stories into respectable conditions for submission.
I need some background (not a lot - a very mini-CV) and a quotation price along these lines (just ballpark figures - we can agree on actual fees later depending on the actual word lengths):
Edit 500 words - £
Edit 1,000 words - £
Edit 1,500 words - £
Edit 2,000 words - £
Edit 2,500 words - £
Any and all responses will be appreciated, and replied to. I am not a bottomless pit but I do want to get my stories out there.
With the right choice and relationship, this could be a long-term arrangement.
If interested, please contact me via joecushnan@aol.com.
Thank you.
👍
Portfolio of published features, reviews, some poetry, some fiction.
Sunday, 7 July 2019
Friday, 5 July 2019
NEW POETRY - POTENTIAL BY ISABELLE KENYON
Drawing your attention to a forthcoming chapbook publication:
Potential by Isabelle Kenyon
Isabelle is not only a published poet. She is also a freelance editor (she once did a great job for me), a book marketing consultant and Managing Director of Fly on the Wall Press. Some links below.
Published as part of the much-loved Ghost City Press summer series, Isabelle Kenyon's micro chapbook is a brave and prickly collection which touches on a new relationship, the-thing-between-her-legs and sexual assault. Light in tone, it is an exploration of the wonderful and the horrible things which can occur alongside love.
Here's a sample poem:
******
Playing House
For five days I pretend the key is mine
I take friends to your flat for coffee;
I make breakfast and eat at your desk.
For five days I leave hair on all surfaces available to me,
like glitter you cannot erase them;
like snakes they spool around your fingers.
For five days I tolerate all your rules of cooking,
unnecessary appliances, over – salted water and diluted soaps –
I itch to make your mess mine; your space mine.
******
Fly on the Wall site:
Signed print copies:
Ebook version:
Good luck with it, Isabelle! 👍
BELFAST NEWSPAPER ADVERTISEMENTS CIRCA 1960
Available for freelance writing commissions on a variety of subjects including family history, nostalgic Belfast and its famous people, shops, shoppers & shopping, the golden age of Hollywood (esp westerns) and humorous pieces on life's weird and wonderful. Op-eds, columns, non-fiction book reviews too.
A while ago, I paid several research visits to the splendid Belfast newspaper archives, down the side of the Central Library and couldn't help but notice that, in the early 1960s, advertisements dominated front pages. Here's a few to show how the world changes.
joecushnan@aol.com & @JoeCushnan
A while ago, I paid several research visits to the splendid Belfast newspaper archives, down the side of the Central Library and couldn't help but notice that, in the early 1960s, advertisements dominated front pages. Here's a few to show how the world changes.
'The most wonderful gift a wife could wish for...'
A woman's place and all that back in the day. I can feel the heat of boiling blood from 2019!
WANTED - Dead or Alive
'Free collection service throughout N Ireland.
Live animals humanely destroyed by our agent before removal.
Prompt payment for all carcasses over 3 cwt, degutted.'
Ciggies for Christmas. 'The ideal gift'.
More ciggies for Christmas. '7'6 for 50'
'Where are they off to in such a hurry? They're off to the corner cafe where they'll meet their boyfriends and have a glass of milk, the way the young do these days.'
You looking' at me? Ciggies are cool!
'What a disgrace! Muddy boots, in and out, and the doorstep's filthy again. So first things first - get it clean before the neighbours see, and then take in the milk. Pour a pinta. Sip it slowly. Feel the better for its pure cool creaminess, and then get cleaning again.' Ha, ha, ha. You almost feel they were going to add: WOMAN!
Ciggies are romantic.
'He really does think she is beautiful. They've been out dancing several Saturdays now and each time he's fallen for her a little bit more. Now he's almost prepared to say so! Dancing's fun - but in the circumstances so is just sitting and talking. And sipping a long cool pinta. When he's had his, anyway, he reckons he can out-twist anyone in the room - and she can keep up with him and look beautiful doing it.'
Did I mention, ciggies are romantic?
There's a treasure trove of nostalgia in the newspaper archives. Might be a few articles or even a book about the good old bad old days!
Thursday, 4 July 2019
WHEN STEPHEN BOYD WAS BILLY MILLAR
Available for freelance writing commissions on a variety of subjects including family history, nostalgic Belfast and its famous people, shops, shoppers & shopping, the golden age of Hollywood (esp westerns) and humorous pieces on life's weird and wonderful. Op-eds, columns, non-fiction book reviews too.
joecushnan@aol.com & @JoeCushnan
Today in 1931, the Northern Irish film star Stephen Boyd was born at Doagh Road Corner, Whitehouse. He grew up in Glengormley and is always associated with Belfast’s theatre groups and some further afield across the six counties. Some time ago, when I was researching his life, I received a fascinating letter from a man called Thomas Kemp who knew Stephen Boyd in his William or Billy Millar days. This was pre-Hollywood, The Man Who Never Was, Ben-Hur and The Fall of the Roman Empire. These were the days, late 1940s and early 1950s, of travelling repertory companies, jobbing actors and playwrights, amateurs out to earn a few extra shillings on top of their day jobs while doing entertaining work that they clearly enjoyed.
As with any enterprise, money was at the heart of things with rep companies having to beg and scrimp for finances to buy scenery or cover petrol costs. Thomas Kemp said that some authors would accept a modest fee for their scripts while others, cannier, would seek out a percentage of ticket sales. If they were lucky, the actors would earn a few quid but how much depended on the size of audiences at village and town halls. The prices of admission in those days generally ranged between 2/= and 2/6d with flimsy programmes between 2d and 3d.
Mr. Kemp recalled that his company was fortunate to have one local supporter in the building trade who conveyed stage scenery to and from various locations in a lorry. Not all companies were that lucky and it was not out of the question for sheets of plywood and other materials to be strapped to the tops of vehicles and driven up and down the country with drivers praying for no sudden gusts of wind. The members of the cast were taken by people affluent enough to own cars. Cadging lifts and relying on the goodwill of others were vital parts of this wayward life. The question of staying overnight did not arise as players and stage hands always performed in towns that were accessible to travel to nightly and return home. To do otherwise would have required considerable financial backing, which would have been next to impossible to obtain in those years.
In many of the country halls facilities were not always of a very high standard and improvisations were always necessary. Dressing rooms were very often one room, which had to be divided by creating curtained divisions to separate male and female cast members. Such accommodation would invariably only include one toilet to cover all, so it was inevitable that situations arose when males and females would enter a toilet that had no lighting only to find it occupied by a member of the opposite sex. Shouts of ‘hey’ and ‘occupied’ and, perhaps the odd scream were not unusual backstage.
Each production had a prompter in the background should cues or lines be forgotten and also to provide sound effects which might be required in the play. Mr. Kemp remembered one occasion a prompter suddenly realised during the performance that he had to give the effect of thunder in the distance but he had nothing in his possession to create this effect. He was engrossed in the play, holding the script in his right hand, with the left arm extended. The prompter beckoned to one member of the cast who was not on stage at this precise moment to find him a piece of wood. The member concerned was a bit of a wit and immediately rushed away and returned with a lavatory seat that he draped round the prompter’s extended arm. Of course this went down like a lead balloon. There was no thunder sound effect on that occasion but the noise of a disgruntled prompter made up for it once the play was over. Pranks, frustrations and unexpected incidents went with the territory. The spirit of comradeship was very strong and the odd, silly joke was almost always accepted in the best possible manner.
On another occasion, Mr. Kemp and friends travelled to Dublin by rail to take part in an annual dramatic festival. When making the return journey, the train pulled to a standstill at the last stopping point before crossing the border into Northern Ireland. As a general rule, the train remained stationary for a fairly lengthy period of time to enable the customs men to interrogate passengers about prohibited purchases. One of the cast decided he would leave the train and buy a drink and still have time to rejoin the train before it left. However, on this occasion the train did not wait as long as usual. The last the company saw of their friend was him standing on the platform waving frantically and shouting furiously as the train steamed out of the station. The next day, having thumbed lifts to get home, the hapless colleague never tired of telling the story as only an actor can with all the necessary pathos, humour and, of course, exaggeration.
During this period Billy Millar was dabbling in amateur and, occasionally, professionally paid theatrical jobs doing all sorts of small parts, shifting scenery or whatever was required. He was aged around twenty. Thomas Kemp was hired to play Archer Boyd in Boyd’s Shop at a hall in Ballymena in February 1951 but he was struck down by a severe bout of the flu. At short notice, Billy Millar deputised and was paid the handsome sum of £3.3.0 for his services. (Thomas Kemp sent me a photocopy of the cheque, issued by Northern Bank Limited, Carrickfergus branch, on 13 February 1951. William Millar signed the back.)
Billy Millar, as we know, went on to become Stephen Boyd and enjoyed a few bigger cheques in his time as one of cinema’s most popular actors. But his beginnings were humble and there is little doubt that ramshackle and seat-of-the-pants repertory work across Northern Ireland acted as a sort of apprenticeship in his career. From rep work, he progressed to various roles in Group Theatre productions before travelling to England and more stage roles in the Midlands, Windsor and London. He evolved from bit-part player to leading actor in acclaimed productions of A Streetcar Named Desire and The Deep Blue Sea. It is sad that when his cinema career waned in the late 1960s that he didn’t have any appetite to return to the theatre but who knows, had he not died in 1977 at a shockingly young 45, what he would have done with his considerable skills, skills embedded and nurtured all those years ago in Northern Ireland’s breeze-block town and village halls.
Tuesday, 2 July 2019
SHUT THE HELL UP - LIBRARY BLUES
Available for freelance writing commissions on a variety of subjects including family history, nostalgic Belfast and its famous people, shops, shoppers & shopping, the golden age of Hollywood (esp westerns) and humorous pieces on life's weird and wonderful. Op-eds, columns, non-fiction book reviews too.
A sign on the library table where I am sitting reads thus:
In my head there is a vision of the sternest of stern Fiona Shaw facial expressions because I am in a noisy library, which is what they all seem to be these days and Miss Shaw reminds me of old school librarians back in the 'silence please' era. Fifty years ago, even the lowest whisper was like a dog whistle to a librarian's ears. Many a 'ssssshhhh' would emanate from behind a big desk accompanied by a stiff finger pointing at the sign on the wall. The shooshing kinda broke the rules too, of course, but no one would dare challenge stern Ms Shaw!
I am here because I thought I would gamble on some reasonably quiet hours to write the next couple of chapters of a book. The first ten minutes were okay but after that, four people plonked themselves down and started talking in normal volume about their lives. To the left, the sounds of babies crying, mothers chatting and cups and saucers rattling in the coffee shop. The library staff are noisier than anyone else. There is a shouting conversation across the room between two of them. Some lad is talking on a mobile phone or at least I think he has a phone because I am certain he could be heard on the moon without one.
I type on. I write a 'note to self' - Remember noise blocking earphones next time.
I know much of the world has gone to hell in a handcart as regards manners, behaviour and the simple rules of life, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. To some, double yellow lines mean please park here and no smoking means feel free to light up, and libraries are seen to be hubs in which all noise is welcome.
I could rant on but WTF!
Oh, and as I typed that last sentence a woman approached. She was on her phone and talking loudly. I gave her the death stare but she carried on and headed for a chair by a window. She finished her call and had the good grace to apologise for talking so loud. At least that was something.
Just as I tend to do when politicians and other blah/blether merchants are on the TV or radio, at times I want to climb on the library table and bellow: 'Shut the hell up!!' One day, like Howard Beale, I might just be as mad as hell enough to do it.
p.s. When I say noise, I realise there is a spectrum, say, from the mildest of bird chirps to a fighter jet screaming over a mountain. I prefer the former or close to.
joecushnan@aol.com & @JoeCushnan
A sign on the library table where I am sitting reads thus:
POLITE NOTICE
We have had several complaints
about the level of noise in this area
of the library. We would ask all customers
to keep their conversation to a reasonable volume
so as not to disturb other customers.
Thank you.
In my head there is a vision of the sternest of stern Fiona Shaw facial expressions because I am in a noisy library, which is what they all seem to be these days and Miss Shaw reminds me of old school librarians back in the 'silence please' era. Fifty years ago, even the lowest whisper was like a dog whistle to a librarian's ears. Many a 'ssssshhhh' would emanate from behind a big desk accompanied by a stiff finger pointing at the sign on the wall. The shooshing kinda broke the rules too, of course, but no one would dare challenge stern Ms Shaw!
I am here because I thought I would gamble on some reasonably quiet hours to write the next couple of chapters of a book. The first ten minutes were okay but after that, four people plonked themselves down and started talking in normal volume about their lives. To the left, the sounds of babies crying, mothers chatting and cups and saucers rattling in the coffee shop. The library staff are noisier than anyone else. There is a shouting conversation across the room between two of them. Some lad is talking on a mobile phone or at least I think he has a phone because I am certain he could be heard on the moon without one.
I type on. I write a 'note to self' - Remember noise blocking earphones next time.
I know much of the world has gone to hell in a handcart as regards manners, behaviour and the simple rules of life, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it. To some, double yellow lines mean please park here and no smoking means feel free to light up, and libraries are seen to be hubs in which all noise is welcome.
I could rant on but WTF!
Oh, and as I typed that last sentence a woman approached. She was on her phone and talking loudly. I gave her the death stare but she carried on and headed for a chair by a window. She finished her call and had the good grace to apologise for talking so loud. At least that was something.
Just as I tend to do when politicians and other blah/blether merchants are on the TV or radio, at times I want to climb on the library table and bellow: 'Shut the hell up!!' One day, like Howard Beale, I might just be as mad as hell enough to do it.
p.s. When I say noise, I realise there is a spectrum, say, from the mildest of bird chirps to a fighter jet screaming over a mountain. I prefer the former or close to.
LEMON SUCKIN' BLUES
Available for freelance writing commissions on a variety of subjects including family history, nostalgic Belfast and its famous people, shops, shoppers & shopping, the golden age of Hollywood (esp westerns) and humorous pieces on life's weird and wonderful. Op-eds, columns, non-fiction book reviews too.
joecushnan@aol.com & @JoeCushnan
I wrote this post five years ago when I was in top gear banging on about the often dire customer service particularly but not exclusively in supermarkets. In five years, I can say that nothing has changed. In fact, in my experiences, things are worse than ever. It seems in a lot of cases, employees are hired because of their miserable personalities and absence of basic good manners. There are glorious exceptions but they are the exceptions, which is bonkers. One of the many retail cliches was/is 'hire for attitude and train for aptitude'.
I am prompted to revise this post because I have just been served by a 'lemon sucker. Please read on.
There is too much average to poor service in shops, hotels, restaurants, post offices, health centres, libraries, etc and service industries should be more selective in recruitment and more meticulous in managing front line service employees. I have also referred to mint crunchers, gum chewers and water swiggers, more and more common on checkouts and service counters, maybe because mastication is now an essential part of the job description. It looks horrible. It is horrible. A sour face, especially distorted by the action of crunching, chewing and swigging has no place in customer service.
This very morning, it was the health centre receptionist. A smile-free zone. Sigh. Where
do they get 'em from? duh.com?
LEMON SUCKIN’ BLUES
“Woke up this morning, went to the store,
Wondering if I’d get a smile or frown at the door
I got the blues,
I’ve got them lemon suckin’ blues
Will I win or lose
With those lemon suckin’ blues
Shop girl smiles on the left, lemon sucker frowns on the right
I know where I’m heading ‘coz I don’t want a fright
With the blues
With them lemon suckin’ blues
I want to win and not lose
With those lemon suckin’ blues
I’ll vote with my shoes
To sidestep those lemon suckin’ blues”
Monday, 1 July 2019
FREELANCE WRITING IDEAS FOR JULY
Available for freelance writing commissions on a variety of subjects including family history, nostalgic Belfast and its famous people, shops, shoppers & shopping, the golden age of Hollywood (esp westerns) and humorous pieces on life's weird and wonderful. Op-eds, columns, non-fiction book reviews too.
JULY
7th - 100 years ago, Navy Lark/Doctor Who actor Jon Pertwee born. Died 1996.
10th - 30 years ago, Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck/Porky Pig voice Mel Blanc died at 81.
11th - 30 years ago actor Sir Laurence Olivier died at 82.
13th - 80 years ago, singer/actor Frank Sinatra recorded his first commercial record.
15th - 100 years ago, novelist Iris Murdoch born. Died 1999.
16th - 40 years ago, Saddam Hussein became President of Iraq.
17th - 60 years ago, jazz-singing legend Billie Holiday died at 44.
18th - 50 years ago, Edward Kennedy/Mary Jo Kopechne Chappaquiddick incident.
19th - 65 years ago, Elvis Presley's first single, That's All Right, was released.
20th - 100 years ago, mountaineer/explorer Edmund Hillary born. Died 2008.
20th - 50 years ago, Apollo 11 lunar module landed on the moon.
21st - 50 years ago, Neil Armstrong/Buzz Aldrin first people to walk on the moon.
21st - 25 years ago, Tony Blair became leader of the Labour Party.
25th - 60 years ago, the first hovercraft, SRN-1, crossed the English Channel.
25th - 125 years ago, actor/3-time Oscar winner Walter Brennan born. Died 1974.
28th - 90 years ago, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis born. Died 1994.
and a lot more.
joecushnan@aol.com & @JoeCushnan
JULY
3rd - 50 years ago, Rolling Stone Brian Jones died at 27.
4th - 20 years ago, Victoria Adams married David Beckham.
4th - 65 years ago, all food rationing in Britain ended after Second World War.
4th - 88 years ago, Ben-Hur actor Stephen Boyd born. Died 1977.
4th - 88 years ago, Ben-Hur actor Stephen Boyd born. Died 1977.
5th - 30 years ago, the first episode of sitcom Seinfeld was aired.
10th - 30 years ago, Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck/Porky Pig voice Mel Blanc died at 81.
11th - 30 years ago actor Sir Laurence Olivier died at 82.
13th - 80 years ago, singer/actor Frank Sinatra recorded his first commercial record.
15th - 100 years ago, novelist Iris Murdoch born. Died 1999.
16th - 40 years ago, Saddam Hussein became President of Iraq.
17th - 60 years ago, jazz-singing legend Billie Holiday died at 44.
18th - 50 years ago, Edward Kennedy/Mary Jo Kopechne Chappaquiddick incident.
19th - 65 years ago, Elvis Presley's first single, That's All Right, was released.
20th - 100 years ago, mountaineer/explorer Edmund Hillary born. Died 2008.
20th - 50 years ago, Apollo 11 lunar module landed on the moon.
21st - 50 years ago, Neil Armstrong/Buzz Aldrin first people to walk on the moon.
21st - 25 years ago, Tony Blair became leader of the Labour Party.
25th - 60 years ago, the first hovercraft, SRN-1, crossed the English Channel.
25th - 125 years ago, actor/3-time Oscar winner Walter Brennan born. Died 1974.
28th - 90 years ago, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis born. Died 1994.
and a lot more.
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