Telling a story in six words

A few weeks ago I attended a blog conference where one of the speakers emphasized the importance of keeping things short. He then challenged us to tell a story in six words, using Hemmingway’s example.

The legend goes that Ernest Hemingway once won a bet where he was asked to write a six word short story that was so good, it could make people cry. This is what he came up with:

“For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.”

While this thought-provoking piece of writing has been floating around the Internet for some time and there is actually no telling whether Hemingway really wrote it, it’s still damn good!

Inspired by this and being a bit of a waffler myself, I decided to give this a try. I also challenged two fellow bloggers, Monster and Brain Droppings, to give it go. The challenge was soon on, with each of us having to produce ten 6-word stories. Besides, it seemed like a fun Friday thing to do...

Here’s my best shot:

• Swimming to shore. Grey shadow follows.
• She walks home. He watches. Waits.
• Last round, with nowhere to go.
• Saw spider on ceiling. Now gone.
• Seeking partner in crime, South Africa.
• Bath drawn, razor sits sharpened.
• Kept him forever. Limb by limb.
• Gunshots next door. Children start crying.
• Man walks dog and returns alone.
• Hear scratching in cupboard. No cupboard.

Noticeably most of them have a horror angle.

• I blame everything on Stephen King.

Tart goes travelling: Schreiner Karoo Writer’s Festival, Cradock

Those who know me well will know that my greatest love is travel (followed closely by tequila). I spent much of my childhood wishing that I had been born into a gypsy family - going to sleep at night in a caravan and waking up the next day in a new town. The closest I ever got to that is having a mother who essentially looks like a gypsy with her bright headscarves and flamboyant jewellery. There was also the much-looked-forward-to annual road trips from Zimbabwe to Durban via Kruger National Park. Leaving at 4am in the morning in the dark and stopping off at interesting spots along the way started a love affair with road tripping that has never died.

Now that I am bigger and can do as I please (OK, most of the time), I am free to be a gypsy of sorts. I have obligations  (car payments and credit card bills) and grown-up commitments (dogs, cats and fish) so I can’t travel as much as I would like to, but thanks to my daytime job, I get to travel a reasonable amount. So I have decided to add “Tart goes travelling…” to my blog adventures. And what better place to start than my recent visit to Cradock, an Eastern Cape town steeped in Boer War history and once home to one of the most brazen women of her time, Olive Schreiner.

I was chauffeured to Cradock by Intercape. It has been a long time since I used a bus to go somewhere (I arrived in Cape Town 20 years ago on a bus) and was pleasantly surprised to see that nothing had changed.  Especially that smell of chicken that permeates the air from the minute you step aboard. Everyone’s tupperware containers seem to hold chicken and even I joined the you-win-when-you-eat-da-chicken movement by scoffing a chicken sandwich. Our first stop along the N1 had everyone in Steers buying chicken n’ chips and I was secretly relieved that the KFC was closed by the time we got to Graaff-Reinet. The chairs were covered in the same colour fabric as 20 years ago and the DVDs shown for our on-board entertainment still got stuck half-way through. Nevertheless, it wasn’t too shabby – more space than a plane and much cheaper than driving.

I got to Cradock at 4.30am and got picked up by Vernon from Die Tuishuis (only to discover I could’ve walked around the corner to it). After a cup of tea, a brief snoop through my beautiful Victorian lodgings and a nap, it was time for the day to begin. At breakfast I opted to share a table with another lass who was on her own and I am glad I did. We quickly became friends and thanks to her good Afrikaans heritage (including family having been in the Boer War concentration camps) she proved to be an excellent Afrikaans interpreter and a lot of fun. My next big road trip could very well be to Ellisras.

What followed was two glorious days filled with books, authors, poetry, readings and open-mic sessions (where Ellisras Friend read some of her poetry too).  Etienne van Heerden told us about his latest novel based in Matjiesfontein, Barbara Mutch went into the history behind the Housemaid’s Daughter and Margie Orford gave insights into how she knows so much about the gangs and the inside of a morgue.  I went on a walking tour of the town where places mentioned in books were brought to life and listened to an organist play in a church where Jan Smuts was christened. I feasted on kudu schnitzel and lamb shanks. I sat on the pavement drinking wine and indulged in stoep-sitting under the Karoo sunshine. I met fellow Zimbabweans and a missionary-turned-winemaker.  I had a cigarette and chatted about life on the road with Margie Orford. I spent a morning in Olive Schreiner’s house listening to readings from her letters. I listened to a once-stuttering magistrate read a poem he had written without so much as a stammer and a professor who was inspired to write a book about the Boer War concentration camps thanks to finding bullet casings in her garden in Phillipolis.

It was possibly three of the best days of my life that went by faster than a tumbleweed in the wind. I met inspiring people, kind people and famous people. Most of all, I met Karoo people. Real, down-to-earth people that embrace life in the Karoo and love every inch of it. People who don’t just hang out their laundry on a Sunday, but hang the biltong out to dry at the same time.  People who invite you into their homes for Sunday lunch and entertain you with stories about the ghost of the Boer War soldier who stands on the stairs and of the local folk who keep lions as pets.

As I wound my way back home on the bus, I nibbled on a leg of chicken and thought about all the stories I had heard.  I really can’t wait to go back for the next chapter…

Where to get tequila in Cradock
I never had time to visit the liquor store, but the only tequila available at The Victoria Manor was Olmeca Silver. I gave it a skip and became a Wine Wench for the weekend.

Township styles...

I am sitting here with my laptop plugged in and rice boiling on the stove. The radio is playing and I can see the rain falling in the lit up garden.  Everything seems normal yes? Not really! See, this time last week I came home after working late and all I wanted was a cup of tea and a hot bath. Except I came home to a house plunged into darkness. The City of Cape Town had caught up with me and they were not going to accept half payments. No way! After all, I live in Claremont and everyone in Claremont should be able to afford their electricity and rates. And God help you if you fall behind. Because they KNOW where you live.

OK, I take responsibility for not paying the bill when I should've, but some months I just didn’t have the R300 for electricity. Then when you get a bill for R600 the following month it becomes even worse. So I buried my silly head in the sand and hoped I would amass enough money to pay it before they came a calling. Alas, I didn’t. So I got a letter in my postbox demanding money within a week (it was dated at the beginning of the month, but it must’ve got lost in the mail or the accounts office). So I paid half, phoned and explained and got told (very politely I might add) “that it was too late and they could cut me off at any given moment.” Which of course, they did. Sometimes it sucks living in suburbia.

But then again it actually doesn’t. And in my suburban little world, I have neighbours that have become good friends. Such good friends that they even let me take their 9 year old daughter out on kid-friendly excursions and on walks with my dogs (Mom Friend says that’s amazing as she wouldn’t trust her neighbor – or me probably - to take care of her daughter) . They give me tins of tuna for the cats. Heck, they are so awesome that they even feed me on occasion. So who were the first people I ran to? Awesome Neighbours….

Before I could say “Please help me with this blasted gas canister so I can cook camping-style” they sat me down, cooked up a steak dinner AND gave me a beer. Then they threw an extension cord over the wall so I could plug in my fridge and not lose my food on top of it all. Awesome Neighbours are awesome.  Fridge purred away as if nothing had happened, I could boil the kettle for tea, make toast and even had a lamp for light in the evening. It was all quite cosy to be honest.

And that is how I lived for a week. My friends who knew about the debacle were awesome too. I showered at Slappy’s, at Monster’s and at Awesome Neighbours. I had a little Bath Bag that I kept packed with get-clean basics and I would either chuck it in the boot when visiting friends, or take it next door.  I lived on toast and tea and occasionally boiled pasta on my gas cooker. I watched Downton Abbey on my laptop... To be honest I would get  into my bed at the end of the day, thank The Universe for my Awesome Neighbours and quietly show my middle finger at “the system”.

But you can’t live off the goodness of others forever, so I worked hard, luckily got some shoots and managed to get the money together for the rest of the electricity bill (which of course now had R500 reconnection fee added onto it). With much pride I went to the Post Office to pay and got chatting to the Post Office lady who was taking my wad of money. Just before I left I said “Great! Now I can get my electricity reconnected.” She looked at me with wide eyes and said “Eish, you got cut?” followed by “What did you do?” When I told her about my Awesome Neighbours and the extension cord she smiled broadly, give me a high five and said “Township styles!” It was one of the greatest moments of my life. There we were, two people from completely opposite sides of the social sphere sharing a common bond. We both knew about living “township styles” and how to beat the system.

So now it’s back to normal… No more camping in my own home (I always knew the gas cooker and the hoarding of candles would be useful). I have also learnt a few things from this…

1. Pay your electricity (because they WILL cut you off).
2. A plan can always be made (even if it is township styles).
3. Be grateful for your friends (who will always try help you out if you tell them your problems).
4. Get to know your neighbours (you never know when you may need them and they could become Awesome Neighbours and good friends).

And now I am off to fetch my Bath Bag, pack it away and go have a bath. In my own bath, with HOT water and with the light ON. Dear Universe - please don’t let the bulb blow now…