Story-by-story: Men Who Live in Caravans

The second story in Intervals of Darkness is unusual in that it’s not overtly supernatural – but it could have been, with a couple of tweaks, and is certainly, I think, weird.

It’s also one of the most personal, close-to-the-bone things I’ve ever written. In the sense that I sort of hoped my family wouldn’t read it.

It’s about a man who lives in a caravan on farmland, scraping a living with shift work.

This could describe more than one of my own late relatives, and several people my parents have known over the years, and several people I’ve encountered in pubs up and down the West Country.

The specific trigger – the thing that put it on my to-write list – was a particular caravan in a particular field. It was overgrown, tangled among branches, and green with moss. And yet there were signs that someone was living in it.

(That’s it above.)

I stared at it for a long time, took a photograph or two. Then I thought about an uncle who died in a caravan in the corner of a field, and was discovered by my dad when he went round with his regular care package one weekend.

With a few wrong turns, that could have been Dad, too. Or me.

But, fretting about class, I tied myself in knots over this for a while.

Did I have the right to tell this story?

Was it inherently snobbish or sneering?

Eventually, I had a word with myself. Who else was going to write it if not me? And if I wrote it plainly, sincerely, honestly, I’d be using my small amount of privilege in a useful way.

Still, at first, I wanted to do what I usually do and hide behind the safety of a spooky story. An early draft ended, predictably, with more overtly supernatural events.

But, as with a story not in this collection, ‘The Architects’, I pulled back and let weirdness be a seasoning, rather than the sauce.

Writing it was an emotional experience. I had to stop several times, overcome with feeling, and even pushed to tears.

The feedback I’ve had since it was published at Minor Literatures suggests that people took the story as intended.

On ‘reens’

The word ‘reens’ crops up quite often in my stories. That’s because I grew up in Somerset which is sliced all across with reens, or rhynes.

They’re drainage ditches – a human intervention in the landscape.

One near my parents’ house, the Mark Yeo, was created in the 13th century.

I find them romantic and mysterious in a very specific, unromantic, un-mysterious way.

Sometimes, they look like shimmering, infinite mirrors running towards distant hills.

And at other times, they’re full of beer cans and algae.

Intervals of Darkness will be published on 7 September. You can pre-order the eBook now.