Not Being There

Didn’t go to the annual Flash Fiction Festival in Bristol last weekend, and for the last couple of days have spent a LOT of time scrolling through wonderful happy photos that attendees from all over the world have been posting on socials, feeling a weird mixture of envy, regret, nostalgia and something a bit like home-sickness.

I didn’t go this year not because I didn’t want to go, but because when booking was open, I was in the midst of living through the deaths of two very elderly family members. And they’re complicated things are the deaths of elderly family members especially ones you’ve helped care for for years, and who, as time progressed wanted not to be here anymore. Both their deaths were seriously bittersweet because whilst we will miss them terribly,it also feels like they’ve been set free. The ensuing funerals were strangely ambivalent too – weird clouds of billowing emotion yet also solid absolutes – sharp lines drawn in the sand from which there is no going back.

Bri died in Feb as previously documented here, totally in control of his final days, with palliative care organised at home having opted not to continue with his medication. Roz died in June after a long and lingering four-year illness following several strokes that over time rendered her bedbound and unable to talk and not herself anymore. The way she died was so out of kilter with the glamourous, svelt, organised person she always was. A force of nature, full of life, and the only person I’ve ever known who could talk all the way through a meal and still be the first to finish and yet never EVER talk with her mouth full. In health she was dapper and classy, with her hair always done and her nails always polished – but her death was lingering and her personality sort of dissolved away right before our eyes – which is why, when my husband asked me to choose and read a poem at her funeral, I wrote her a flash instead. To be fair, she was never into poetry, she loved her cat, gardening – especially roses – wine, gin, food, music, beautiful ornaments, to laugh out loud, and she really really loved her family. Writing Roz’s flash, like writing nearly always does, helped me tremendously to process conflicting emotions especially the anger, rage even, that I’d first felt in February after Bri died, when Roz was resuscitated after another suspected stroke very much against the wishes she’d set down and documented, when she was still in a position to make her wishes known. They couldn’t find the paperwork, and in its absence, would not listen.

Her funeral was held on the one truly bright, hot summer’s day we’ve had this year. The clans gathered to say goodbye, to raise a glass, to talk about her life and I read my tiny story about her reimagined death, making it into something more in-line with what she might have chosen for herself. Reading helped too. It raised some eyebrows and some smiles, and afterwards at the pub, everyone said I should sub it somewhere so it can float round cyberspace like a weird gravestone, marking Roz’s passing but also bringing her back to life a wee bit. And I think I will, because she would’ve bloody loved it and because now she really is gone, and we’ve been able to remember who she truly was, it feels a bit like we’ve got her back again.

After the funeral my sister decided to stay a day longer than planned – she’d come in her camper van and parked it up on the common land opposite our cottage so it cost nowt to linger, and for one perfect day we walked the dogs, talked about Roz, swam in the river, talked about Roz, went to the pub, talked about Roz, shared childhood memories that only we remember, and talked about Roz. The next day, soon as my sister left, I went on line to see if there were any spaces left at the Flash Fest only to pick up a Face Message from my daughter-in-law in Poland – she’d got a massive abscess on her leg and needed an emergency op. And off life cantered in a new direction leaving the dead in yesterday as I flew to Gdansk to help with the next generation. Op done and I’m home again, post election with a brave new government, feeling hopeful as I sit at my desk up in my Hobbit House Writing Shed, ogling Flash Festival photos and resolving to attend next year come hell or high water.

And to be fair the future does look bright writing wise. My book A Learning Curve, (published by Ad Hoc Fiction) was shortlisted for the Rubery prize. It didn’t win but here’s a link to their review, which I’m so pleased about, not least because it bigs-up the amazing literary form that is the novella-in-flash. My story is in the short fiction category and you can find the review by scrolling down and looking right. https://www.ruberybookaward.com/2024-winners.html Also to celebrate this short-listing, I’m doing a giveaway on TwitteX. Here’s the link if you’d like to throw your name in the hat. https://x.com/JanKaneen1/status/1810976232709742973

Also I was longlisted for the Bath Flash comp with a micro I literally wrote the night before deadline and will therefore be in this year’s anthology, which is always a treat. Many congrats to Sara Hills who won the comp with her amazing story which you can read by following this link. Its such a fun and fabulous frenzy of a story. https://www.bathflashfictionaward.com/2024/06/sara-hills-june-2024-first-prize/

Also-also, I was longlisted for the First Pages Prize for my work-in-progress, Everywhen and the Dark Entanglement. Follow the link below and then scroll down for more deets about my story and a snippet https://www.firstpagesprize.com/2024-fiction The short list will announced next Monday. Fingers crossed! And good luck everyone.

Reet back to TwitteX for one last look at who’s posted what Flash Fest photo wise, before taking a deep breath and moving on. Jude,festival organiser, originator and all round flash guru has already posted information about next year’s festival date, 18-20th July 2025. A date not to be missed because, well, unlike flash fiction, life’s too short. But before I go, here’s the wreath I made for Roz’s coffin, made with Rosemary from my own garden and unmatched red-red roses because there were not enough of Roz’s faves left in her own garden to make a whole wreath. I mixed the few I could find with ones she chose for our garden lightyears ago when we had it landscaped. Also here’s a photo I took of her a couple of years ago. Bye Mrs Hancocks. I really will miss you, but I’m ever so glad you’re finally free.