Inspired? Get Writing!: Young writers showcase their talents

A CREEPY short story based on the Bell Rock Lighthouse and a chilling futuristic tale about the fall-out from the credit crunch are two of the winners of this year’s Inspired? Get Writing! competition, which invites writers of all ages to have their imaginations sparked by works of art in the National Galleries of Scotland collection, writes Susan Mansfield. Cat Dean’s darkly inventive story, The Doctor, which we will run in part two of our competition coverage, tomorrow, is inspired by a disturbing installation by John Davies featuring mannequins in suits and masks, and won the Adult Prose category of the 2012 competition. Eleanor Kirkland, 11, from Perth, scooped the top prize in the Under 12s category, with a piece inspired by Turner’s vivid painting of the Bell Rock.

Inspired? Get Writing!, organised by the National Galleries of Scotland in partnership with the English-Speaking Union and the Scottish Poetry Library, is now in its seventh year. This year the competition attracted more than 1,200 entries, an increase of more than 40 per cent.

Entries are judged in five categories: Under 12s, 12-14s, 15-18s, Adults Prose and Adults Poetry. The work must be inspired by a piece of art in the National Galleries of Scotland permanent collection, which can be viewed at any of the galleries or online. Prizes include writing workshops and free tickets to major exhibitions. Three collections of winning work from the competition have already been published.

• A public reading of all the winning stories and poems will be given at the Hawthornden Lecture Theatre, National Gallery of Scotland, on Thursday (no need to book). Under 12s: 10.30-11.30am; 12-14s, 16-18s: 1.30-3pm; Adults Poetry and Prose: 5.30-7pm.

THE BELL ROCK ENIGMA

ELEANOR KIRKLAND, 11, Craigclowan Prep School, Perth

Inspiration: JMW Turner’s Bell Rock Lighthouse

‘Hello,” croaked a hoarse voice at the other end of the line. “Is that Off-shore Electrics?”

“It is, how can we help you?” the bored receptionist replied.

“My name is William Mallord and I am the lighthouse keeper on Bell Rock. Can you please send out an electrician to examine the main beacon? I am very concerned that it is losing power and intensity, and it must be dealt with before the winter storms begin.”

“Of course Sir…”

“Oh, and send a kind, strong, good hearted young man please.”

That was the end of the call. Violet Collins sat at her desk in her tiny office, and thought to herself, “Nobody is ever going to sign up for such a risky job, who’d want to go to Bell Rock of all places? Who knows how long you could be stuck there?!” Still thinking, she went off to put up a notice about the job. She was not surprised a week later, when she found herself replacing it, at triple the pay, as no-one had shown any interest.

As he read it, Antony Harrison smiled with relief. He really needed money to buy an engagement ring for his girlfriend, Michelle. He was also going to need a lot of courage to propose to her, but he would worry about that later. Quickly, he signed up for the job and two days later he was on a boat, lurching his way towards the treacherous Bell Rock.

William Mallord was 80 years old and a sober looking fellow. His face was very pale, his eyes bloodshot and his spindly limbs stiff and cold. He was so thin and frail you could see almost every vein and feel just about every bone in his body. His wispy hair was the colour of sea froth, and his irregular breathing rattled and rasped like the stormy March winds. He was like an old, battered ship which had experienced many journeys and known many secrets, but had seen better days.

Antony arrived very late at night and as the boat sped off into the mist, he felt very alone, and a little nervous. After a short conversation with the old man, he went to bed, or rather, he curled up on a small, dilapidated sofa, gripping a thin blanket as tightly as his numb fingers allowed. When he finally dozed off, he dreamt of Michelle, of them getting married, having children and growing old together; his whole life seemed to flash before his very eyes. He woke suddenly, shivering with cold. “How does the old man not catch pneumonia?!” he thought to himself. As the pale dawn light crept above the horizon, he got his first chance to survey the room properly. It was rather bare, with only the little sofa and an old chair in one corner, a table set for breakfast and a small table with a telephone on it and an ancient radio. There were also two doors leading out of the room, he presumed that one led to Mr Mallord’s bedroom and the other to the light beacon and electrical systems. The walls were a gentle yellow, the ceiling white. Everything was old and tattered; the paint was flaking and all of the materials were faded and threadbare. There weren’t even any curtains at the large, drafty window, through which he could see a grey, restless sea and great dark clouds gathering in the sky; there would probably be a storm later. At breakfast he asked Mr Mallord why he stayed on this desolate island. His reply left Antony feeling slightly uneasy and a little sad. “It was my destiny to live here, I couldn’t possibly leave.”

The old man sank down into his chair. He looked tired and ill and as he quietly drifted off to sleep, Antony carefully ascended the steep, spiralling stone steps to take a look at the light. The old man was right, it was strangely opaque. He embarked on a methodical check of the lamps, lenses, mirrors, master switches and control boards. After a long and diligent search he slumped down against the curved wall, tired and confused.

Outside, a dense fog had descended and the ominous rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The sea was like a ravenous beast, ready to engulf and devour any passing ships. As he gazed, mesmerised by the towering waves crashing on to the jagged rocks below, he wondered when on earth he would get back to the warmth and familiarity of home.

Downstairs, Mr Mallord was awake again. Antony entered, brows furrowed with frustration. “Mr Mallord, I’ve just been upstairs to take a look at the light and you were right, it’s definitely not as strong as it should be. However, what is puzzling me is that I couldn’t find any problem with the power source. Is there something that I am missing, a transformer perhaps?”

William gave a soft chuckle. “Haven’t you realised? It’s right in front of you.”

“Mr Mallard, I don’t quite understand…”

“You understand perfectly, you just don’t want to accept the truth.”

Those were his last words. Antony stared, paralysed with horror as the exhausted body fell limp. For a few moments, the room seemed frozen in time. The deafening silence was suddenly shattered by the desolate groan of a ship’s foghorn.

Antony felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest. Salty tears crashed down his ghostly face. He knew that only he could save the people on that ship but that to do so, he would have to live a long and solitary life. He would never marry Michelle and never have children. He would live and die alone.

The horn sounded again, much closer this time. Antony made his decision.

SMOULDER FOR A DOLLAR

EVIE CLEPHAN, 14, Banchory Academy

Inspiration: In the Car by Roy Lichtenstein

Well that’s that. I’ve made up my mind to do it. I’ve done some wild things in the past that I’m not exactly proud of, but if I’m gonna do anything – well anything crazy I guess – it would be for her. Crazy, crazy beautiful that’s what she is and I can’t let her go. It’s not even about the money anymore, ha! Well I’m not going to lie. Having a dollar or two ain’t gonna be a bad thing. Sure we’ll get her that diner of hers set up, but I’m thinkin’ I might just go and get me a new car. It’s not like this one’s gonna be much good, not after today.

“You’re sure about this hun?” I had to be certain, about this – about us.

She squeezed my thigh in response – my stomach was doing butterflies at her touch – whilst mouthing the word, “Yes”. Her mouth was perfect, pink lips pouted to perfection and those long eyelashes… Boy I couldn’t resist. I knew they were false like the pearls at her ears, like the blond of her hair; but there was nothing false about our love.

This was out of control and if it wasn’t for the clown on the back seat of my car, we’d be sorted…

Why did I marry him?, thought Cora. I should have never listened to my mother. ‘He’s steady’, she told me, ‘He’s going places’. What a joke. Four years together and he is never at home. ‘Late bookings tonight’ or ‘Playing cards with the boys after the restaurant closes’.

I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the looks, the looks he gives those waitresses. The drinking was the last straw. People tell me it’s an occupational hazard of being a restaurant owner, but you can’t tell me drinking that amount on a daily basis is normal. Brad might not be wealthy but he doesn’t touch the bottle. He notices me, treats me well – with respect. He’ll do anything for me, my tall dark and handsome guy. He’ll do anything for me – even murder.

“We have to do it, hun, it’s the only way,” Brad whispered.

My attention was diverted to the slob on the back seat singing noisily. What an embarrassment – too drunk to stay in his own restaurant.

“We have to do it,” I whispered back, “tonight.”

He looks at me with those smouldering eyes. I cannot resist. I am all his.

“CUT!”

The director’s instruction ended the scene and all hell broke loose on set.

“Lana, darling! How many times do I need to tell you – you’re in love with Brad. Show it more, less of the cold fish, I’ve seen more passion at a zoo than between you two chimps.”

Lana rebutted furiously, “Tay, it’s the lights, not me. I’m a professional smoulderer and I know for a fact that the lights are not catching the shadow of my face properly. As for you, Dan, you must clean your teeth, or at least suck a mint before I even start to consider kissing you. And could you have not chosen a better tie, without a stain on it?”

That was it. Dan, the actor playing Brad, interjected while she paused for breath. “Don’t get started on me dear. That coat makes you look cheap. Brad would never date someone like you!”

At this point Chuck – who was playing the role of the husband – had had enough. “Whoah! You pair of peacock preening prima donnas steady on now. Get over here Tay, we need to talk money. I refuse to carry on with this pair of idiots. I need a pay rise if you want this picture finished.”

Tay Garnett, the director, threw up his arms in exasperation. He stormed to the back of the set, sat down on his chair and beckoned the assistant director over. “Get Chuck’s agent on the phone, and for heaven’s sake make sure Dan’s sober.” The sound of heels indignantly stomping off across the room drew his eyes back towards the set where Lana had indeed started to follow Chuck out of the building.

“On second thoughts, make sure you get Lana some flowers as well, nice ones mind, but not too expensive. You got that?”

“Yes sir, right away,” the assistant director hurried off.

“Little idiots,” muttered Tay fondly. He smiled and put out his hand to some ditzy wannabe who could place his cigars and lighter in it. Love and planned murder turned to diva drama and all with great expense, just another normal day in Hollywood.

BLACK AND WHITE

PETER RATTER, 17, Brae High School, Shetland

Inspiration: Y no hai remedio by Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes

If you think you understand pain, then try

this: a world awash with black blood, white

widows, where my friends are canvasses. Cry

for them, pray for them, and their fading fight.

Then a sharp shot, a crimson explosion.

How is this from your perspective? My boots

are soaked. A blindfolded corpse, a gun.

You’re here to adjust my easel. One shoots;

another creation, but so much paint spilled;

it’s a new masterpiece shelved, and I’m still

painting, daubing what the audience willed.

I tell you my friend, this is how men kill.