Liars' League

Next event: Women & Girls, Tue August 11th *ONLINE*

*Dedicated to Lea Darby - proud feminist and girl-wrangler*

We're delighted to announce the stories selected for our fourth annual Women & Girls event on Tuesday August 11th! From underwater cannibals to Glaswegian cam-girls, single mums to restless teens, via a nightmare flatshare and terrified expectant parents, we've got a female-focused live-lit lineup you won't want to miss ...

WOMEN & GIRLS WINNING STORIES

 

Quintet by Nora Thurkle *New author* read by Miranda Harrison
Come Away, O Human Child by Emily Tobin *New author* read by Sarah Feathers
Fifty Feet Deep by Caroline von Schmalensee *New author* read by Soph Morris-Sheppard
BigThick and Sally's Gnashers by Emma Grae*New author* read by Lois Tucker
Duck & Cover by Rosaleen Lynch *New author* read by Lin Sagovsky
The Baby by Irina Zahl, read by Jennifer Aries

Sadly our host venue The Phoenix has not yet reopened to events, so this will be our third online Lockdown Literature show of 2020. As with our first online event in April, our actors will record the six winning stories at home, for broadcast on Facebook at 7.30pm BST on Tuesday August 11th: these will then be made available as video, podcast/MP3 and text right here on our website, on the same day. 

PLEASE NOTE: IN ORDER TO JOIN THE FACEBOOK WATCH PARTY, YOU MUST BE A MEMBER OF OUR FACEBOOK GROUP, "LIARS' LEAGUE" https://www.facebook.com/groups/2959030028/

Feel free to join just for this if you like, and leave after ... sorry, that's just how these things work on Facebook, apparently. The watch party is naturally free to view - but if you'd like to support the authors and (especially) actors involved, see below ...

TIPS & DONATIONS

Usually we'd use ticket sale cash to buy our contributors food, booze and/or books. As we can't do that right now, if you want to donate some £/$ towards the actors and authors who have dedicated time, talent and effort to entertain you, please do so via Paypal to liarsleague@yahoo.co.uk ... or you can use the Donate button on the right -->

All money will be split equally between all participants: if you'd like your money to go to a particular author, actor or story, just add a note to your donation saying so: named "tips" will be passed on to those contributors. LL won't be taking anything .

 

 

She Can Look After Herself by Ken Towl

She Can Look After Herself MP3

Read by Louisa Gummer & Nick Delvalle

The first time I felt concerned about my mother? I can't remember the exact date but it was around the time the Coronavirus pandemic started and they went into isolation. I got a text from my mother which alarmed me.

Keep it to yourself, she said, but I think dad is trying to kill me. Of course, I phoned her straight away and she answered whispering:

"I'm in the shed. It's OK to speak here but next time don't call again. Wait till I call you."

A Space to Inhabit by Lyndsey Croal

A Space to Inhabit MP3

Read by Lois Tucker

I can’t remember when the Cloud appeared. It’s like it’s always been here, on the edge of Elm Woods. A silent force watching over our village.

I try to trace its origin back to a moment in time, but there’s only a blur. When I think about the Woods, my childhood memories are clear: Brownie expeditions, playing hopscotch made from sticks, making daisy chains, and summer afternoons playing hide and seek with Ruairidh. But while I can’t specifically remember the Cloud being there at those times, neither can I recall it not being there.

Once upon a time, the Cloud existed.

Mammy and the Naked Dwarf by David McGrath

Mammy and the Naked Dwarf MP3

Read by David McGrath

Elaine was maybe a little drunk. Someone was in her bed. ‘Mammy!’ she shouted. ‘I think someone’s in my bed.’

‘What?’

‘There’s someone in my bed.’

Mammy came out of the kitchen and looked upstairs at Elaine. ‘No there’s not.’

‘There is.’

‘There couldn’t be.’

‘Well, there is, Mammy.’

Mammy came upstairs, stood by Elaine at her bedroom door and saw that there was someone in Elaine’s bed.

The Empress by Lisa Farrell

The Empress MP3

Read by Claire Lacey

I placed his letter on my dressing table, so that while I sat before the mirror I could keep my eyes on his words. I’d heard the myths before of course, of the wayward daughter who bewitched men with a look. According to the tales, she enchanted an Emperor in some fabled land at the edge of the world, who made her his bride and showered her with gold. They said she was a powerful sorceress but, like any common witch, water was her downfall. She left his land in a ship laden with treasure, but lost it all to the sea.

I believe she was real, he wrote. I believe her treasure awaits rediscovery. I wish to prove that she lived, your famous ancestor. Do not let superstitions deter you. I know you are an educated woman and believe in science, not curses.

Hebris by Jonathan Sellars

Hebris MP3

Read by Paul Clarke

There once was an army, led by the Russian Tsar himself, that set out for the bleak wastelands which formed the most northerly part of the Tsar’s vast kingdom. Though he had been told many times that these lands were nothing but snow and ice, and they led to nothing but endless sea, the Tsar could not resist their call.  

As a child his father had explained to him how those wastelands were to be feared. Always.  Feared not because they harboured enemies who might at some point emerge from them, no one ever emerged from them, but feared for the power that the lands themselves possessed. His father would tell him how they were cursed and cruel, that they cared nothing for the empires of Tsars or those of their enemies, and how they wished only to be left alone. And, the part that had resonated most with the Tsar, they answered to only one person, Hebris the Witch.

Goodbye Mr McKenzie by Peter Higgins

Goodbye Mr McKenzie MP3

Read by Tony Bell

In that sad tangle of alleys north of Courtland Street, EC1, all corners and shadows and shadows and corners, that’s where I am right now. I’m in a hurry. I see the ID card that someone’s dropped, and I think – who cares? Not my problem. I’m a busy man.

But I pick it up anyway. Somebody’s work ID card. Alistair McKenzie, it says, Deputy Workflow Administrator with FSL. Who’s Alistair McKenzie? What’s FSL? What’s a Deputy Workflow Administrator? Never mind. Look at Mister McKenzie. Round face, brisk beard, short grey hair. How old, would you say? Fifty? Perhaps. Kids? Yes, yes, I can see two, maybe three kids, a lovely loyal wife who – bless her – has stuck with him through thick and thin, brochure-fresh house in Essex, Kent, Surrey, football, mow the lawn, have a barbeque, nice fat silver car, black car, blue car slouching on the gravel, everything available, everything blatant and raw, like pornography, or boxing.

Lockdown Literature: Mystery & Suspense, Tue 9th June, online!

Coronavirus hasn't gone away (yet) - but we're BACK! June's theme is Mystery & Suspense: as with our debut Lockdown Lit event in April, our actors recorded the six winning stories at home for broadcast on Tuesday June 9th, and these are now available as video, podcast/MP3 and text right here on our website. (Scroll down for links).

The watch party was at 7.30pm, June 9th on Facebook, and you can still enjoy the show "live" from the comfort of your living room with popcorn and a drink, if you're a member of our Facebook group (join here). Anyway - to the tales! Here's our host Liam to introduce them ...

Lockdown Literature: Young & Old, Tuesday 14th April, online!

Are you sitting comfortably? Then let our host Liam Hogan begin ...

PLEASE NOTE: IN ORDER TO REWATCH THE APRIL 14th WATCH PARTY, YOU MUST BE A MEMBER OF OUR FACEBOOK GROUP, "LIARS' LEAGUE" https://www.facebook.com/groups/2959030028/

Feel free to join just for this if you like, and leave after ... sorry, that's just how these things work on Facebook, apparently. Also, if you're not on Facebook you can watch all the story videos here, listen to the podcast here, and read all the stories below (obviously). 

NB: This watch party is naturally free to view - but if you'd like to support the authors and (especially) actors involved, see below ...

TIPS & DONATIONS

Usually we'd use ticket sale cash to buy our contributors food, booze and/or books. As we can't do that this time, if you want to donate some £/$ towards the actors and authors who have dedicated time, talent and effort to entertain you, please do so via Paypal to liarsleague@yahoo.co.uk.

All donations will be split equally between all participants: if you'd like your money to go to a particular author, actor or story, just add a note to your donation saying so: named "tips" will be passed on to those contributors. LL won't be taking anything :)

Thanks and happy watching!

Exiled by Brian O'Hare

Exiled MP3

Read by Will Teller

Here’s a little secret: The Marine Corps needs enemies. It lives for them. Whether it’s banzai charging Japanese, Chinese hordes or boogeyman Viet Cong—it doesn’t matter. And when it can’t find an enemy? The Marine Corps eats its young. And for Lieutenant Colonel “Mad Mike” Madigan, Battalion Commander Lieutenant Francis Keane is perfect.

            It all starts back in August of ’91, just before the first Persian Gulf War, on deployment to Okinawa, when one of Keane’s Lance Criminals punches out an NCO over a bargirl. “Alcohol related”, as the logbook duly notes. Keane saves his ass from the brig. Mad Mike goes high and to the right. Because when the old man says ‘circle the wagons’—you circle the goddamn wagons.

            As payback, Keane suffers every shit job and indignity, until finally exiled to the BOQ, the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters and put in “hack”, a kind of house arrest, for violating the 7^th General Order of the Sentry—“to talk to no one except in the line of duty”—while serving as Officer of the Day. And so, into exile Keane goes, like some Biblical mystic, alone and barefoot.

Advice to my Child by Jo Gatford

Advice to my Child MP3

Read by Sarah Feathers

Carbohydrates are all well and good when you’re tired and hangry but they are not a substitute for a hug or a conversation.

Speaking of: call your mother more often. Or at least text. I have WhatsApp now, you know. I follow you on Instagram. You’re cute but vary the expression a little, why don’t you?

Meringues should always be left in the oven to cool, preferably overnight – like most things – if you really want that chewy centre and clarity of crunch.

Keep good accounts. Air your bathroom. Stay hydrated. Get a dehumidifier. Don’t waste time on books you can’t finish. Insure yourself. Overpay your mortgage whenever you can. If you ever get one.

Befriending by Irina Zahl

Befriending MP3

Read by Greg Page

I watch them walking up the hill. They are only starting on their journey. They sound happy. They are singing and swinging their arms cheerfully in time. I can't see from where I am, but I’m sure their skin is golden in the summer sun and their muscles bulge ever so slightly with every step they take. 

By a habit I didn’t know I had, I raise my hand to give them a wave. I catch myself half-way and put it down. They can't see me from where I am – from where they are – and they don't know me anyway. It's me watching life from my kitchen window; it's them living it. 

The worst thing about age is not the aches, not the persistent chills, not the sagging skin and not even the liver spots. The worst part is living in the past tense. I used to. Used to be, used to do. In the present, I'm nothing. An old man in his small retirement flat still able to take care of himself, but this is as exciting as it gets. It is only the past that gives me the meaning, that justifies my existence. In my present state, I am of no interest to the world … or to those lads walking up the hills.

She's Ended Up Middle-Aged by Alix Owen

She’s Ended Up Middle-Aged MP3

Read by Charlotte Worthing

Netflix is like fireflies in my boyfriend's glazed eyes. He's had a hard day at work. I've had a boring, overpaid one. We've been sat in silence for maybe an hour while a binge-watch mends our relationship. I'm nursing a smudged, warm glass of wine, flashing a flirty glance at him now and then, wiggling my feet on his lap, peeking up from my phone.

Am I paying attention? Am I being mindful? I'm not sure. Scrolling through Facebook, I'm half-heartedly wondering whether to go plant-based.

Hmmm. Let's think about this. I don't know if it suits me.

See, I’m that kind of mid-range millennial, around 30 (but in denial); sure, with a sustainable conscience but a reluctance to get rid of single-use plastics and a fear that zero-wasters are coming for our fun. That does not a vegan make.

The Blue Man of the Minch by Matt Barnard

The Blue Man of the Minch MP3

Read by Silas Hawkins

Just after eleven, Colin raced down the hill to tell Johnny Dey that one of Marjorie’s cows was calving. No more than eight years old, with hair cropped so close you could see the bones of his skull, his face shone with a look of wonder and self-importance. When he told Johnny the news, Johnny simply gazed at him with an expression of unselfconscious weariness. He was sitting on the front step, elbows resting on his knees, his stomach like a medicine ball between his thighs. The sun fell onto his face from the right making him squint a little.

     Colin stared at Johnny and felt like he did when he saw something strange emerge from the sea. He’d run down the hill with the message held like a special package, not sure exactly what it meant, only that it was important. It was unclear to him why he was telling Johnny Dey, and now, standing awkwardly in the mid-morning sun, he realised he didn’t know what he was expected to take back in return.

     ‘Aye, that’ll be Frieda,’ Johnny replied eventually, putting a large hand to his face to shield his eyes. ‘Tell Marjorie to keep an eye out and let me know what’s happening. Can you remember that, Colin?’

 

In the Round by Sarah Richardson

In the round MP3

Read by Carrie Cohen

The boot gleams in the firelight, its worn leather restored to black. Not dull black, like seaweed baked too long in the sun; no, today the boot’s blackness is rich and deep. Margaret lifts it closer to her face; inspects one side, then the other. That’ll do.

She sets it gently on the newspaper sheets in front of her — rows of type talking of politics and people she cares nothing for — and tightens the lid on the polish. Kiwi: the distinctive tang couples with the scent of men whose boots have lined the hallways of her life. Grandfer, Dad, her own Sid. This boot, one of Sid’s finest, is now the only one that calls on her labour, and she’s not done badly with it at all.

Resting her hand on the fireplace, Margaret eases herself up from her wooden dining chair and shuffles the few steps to the window. Away from the coals’ warmth, her breath causes the glass to mist: outside, spring is still tussling with the end of winter, and evening darkness has brought a crisp chill. At the end of the street, the gaudy lights that mark out the Ship and Swan sway wildly. The shrub they cling to strains in the wind.

Margaret checks her watch. Eight thirty: she should be heading over soon. She thinks momentarily of her grandchildren, 300 miles away in London; Andrew and Joanne will be trying to get them off to bed. Or at least, Andrew will. Her daughter-in-law, she has long suspected, is more after her own heart: holidays, Easter included, are a time for rules to be broken, clocks to be stopped.

A Fortnite is a Long Time in Politics by Callum Jacobs

Fortnite MP3

Read by William Foxton

When his remarkable talents had first been spotted, Sami el Zafar was just thirteen. Or possibly fourteen. Sami had arrived in England from Syria with no passport, no family and no English. He was given a place at the local secondary school and by all accounts he’d had a tough time fitting in. No surprise in that, all alone in the world and having witnessed who knew what horrors back in his war-torn homeland. He didn’t speak much about it. He didn’t speak much about anything.

It wasn’t until one day at After School Club, the repository for kids whose parents didn’t trust them to go home on their own, that Sami’s skills were discovered.

After School Club was set up with tables for students to complete homework or to read quietly but also, under certain conditions, to use the school’s PS4. Sami never got to use it, being too shy and non-verbal to ask, and too weird to be invited by anyone else. So Sami would stand and watch the other kids playing, hovering behind them and humming. It used to irritate the piss out of them.

Lockdown Literature: YOUNG & OLD, Tuesday 14th April - online!

Not much makes social distancing and/or self-isolation better, but fictional escapism sure helps - and this month, we have that in spades. So we're going ahead with our Young & Old show on April 14th, but online - because even the First Horseman (pestilence, but you knew that) can't keep a good short story down!

WINNING STORIES for YOUNG & OLD
(featuring ALL NEW authors)

Advice to my Child by Jo Gatford, read by Sarah Feathers
A Fortnite is a Long Time in Politics by Callum Jacobs, read by William Foxton
Befriending by Irina Zahl, read by Greg Page
Exiled by Brian O'Hare, read by William Teller
She's Ended Up Middle-Aged by Alix Owen, read by Charlotte Worthing
The Blue Man of the Minch by Matt Barnard, read by Silas Hawkins
In the Round by Sarah Richardson, read by Carrie Cohen

We have genius gamers, sassy mamas, Iraq War soldiers, elderly lovers, what-now? weddings, folk singers and cows giving birth: truly something for everyone, read by our superb company of actors.

It's obviously an unusual situation this month, so our mighty actors will be recording video and audio (at home) of our seven winning stories, so they can be released as podcast, YouTube playlist and text on the planned event date. Then we'll create a watch party at 7.30pm on April 14th on Facebook, so you can watch them "live" from home with popcorn and a drink.

(We're going to try and recreate the fun of the infamous book quiz too, maybe by publishing the questions after the third story and posting a book to whoever answers fastest - but watch this space! :)

Hull to Haddon Hall by Lauren Van Schaik

Read by David Mildon

Mick’s gold lamé jumpsuit reeked: of sweat, of beer, of that gummy stage makeup, in the armpits and down the crotch. He noticed when he shimmied into it in the green-room, zipping it to his sternum.

He could have had it washed, he imagined, but could you dry-clean a thing like this? He couldn’t imagine picking it up, in a swishy, loud garment bag; the winking looks from behind the counter. He couldn’t imagine even being in a dry-cleaner. Or a launderette: watching the gold lamé spin, like an astronaut tumbled in a rocket ship; like a man washing his Mam’s best Debenhams dress.

What Now? by Enzo Kohara Franca

Read by Kevin Shen

Some called it the Fourth Industrial Revolution. Others the Third Wave of Automation. Terminology aside, we all knew what they meant. Truck drivers, radiologists, abstract painters – all had been bettered by algorithms.

  And now it was our turn. “Amateur” adult actors.

  Many a journalist has interviewed those in our profession and come back with horror stories about our upbringing. Parents enslaved by opioids. Partners with a taste for extreme violence.

  Trust me. Those clichés aren’t true of us.

Aletheia by Katty Pearce

Read by Paul Clarke

It is not our custom to invite strangers here, you know. For obvious reasons. Except of course on our Treat Days. Every Leap Year our Keepers permit just one resident to invite a guest to join us. Given the general sense of irony in here, it’s always on Valentine’s Day. Read nothing into that. It is simply an institutional joke. We take it in turns. It staves off the loneliness and the despair that follows. Today the honour has fallen to me. You are my choice. My treat.

But why you? Well, I have read your column, of course.

I enjoy your hyperbole, your witty turns of phrase. And I do so enjoy your amoral stances on whatever little titbits you happen to pick up around town. A dying art these days, the art of the high society gossipmonger. ‘Aletheia’ – your pen-name amuses me. ‘The disclosure of truth’.

The Kiss by Brindley Hallam Dennis

Read by Sophie Cartman

The two couples, not often, but three or four times a year, would get together for a meal in a small restaurant or bistro café near the city centre. At that time of the early evening when the office workers have departed in their cars, or on their trains and buses, and the late night diners have not yet arrived, they would meet at whatever car-park was nearest. Traffic would ignore them, going in the opposite direction, eager for, or resigned to home. Buses lit up like chandeliers would pass them by. Pedestrians wrapped up in their thoughts against the chill would walk on. The scent of late flowers, overhanging the pavements and brushed against, wafted on the evening air.