Story: ‘The Only Lasting Beauty’

“I’d painted this unwed couple as being unromantic, matter of fact. Their partnership marred by sickness and alcoholism, itself diseased. Their memories of each other made bitter by grief and remorse.”

I'm supremely happy to announce that my short story, ‘The Only Lasting Beauty’, has been accepted for publication by Popshot, one of the best literary magazines around. This story appears in their ‘Heart’-themed issue (#39), and it’s accompanied by a beautiful illustratation from artist Mya Hang.

In this slightly bittersweet story, two very different siblings each recall their parents, who are no longer with them, and the lessons they imparted on matters of love and relationships.

I wrote this story specifically for the theme and I’m overwhelmed to be included in such a fantastic magazine.

You can subscribe, or buy the digital or hard copy of this issue of Popshot, here.

I don’t have any other background to this story, so let’s talk about fiction.

There’s a widespread belief that writers always draw from their own experiences, and that their characters are based on people they know. It seems to be a more common belief when the story’s written in the first person. I’m always baffled to hear this about my stories. It’s not uncommon for a reader to say ‘I’m sorry this happened to you’ or ‘Doesn’t your relative mind you writing about them?’

(This makes more sense now it’s being revealed that many people don’t have an internal monologue, and others are less able, or unable, to form mental images).

Many writers have an active imagination and are able to visualise easily (sometimes compulsively) and - like me - have read enough narrative fiction to have an idea of what might or might not work. Generally speaking, writers spend a lot of time carefully considering each character, their motivations, their interactions, and their environments. (I can’t say that I’m especially good at it, only that I do it…!) You don’t have to spend two pages describing a hotel room, like Ian Fleming. Neither do you need to limit description to almost the bare minimum, a la Cormac McCarthy. But the imagination allows for a space between two extremes, to realise the world of the story for the reader.

The protagonist of this story and his family are fictional. As it happens, I am not divorced, my sister has never given me dating advice, and I’m not aware of any alcoholics or climbers among my relatives. (That said, I do credit my father for the Polos thing.) Which of the characters is me? None of them. Imagine that! I did.

If you enjoyed this tale, I will give thanks to my unmanageable, unpredictable, oft-unwanted imagination.

If you have any thoughts on this story, please do share them on this page, or say hi on my Twitter account @davidbrookesuk.

—db