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Old Mar 16, 2004, 10:29 AM   #1
caverngirl
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Default Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

I was wondering if people would be interested in writing short stories using the title of a Beatle's song. It would be interesting to see how you would interperate the titles. If we limit to about 800 words or so. You can include the Beatles themselves in the stories or not..... I dunno what do you think????????
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Old Mar 16, 2004, 10:50 AM   #2
caverngirl
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

I've just see the fan fiction sub heading in Paperback Writer perhaps we could combine it onto that site ....???
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Old Mar 16, 2004, 12:42 PM   #3
caverngirl
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

Well I'm no J.K. Rowling!!!
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Old Mar 16, 2004, 11:27 PM   #4
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

I think it's a good idea. But im not much of a writer lol.
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Old Mar 17, 2004, 02:13 AM   #5
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WELL HERE GOES NOTHING....
I MAY AS WELL START.. AS YOU CAN SEE I HAVE SET THE STANDARD QUITE LOW .. ANYTHING YOU GUY'S DO WILL BE AN IMPROVEMENT!!!!!!

SHE'S LEAVING HOME

It was her 18th birthday , but she was not happy, her mum had died 4 years ago to the very day whielst out shopping , some maniac who was high on drugs has careered his car onto the pavement and mown her down. She died instantly of her injuries. Mandeep’s father was even more strict after that … she was not allowed out in the evenings and wow betided if she asked to go to parties. In her father’s eyes there was nothing but evil amongst the streets of East London. As Mandeep got herself ready for college she looked at the photograph of her mother beside her bed smiled, and shed a solitary tear.

It was no secret that her father was planning an arranged marriage for Mandeep, to date, all possible suitors had proved to be well … not the most blessed in the looks department. Mandeep although lonely was stubborn … and would play up and embarrass her father when the gentleman came to call.

Mandeep left the house and went to the bus stop, the bus came quickly and she met her friends from college on the top deck. There was a new face with the gang today … a tall thin gaunt looking boy, he was a friend of Sophie’s (a student on the business course with Mandeep). Mandeep smiled and said ‘Hi I’m Mandeep’.. ‘Whatever’ came the response. Mandeep felt embarrassed and thought to herself ‘why did I even bother’. Later during the lecture Mandeep discovered the boy was sitting in the row in front of her. She could see that he was listening to his walkman and doodling on his pad. As the lecture progressed Mandeep became bored – she had only signed up to this course as an excuse to get out to of the house and aw ay from her father. She knew deep down that she would end up within an arranged marriage, children, and no independence.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to what the boy was sketching.. it was a comic characture of the lecturer. Mandeep chuckled to herself. The boy looked around glared and looked away. Again Mandeep felt an idiot in front of him. She tried to motivate herself to carry on following the now incessant droning of the lecturer but it was no use. She found herself drawn to the boy and the wondrous creations of his pencil. During the recess she made her way to the canteen, grabbed what only could be described as vaguely resembling a sandwich and a diet coke and grabbed a chair by the corner near the window. She then felt the presence of another person sitting beside her but she continued to stare out of the window.

‘So you find my drawings funny then’, she turned towards the voice and felt her cheeks burn … it was boy. ‘I guess so … I mean … there good… funny … erm…yeah’. A voice in her said was saying ‘Mandeep just shut up you idiot… he already thinks you’re stupid… don’t confirm it even more’. ‘I’m John’ said the boy ‘are you interested in art?’ ‘Well I like going to galleries and museums and stuff’ said Mandeep ‘And stuff?’ said John. ‘Oh you know just stuff’ said Mandeep who by now was wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘Well I’ve got to go’ said Mandeep who made a hasty retreat.

That night she had been visited by relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins all of whom she could not stand but all she could think about was John, if her father knew he would throw a fit. She slept soundly that night the first time in ages. Over the next few weeks she would go out of her way to be around John after lectures and during breaks. There was some kind of mystery about him that she could not explain. He was mean and moody with a touch of Johnny Depp!

She started wearing makeup, just subtle mind but enough to make her feel like one of the other girls who exuded confidence and had the attention of every hormone driven male. One day in the canteen she noticed that John was nowhere to be seen. Her heart fell, she soon established that John was taking part in art exhibition in the local community centre that night and was preparing for it.
She new that she had to be there… but how would she get out of the house with Atilla the Hun guarding her every move. After feigninga stomachache and locking herself in her room she prepared her escape plan. She knew her father would go to bed early himself and would eventually fall into his snoring coma and give her the opportunity she needed.
She escaped out of the front door and wished that just this once the hinges would not squeak and let all and sundry know what she was up to. She was in luck.. all was silent and she sprinted down the stairs to the bus.

The community centre was packed full of familiar faces from college… most of whom and been tempted by the thought of a free bar and had no interest in art of any shape or form. She felt herself getting warmer and her heart beating faster and faster. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here’ she turned and met his eyes.. ‘Well I told you I liked art’ ‘And stuff’ said John. ‘And stuff’ Mandeep thought ‘and you’. John showed her around the exhibition and explained the ideas behind his drawings, but Mandeep could not hear him. She felt strange and warm and at ease with what her father would describe as a freak. Then she heard him say something that shook her out her daydream .. ‘ I want to draw you’ ‘What’ she said. ‘You’re beautiful .. you have a wonderful bone structure.. gorgeous lips…. intense eyes. I want to capture that.’ ‘Yes’ she said immediately. ‘Yes please’.

That night she grew up, she became a woman .. the little girl her father had for so long tried to surpress and bully had escaped.. she left home.
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Old Mar 17, 2004, 03:13 AM   #6
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

That was good, Cavern! Ahhhh what happens!?!? Lol I have issues with short stories; I always hope for a sequel. Ah well... I'll write one, just give me time to get a title and come up with an idea.
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Old Mar 17, 2004, 01:07 PM   #7
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

That was really good. Ill write one, but it's hard for me to make it short lol.
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Old Mar 17, 2004, 09:05 PM   #8
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

Great story Cavern! [img]images/icons/smile.gif[/img]
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 02:51 AM   #9
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

A Girl Called Penny Lane

Her name was Penny Lane. Not "Penelope Lane," as her parents thought that would be too fussy and upper class a label for an ordinary working class girl (and they were right). Just Penny Lane. It seemed a good name. It had a certain ring to it. In the key of B Major.

All was well between Penny Lane and her name. They were quite happy growing up together. She was Penny Lane, a popular girl, whose name had a positive sound. Popular, positive Penny Lane. Until her sixteenth birthday, that is, when - by coincidence - The Beatles released a record, called - coincidentally - Penny Lane. Well, the record was called Penny Lane/Strawberry Fields Forever really, but for Penny, naturally enough, it was the song that shared her name which drew most of her attention. She liked it. It was as if The Beatles, darlings of all the world, had written a song especially for her. She knew it was really about some street in Liverpool, of course, but it did share her name. There it was on the radio: Penny Lane. In the key of B Major.

From that day on she took on a certain sheen of celebrity. It seemed that this Penny Lane could light up everyone's ears and eyes. She was no longer merely popular, positive Penny Lane; suddenly, she was "Penny Lane, like the song." That was how her friends took to introducing her: "This is Penny Lane, like the song." When she introduced herself, the inevitable and immediate response would be, "Oh, like the song!" People who knew her started to sing snatches of the song whenever they saw her, snippets about firemen rushing in from the pouring rain, nurses selling poppies from trays, bankers who never wore macks. The neighbourhood kids followed her along the street, chanting in their harsh little kid voices about barbers shaving customers, hourglasses and clean machines.

It was nice for a while, but it soon became very wearing. Popular, positive Penny Lane seemed to have become obscured somehow behind the song. She got so fed up of her first boyfriend introducing her as, "Penny Lane, like the song" that she ditched him. And her next boyfriend too, for the same reason. Oh, and the one after that as well.

The song, the tune, the words rang in her ears and its images trained along behind her eyes day and night. Some of her dreams were haunted by damp firemen and bankers; others became endlessly attenuated as she watched sand trickle through an hourglass that never, ever emptied; the rest of them featured a barber who scraped away every filament of hair from her head with a coarse black razor, whose leering eyes were small black cameras that flashed and left her sightless.

And then she met Derek. He didn't say, "Oh, like the song!" when she introduced herself, just, "Nice to meet you." He didn't introduce her to others as, "Penny Lane, like the song." He didn't even join in when others sang the song or hummed its tune in their company. Penny was overjoyed to have found him. Even though she might have admitted to herself deep down that he was rather dull, he never seemed to identify her with that song. When he asked her to marry him she said, "Yes!" immediately.

The day of the wedding came, and Penny, her father and her bridesmaids proceeded down the aisle in the time honoured fashion, with the organ booming and snitching out Mendelssohn's Wedding March. She had, of course, rejected her mother's suggestion that she break with convention and have the organist play Penny Lane. She did hear a child singing a little bit of the song as the organ groaned into silence, but it didn't matter: she was marrying her Derek, dependable Derek who was the one person in the world who was not under the thrall of that song.

She was before the altar. The vicar was smiling at her. Derek and his best man were looking very serious. A hymn was sung (All Things Bright And Beautiful, lovely) and a psalm was read (sheep and things, not a fire engine in sight), and then a passage from The Bible was read (no bankers, no demon barbers there).

At last, the vicar got to the vows. He was facing Derek. "Will you Derek Alardyce Allman take Penelope Lane…"

Derek reached forward and touched the vicar's arm. "Actually, it's Penny Lane," he said, "Like the song."

The sound of the wedding ring striking the flagstones at Derek's feet had, appropriately, a certain ring to it. In the key of B Major.

© Peter G. Pointon 2004

[size="1"][ Mar 18, 2004, 04:47 AM: Message Edited By: PetePointon ][/size]
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 03:09 AM   #10
caverngirl
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

Bloody Brilliant!!!
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 03:12 AM   #11
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Default Re: Short Stories Featuring Beatle Song Titles

I like both stories.
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 03:52 AM   #12
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Thanks folks. But Caverngirl, did you have to set such a high standard for the rest of us poor eejits to try to live up to? I haven't worked so hard in months!
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 04:25 AM   #13
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Pete
You're very kind but i do believe that you have now set the standard. Luv the wit in your story worthy of one Mr Lennon himself could have penned!!
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Old Mar 18, 2004, 06:59 AM   #14
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Quote:
Originally Posted By cokate:
That was good, Cavern! Ahhhh what happens!?!? Lol I have issues with short stories; I always hope for a sequel. Ah well... I'll write one, just give me time to get a title and come up with an idea.
<font size="2" face="Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif">Just in case you want to know what happened to Penny Lane, she changed her name shortly afterward. And she might have lived Happily Ever After, if only she hadn't changed her name to Molly Kintyre...
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Old Mar 19, 2004, 03:45 AM   #15
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Strawberry Fields Forever

It was the first time that she thought about her family for at least a year. She now lived in New York and was on the verge of hitting the big time as a PR consultant in her own right. For the past 3 years she had worked for Hinberg & Co and now she was going it alone. She was suddenly terrified at the thought of being interviewed. It was ironic because she spent most of her time on the phone to publishers, editors and TV exec’s spouting the praises of her clients. Yet today she would have to discuss the one thing that she could not manipulate – the truth about herself.

‘Miss D‘Haviland, a pleasure to meet you, please sit down. I am most grateful for you to take the time out of your busy schedule. I ‘ll try not to be too long.’ The journalist was young and eager to impress her editor, this was her first big interview. Catherine D’Haviland would normally have eaten people like her for breakfast, but today she was fragile, and vulnerable.

‘Miss D’Haviland, we hear so much about your famous clients and their exploits..but relatively little is known about you. Could you tell us about the life of Catherine D’Haviland. Where did you grow up? What do your parents do? What do your family think of your success?’ Catherine took a deep breath and began the much-rehearsed story that she had prepared for such occasions. This was however one big fat lie.

Catherine D’Haviland was actually born Katy Haviland the eldest of twin girls, there had been complications during the birth and her sister Joanna had been starved of oxygen which had left her partly brain damaged. Her parents had devoted their life to Joanna and Katy had more of less been left to fend for herself. This had given her the drive to get out of the sleepy village of Strawberry Fields in Devon just as soon as she was able.

She had left school at 16 and went to London where she started working for an advertising company as an Administrative Assistant. She put herself through evening classes where she learned about marketing and business studies and then took a job at 21 for Hinberg and Co’s UK office as a PR Consultant. She changed her name to D’Haviland to match her new found status and also to forget about her past. (She told her friends that she was the only child of a banker based in Hong Kong). She had quickly made a name for herself and was transferred to the New York office and the rest is history. She soon became the darling of the social scene and was courted by the likes of Hilary Clinton, Oprah Winfrey and Jen & Brad to do their PR.

Catherine finished her performance with the journalist and made her way to her office. When she eventually arrived at her desk she sat down looked at her diary and cried. For the last 10 years of her life she had lived a lie. She was in a position to have anything she wanted, the best clothes, the best cars, the best apartments, but what she really wanted was the one thing that her platinum American Express card could not provide, the love of her parents. She knew what she had to do. She had to go home.

Two days later she arrived at Heathrow Airport and was collecting her hire car to make the 4 hour journey to Devon. She had been so used to city life that she had forgotten how beautiful the countryside was in England. She eventually arrived at Strawberry Fields but felt that for the night she would stay in the local Bed & Breakfast. After her journey she needed to rest before she faced her family after so many years. The next morning she rose early and walked the mile journey to where her parents’ farm was located. When she arrived she found it derelict, the windows were broken and the barn had been ransacked. There was no sign of life. Catherine stood there frozen. ‘What’s happened’ she said to herself. She began to walk down the path that ran along the back of the house. She was met by an old lady from the village on her bicycle. ‘Excuse me’ said Catherine ‘What’s happened to the house? Where are Mr & Mrs Haviland?’ ‘Oh my dear’ said the old lady ‘Well there dead Miss….it was awful, the house was broken into by robbers and both were shot. Did you know them Miss? ‘I used to…’ said Catherine ‘Their daughter Joanna.. What happened to her?’ ‘Oh she is in a residential home about 10 miles away. I believe there is another daughter somewhere but nobody knows where she is. She left home years ago I think she is working abroad but no one could get hold of her. Awful business. Poor things the parents were heartbroken when Katy I think her name was left.’ ‘Thank you’ said Catherine ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time.’

That night Catherine trawled through the phone directory and traced where Joanna was staying. Then next day she made an appointment and for the first time in 10 years came face to face with her sister. Joanna sat quietly in the day room as Catherine walked in ‘Hi Jo… its Katy… remember Katy’. Joanna looked up and smiled. Catherine saw her mother’s eyes looking back at her. She lent down held Joanna and the two girls cried. ‘It’s OK Jo... I’m here. I’m so sorry….. I’m so sorry…. I’m here for you now … it’s gonna be alright.’

Two months later Catherine was looking out of her apartment block. She felt good about today. She was going to JFK Airport at 3.00pm to meet a very special flight. Her sister was coming to stay with her. Catherine had prepared the spare room with up to the minute style and elegance and in the corner she put a pot of roses she had found in the local garden centre. It was small and beautiful with the reddest of red flowers and it’s name ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’. Catherine thought to herself. Well wherever I am in the world. I will always have a piece of home with me.
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Old Mar 20, 2004, 08:20 AM   #16
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Clapping hard (haven't got any jewellery to rattle!).
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