The Man Upstairs: writing my first short story
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In the height of the November lockdown in 2020, I wrote a short story called The Man Upstairs. Other than the odd pieces I penned at school to get good grades in English - and please my beloved teacher, Mrs Mason - this was my first official crack at a short story worth publishing.
And let me tell you - it was cathartic.
I think we were all going a little stir crazy by that point. The COVID-19 pandemic is an event that hopefully, none of us will ever have to experience again in our lifetime. Of course, there have been global pandemics before - the Spanish flu of 1918, for example. Or ‘influenza’, as my sesquipedalian father insists on calling it. He’s the living version of the episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S where Joey Tribbiani discovers the thesaurus, and to this day, it still baffles me that he was a successful salesman.
Spanish (in)flu(enza) happened just over 100 years ago and somehow feels a world away, despite the same need for masks and social distancing. I recently discovered the photos from this era - if you haven’t seen them, I recommend a cheeky Google. They’re fascinating. And also eerily familiar.
What once felt alien to us has become second nature now, a year on from the pandemic. Many of us - myself included - are now happy to work from home, enjoying the benefits of better work/life balance and mental space away from the office. Flexible working is the future. I’m also, physically, becoming more flexible too. With the spare time that I’ve had, I’ve taken up yoga on YouTube and am actually ENJOYING it - I know, who am I?
If you’re wondering, I follow Sarah Beth Yoga. It’s about the right level for me (an absolutely shit beginner) and she’s calm and fantastic. Sometimes I even catch myself saying “Namaste”, and don’t cringe.
It amazes me to think that without the pandemic, this short story probably wouldn’t exist. It was during this time that I spotted a social post by my friend Jen Parker, a lovely lady who I had the pleasure of meeting at London Book Fair over networking drinks - hey, remember those?
Jen runs an editing and design company called Fuzzy Flamingo, and was looking for amateur and professional authors alike to contribute to a short story compilation. With literally nothing better to do, it was the perfect time to flex my creative muscles. Take that first, positive step towards a career as a published author, which I’ve dreamed about ever since I could read and write. My mother is incredibly proud, and still tells people, that I learned to read before I went to school.
Though I’m a ‘plantser’ by nature (half plotter, half flying by the seat of your pants - and yes, this makes me an equally horrible decision maker) I didn’t have a story arc in mind for this particular piece. I just sat down, and let my emotions pour out onto the page. What transpired was a story about the deeper feelings I’d bottled up over the pandemic, that I think have affected us all in some way. The loneliness that I felt, in not being able to see my friends and family. Not even at Christmas. The isolation of being locked away from society for so many months, watching the seasons change from a window.
The only thing that kept me sane, was having my partner living with me. He moved up from London just before I wrote The Man Upstairs, and has been my rock throughout the past year. He supported me through redundancy from my day job. Cheered me on when I felt that my dreams were slipping away, lost in the seemingly neverending grind of the 9-5, which governed my days in lockdown. My fellow aspiring authors will know that feeling all too well. My advice? Find yourself a champion, and you’ll find your faith renewed.
Certainly, there are pieces of myself in the main character, who is weary of being stuck in the same cycle.
We Brits have always been proud to ‘keep calm and carry on’, so I think many of us choose to bury these sad feelings deep within, choosing instead to focus on the positives, and what we’re grateful for at a difficult time for people across the country and the world. It’s how we survive, when the going gets tough. So I stepped into another, older woman’s shoes. Imagined a different scenario. What if I was a lonely spinster, on a normal day? A woman who has lived alone for years, totally abandoned by those she once loved. Living only through her memories of happier times. Would she be losing her marbles?
Possibly. I’ll leave that to you to decide.
The Man Upstairs is a little darker than my usual writing. But it taps into this strange period we have all found ourselves trapped in. Like the main character, we must face our reality. Grieve for lost time with loved ones. And move on with our lives as best as we can. It’s amazing to see how mental health has come to light in recent years, and I’m delighted to see it finally being taken seriously. I’m sure, after the year we’ve all experienced, I don’t need to tell you why.
But the good news is, my little lockdown literature project isn’t all doom and gloom! There are moments of light. Humour. If my story doesn’t make you smile at any point, I have failed you, reader. Anyone who’s ever lived in a flat will know the eternal irritation of having neighbours. Especially if they’re stompy late at night.
My story’s narrator longs for what is lost, clinging onto the past. Desperate for human connections just beyond her reach. Perhaps this is what best ties my short story into the theme of Connections, the title of the book of short stories that The Man Upstairs will be featured in. My debut!
Connections will be released on Friday 23rd April, and unites over 20 incredible authors with a story to tell. Myself included, naturally. *pats self on back*
It’s remarkable, really. Even as a global pandemic tears us apart, we still find ways to come together.
B x