Announcing My Substack Newsletter - Toasted Fiction with Chris Patrick!
That’s right, I’m now on Substack!
With so many great writers joining Substack with their very own newsletters dedicated to their writing, I thought I’d join them.
You can sign up to my newsletter, Toasted Fiction with Chris Patrick, for FREE here and receive stories of all shapes and sizes directly into your inbox! There’s also a paid subscriber option also, but more on that later.
If you don’t use Substack, fear not, because I will be using this website to create my own newsletter for those of you who are subscribers to this website. You can sign up to the newsletter for this website using the form below!
For the announcement, and my thoughts behind it, visit Toasted Fiction with Chris Patrick and for more info, have a read below.
Welcome to Toasted Fiction
Toasted Fiction features stories of all shapes and sizes from the non-award-wining writer himself, Chris Patrick.
Who?
Fair enough. Chris is the series creator, writer and exec producer of SEARCH, and the author of 5 books. He is also the writer of over 10 sketches for BBC The Social, reaching over half a million views and a playwright who has written such plays as Fools On A Hill, Big Bang Billion & Full Stop. Is that enough?
Never heard of him, but I’ll give his writing a go.
Thank you. I think.
Why should I subscribe then?
Subscribe to get stories of all shapes and sizes direct to your inbox as soon as they are published. Featuring new stories (and old), you’ll receive direct access to my collection of writing
What’s the difference between a free subscription and a paid subscription?
I want people to have as much access as possible to the stories here, so a lot of what will be posted will be available to free.
The key difference for paid subscribers will receive access to my novels, released here in serial form. Not only will my already published novels be available here, I will be releasing a brand new novel in serial form exclusively to paid Substack subscribers.
Of course, there will be excerpts for free subscribers to read, but the full novels in their serial form will only be available to paid subscribers.
Also, as a paid subscriber, you will receive exclusive sneak peeks of works-in-progress as well as screenplays.
What Kind of Stories? And don't say of all shapes and sizes again.
Point taken. You’ll have access to short stories, nano stories, chapters from my novels, humour writing, rejected jokes, sketches that never made the cut, scripts that have been produced or unproduced, updates on what I’m working on, behind the scenes stories about writing or behind the scenes stories about making a new story - whether it be a play, a sketch, a book, a podcast, a film or TV pilot. Occasionally, there may be the odd non-fiction piece of writing (more likely a review or a feature from the archive or my thoughts on a particular project I’ve worked on). You might read a story on a success or a story on a failure.
OK I’m in. How do I get kept up-to-date?
You won’t have to worry about missing anything. Every new edition of the newsletter goes directly to your inbox. Sign up here or over at www.chrispatrickwriter.com to find your next story.
Is that all?
As ever, thank you for the support. As with my stories, your support comes in all shapes and sizes. Whether it be continuing to subscribe to this website, subscribing to my Substack newsletter, buying my books, reading my stories, listening to my podcasts or simply telling a friend about something of mine you’ve read, watched or listened to, I am really grateful.
It's new episode day! Series Two, Episode Three is now live!
It’s Toasted Fiction Theatre Thursday!
Series Two, Episode Three is now live and it’s the second of our three Para Handy episodes! Have a listen below:
Toasted Fiction Theatre presents a No Nonsense Production of Para Handy: A Radio Play (Not) On Stage.
A radio play not on stage (on podcast) adaptation of Neil Munro's classic Para Handy tales.
The Master Mariner, Dougie the Mate, MacPhail the Engineer and Sunny Jim along with a host of other characters take to the airwaves courtesy of three plucky radio actors. This week's episode is The Malingerer
Adapted, directed by and starring Kevin Jannetts, along with Calum McVittie & Stewart Phillips.
Check out all things No Nonsense Productions on social media @nononsensepro and their website www.nononsenseproductions.co.uk
Subscribe, share and leave a review/rating of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast. Get in touch with us @toastedfictiontheatre or through e-mail on toastedfictiontheatre@gmail.com
You can also support the show via our Patreon page www.patreon.com/toastedfictiontheatre with as little as £1!
Created by Chris Patrick
Series Two produced by Chris Patrick & Ross Patrick
For all more content, including sketches and books, head to www.chrispatrickwriter.com
Series Two, Episode Two of the podcast is now live!
Episode Two of the second series of Toasted Fiction Theatre is now live!
Genuinely really excited to be producing a second series of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast (all episodes available here) and even more excited that we could involve fellow local Inverclyde talent No Nonsense Productions with a classic Para Handy tale - the first of THREE!
Check it out, have a listen and subscribe to the pod! If you could leave us a review in Apple Podcasts and let us know you’re listening on social media, that would be grand!
2.2: Para Handy’s Apprentice by No Nonsense Productions is a radio play not on stage (on podcast) adaptation of Neil Munro's classic Para Handy tales.
The Master Mariner, Dougie the Mate, MacPhail the Engineer and Sunny Jim along with a host of other characters take to the airwaves courtesy of three plucky radio actors. This week's episode is Para Handy's Apprentice.
Adapted, directed by and starring Kevin Jannetts, along with Calum McVittie & Stewart Phillips.
Check out all things No Nonsense Productions on social media @nononsensepro and their website www.nononsenseproductions.co.uk
Subscribe, share and leave a review/rating of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast. Get in touch with us @toastedfictiontheatre or through e-mail on toastedfictiontheatre@gmail.com
You can also support the show via our Patreon page www.patreon.com/toastedfictiontheatre with as little as £1!
Toasted Fiction Theatre was created by Chris Patrick
Series Two produced by Chris Patrick & Ross Patrick
Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Eight
In Chapter 8, Betty disappears from Albert, sending him into a blind panic. Where did she go?
8
Albert pulled into the car park of the local supermarket, and fought hard to find a space, finally threading the car into a tight spot between a black Range Rover and a White Sedan with the precision of an Olympic diver. Settling the car of the main road diving board and into his concrete pool, he looked to Betty sat in the passenger seat who had taken the 20 minute journey to carry on with some knitting of a tiny jumper. A pang of sadness shot through Albert there as he took in the miniature winter-wear that Betty was holding for an imaginary grandchild, both of them unable to have children of their own. But no sooner had that thought took place than it left his mind again and he forgot to feel sad and instead smiled at his wife's skill with a knitting needle. Of course it was for the kids, they had a four with children on their own. Why had he thought otherwise?
"You want to wait here while I go in and get the bread?" said Albert. The supermarket was handily placed right next to the local duck pond park where the two old timers had decided to embrace the cliché and have a weekly walking date while feeding the ducks.
Betty folded away her wooly work in progress and stepped out of the car, popping her head back in before shutting the door. "I'll come with, I reckon you'll end up picking out some Gluten Free bread just to see what happens to the poor bastards if they eat that instead of some trusty white bread."
Albert laughed hard as the door shut. She was not wrong, he did have a slightly warped sense of humour and it wouldn't have been that out of the question if he were to do that. Although, it was more likely he would try out the Tippex on bread trick his friends in school had once boasted about, just to see if they could indeed turn their feathered friends into a feathered firework. But no, Betty would never allow it, and quite rightly so. She was never a fan of "fowl play". Chuckling again at his own pun, Albert got out of the car and took Betty by the arm as they headed into the supermarket, picked up a loaf of bread, a few snacks and drinks for themselves and then made their way over to the park.
As they wound their way round the duck pond, stopping occasionally to throw in a few chunks of bread, Albert sucked at the air generously, favouring the cold nip of the October air. Winter had always been his favourite season. He loved it as a boy, staring out at the falling leaves making way for the falling snow from the warmth of his high chair. He even loved it from his judge's chair, glancing out in between presiding and ruling over court proceedings. Albert Molineaux simply loved watching as the year changed from warm hands to cold, from long bright summer nights, to dark cosy winter ones. Swimming trunks off, knitting gloves on. It was the time of the year he had most fondness for; duvet days in front of the fire & cosying up to his Mum as a boy and now Betty as a boy-grown. The season when the cold ran the roost, to Albert's mind, brought you closer to the ones you loved, emotionally, physically and geographically. When you had memories as warm as this, Albert thought, it was damn near impossible to feel cold.
Betty gave his hand a little squeeze just then, as the bag of bread's short life drew to a close. "What are you smiling about?"
Albert raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mrs. Molineaux?"
Betty smiled back, meeting Albert's single eyebrow with a double eyebrow bluff (both raised to the top of her head and her head tilted slightly meant Albert's defense was broken). "Keeping secrets from me now are we Albert?"
Laughing, Albert shook his head. "Secrets are for those with no stories to tell. I've got plenty."
"Good answer."
"Always."
"What were you smiling for?"
"I was just thinking, about winter. I think it's my favourite season after all."
Betty laughed. "Do you? What's brought this on?"
Albert shrugged. "I don't know. I just think, I have a lot of happy memories from there. The scarf my Mum made me one Christmas, cosying up with you to keep heat, making snow angels and snowmen with the kids and—what are you laughing at?"
Betty gave him a peck on the cheek and screwed up his face in that way he liked, smiling that smile that made her eyes sparkle and she laughed. "Because you, Albert Molineaux, change your mind with the changing of the wind."
Albert eyed her quizzically, scrunching up the bread wrapper in preparation for the bin. "What do you mean?" he said.
"I mean yesterday your favourite season was Autumn. The day before that, it was Summer and before that Spring. Pick one and stick to it will you!" She laughed.
"Ah leave me be. I'm a happy guy, that's all." Albert, laughing now too, spun away as fast as his hips would carry and tossed the wrapper into the bin. Just as he was about to turn back round to take Betty by the hand, he heard a voice in his head that wasn't quite his own.
"How does she remember that? She shouldn't remember that detail."
Holding the bin to steady himself, he shook his head, shaking the thought away. What did that mean? It was the strangest sensation. It felt like somebody else's voice inside his head and not one he altogether understood. Was he thinking about how she never had a good memory? No, Betty's memory had always been terrific – one that managed to keep him out of many a quarrel by ensuring he never forgot birthdays, anniversaries or any such event in his life. What was happening? Were the white hairs finally starting to become a burden?
As Albert stood there, all of these thoughts racing through his head at an alarming rate, he felt a hand on his back. It was Betty's coming to make sure he was OK. He hated her having to see him in any signs of weakness no matter how many times she had given him a stern look in the eye and reminded him that what burden he carried she would carry also and he could be whoever he was going to be; even if that person was strong on some days and crying the next. Regaining his composure, filling his lungs with that cold air he loved so much, he turned to Betty, kissing her on the check. "I'm fine. Nothing but a little slip is all."
Then something strange happened. As he kissed Betty and pulled back from her to look her in the eye, to convince her he was OK, the face in front of him wasn't his Betty. He didn't know who it was.
"Are you OK sir?" smiled the stranger, concern etched all over her face. Albert staggered back, crashing into the bin and falling over, the world starting to spin around him. The stranger he just kissed moved towards him to help him to his feet, other strangers started to descend upon him to give a helping hand while the ducks quacked a crescendo in Albert's ear. He pushed away the outstretched hands, violently, jerking out of their reach.
"I'm fine. I'm FINE. Leave me alone," he shouted, anger twisting inside him like a black snake writhing.
Dusting himself off, he tried to get up and look around the park for his Betty, but his legs wouldn't budge. He tried to breath and looked around for Betty. She was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere in sight. And he couldn't get up. The stranger he had mistaken for Betty had started to back off now but was eyeing him cautiously. Albert gave her one last look, the face so unfamiliar he could cry inside and die with the shame. His lips felt like they were burning, set alight by fire and poison all because the lips he kissed weren't his wife's.
He tried again to get up, and this time his legs worked. Spinning away, Albert moved quickly through the park, limping and panicked, calling out his wife's name, scrubbing hard at his lips trying to wipe the poison off, trying to douse the flames, trying to stop the memory taking hold. He was running now, and his eyes had begun to sting; he realized he was crying now, the tears flooding his vision as he desperately searched every face in the park for signs of his Betty.
"BETTY! BETTY WHERE ARE YOU?! BETTY?!" he was screaming her name now, yelling it as loud as he could before his voice would become a hoarse whisper. He was shouting and crying and lost, hopelessly lost. And there was a voice in his head again, his but not his. Bring her back, where the fuck did she go? What's happening? We're not going to fucking lose another one in the same day fix this. Fucking find her god damn it! It sounded like someone else was looking for Betty too, or maybe it was just him. Maybe it was just his thoughts whirling around his mind as he searched frantically for the woman he'd loved for over 40 years but couldn't find. She'd always been by his side. Always. And now she was nowhere to be seen.
Reaching the park entrance, he stopped. If she were anywhere she'd still be in the park somewhere. Maybe she'd nipped off to get something from the shop. More bread for the ducks perhaps. Maybe. As he stood there, lost to his thoughts and in his panic, a man approached him. He wore a baseball cap, sunglasses and a scruffy beard. He had a friendly face, Albert thought, though fleetingly.
"You OK sir?" The man asked.
Albert looked at him, lost. "I've...I've lost my wife."
"OK. Why don't you just sit here and I'll go try and find her for you, huh?"
Albert sat.
"You got a picture?"
"Y...yes." He fumbled in his pocket and handed him a photo out of his wallet. "That's her there," Albert said as he jabbed the picture.
"OK. You sit tight sir and I'll go find him." And with that the stranger was off looking for her, leaving Albert sitting there with no hope the man would ever return and he'd just lost his favourite picture.
Time ticked by and no sign. Albert didn't know what to do. Maybe if he just sat here on the park bench long enough and waited she'd turn up. Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she never would. Giving in, Albert started to sob. He put his head in his hands and sobbed hard. Part of him knew why he was crying, but the other part didn't, because she'd be along any minute now. She had to be. So he didn't know why he was crying. He never really knew why he cried, even as a boy growing up in Canada. Thinking back to his youth, waiting for Betty, he tried to remember if he cried a lot and why. Maybe it was because he was a pussy like the Old Lady Jane next door called him after she caught him pissing in her yard when he was 5 and he started pissing tears then. Or maybe it was because he was still the little boy inside not grown up a whole lot. Or maybe it was because someone once told him that your demons die in the rain and he liked the sound of it. If that's the case then he was going to sit here and cry good, cry hard and cry long until Betty came back. Because he was afraid. He was afraid that if he stopped crying and looked up then he would realized some of the demons survived and Betty wasn't coming back and he was going to cry all over again until he dried up dead and—
"Albert? Albert? Look at me."
Albert slowly, taking his head from his hands and wiping away the tears, looked up. Betty was standing over him, holding a carrier bag. "What's the matter? What happened?"
Taking a moment to find his voice, as croaked and grieved as it was, Albert answered. "I thought I'd lost you. I staggered and felt a hand on my back and thought it was you and turned round and kissed you but it wasn't you and I couldn't find you and I thought I thought.....I thought I'd lost you."
Betty sat beside him and pulled his hand in hers and brought it against her chest. "Feel that, you feel that?"
Albert nodded. "Yes."
Betty pulled it tight, letting the beat of her heart pulse through Albert's hand. "As strong as the day I was born. I'm right here Albert Molineaux. Stop being crazy."
"OK. Where'd you go?"
"I saw you stagger and told you I was going to get you a bottle of water and the nice girl that came to see if you were OK would look after you when I got back."
Albert searched his memory. "I'm....I'm sorry. I can't remember...I don't remember this."
Betty gave him a concerned look. "Well, maybe your over-tired. You didn't sleep well last night did you?"
"I didn't."
"Well there you go. Nothing to go worrying about. You just got a little tired and took a tumble. You're OK now. Thankfully that nice man found me with the photo and took care of you."
Albert nodded, glancing up and seeing the man in question walking away giving Albert a little nod with his hat. Calmed almost immediately by Betty's re-appearance. Something was still niggling him though, yet he couldn't think to what it was. Not yet anyway.
Betty stood up. "Now come on. Up you get. Let's get you home and rested. You don't have to go tonight if you don't want too."
"No no. It's fine. I'll go. Just need a little sleep before hand that's all."
Betty smiled. "Good." Then she nudged him. "And we'll address the fact of you kissing another woman later by the way. Little tiredness and you go all Casanova on me. Poor girl will never look after an old man again."
She laughed, her sense of humour as wicked as always and Albert did his best to do the same, but he still felt shaken. All he wanted was to lie down, and sleep and forgot today ever happened when tomorrow came around.
Usually he did.