Thanks to everyone for all your supportive comments. I appreciate that some of you are far closer to the experiences I’m describing than I am. It’s perhaps worth giving a little of the backstory to this piece of writing.
It began as a simple exercise in writing dialogue — around 1,000 words. I’d recently binged all of The Detectorists, having missed it the first time around, and was struck by the way the dialogue between two men had been written and performed. It felt honest and kind, while still preserving that familiar little dance around the “real issues” that men often do. I began to wonder what that kind of exchange might look like if it had to deal with bereavement.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve also lost friends — old friends — without having had the chance to say goodbye. That left me with guilt, but also with a growing sense that saying goodbye may be more for me than for them. I’ve only been able to say goodbye to a friend once, and it ended up far less articulate than it is here. So, in this piece, I tried to work through some of those feelings — and the other, often contradictory emotions that come with loss.
No apology required. 'Letting it get to you. You know what that's called? Being alive. Best thing there is.' (an old Dr Who quote that I often refer to).
Thanks to everyone for all your supportive comments. I appreciate that some of you are far closer to the experiences I’m describing than I am. It’s perhaps worth giving a little of the backstory to this piece of writing.
It began as a simple exercise in writing dialogue — around 1,000 words. I’d recently binged all of The Detectorists, having missed it the first time around, and was struck by the way the dialogue between two men had been written and performed. It felt honest and kind, while still preserving that familiar little dance around the “real issues” that men often do. I began to wonder what that kind of exchange might look like if it had to deal with bereavement.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve also lost friends — old friends — without having had the chance to say goodbye. That left me with guilt, but also with a growing sense that saying goodbye may be more for me than for them. I’ve only been able to say goodbye to a friend once, and it ended up far less articulate than it is here. So, in this piece, I tried to work through some of those feelings — and the other, often contradictory emotions that come with loss.
This is lovely, Mike. It would work really well as a radio short. Gentle but profound and very touching.
You’ve really got me thinking about writing for radio now!
Ooh, that’s exciting! I really meant it about that piece. I could hear it as I read it.
Thank you so much.
Damn you, Mike, I wasn't going to cry today. But this really got to me. I think I'll go and do my Duolingo now, and a quick Sudoku. Scaffolding.
I’m sorry that it got to you, Cath. Writing it was a bit of scaffolding for me, I confess.
No apology required. 'Letting it get to you. You know what that's called? Being alive. Best thing there is.' (an old Dr Who quote that I often refer to).
And to think I nearly put a Doctor Who reference in it! But Pete Murray won in the end.
Great Mike, really like this.
Thank you Rosalind.
Excellent.
Thank you Margaret.
I enjoyed that very much Mike. Nice dialogue and structure.
Thank you Paul. I really appreciate you saying that.
A beautiful read. Funny, touching and clever. Thank you.
Thank you Jules. Lots of recent conversations and thoughts got distilled into it.
Love it.
Thank you Ray.
Love it.