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Members writing competition winner
Members writing
competition winner
We are pleased to announce that Gladys
Taylor has won the sixth RNIB Member’s
writing competition with her short story
“A Haunting Memory”.
Gladys, 72, has been busy studying for
a degree in Creative Writing, Literature
and Linguistics, and is also part of a
writing group where she lives in Cupar,
but writing began with her passion for
reading. The judges were particularly
impressed with her use of metaphor and
imagery in recreating this memory from
her childhood, and Gladys herself said
“You can build a world with imagery –
it’s a way to see.”
The panel of judges, which included
Phillip Hoare, author of the
award-winning Leviathan, or The
Whale, and Di Speirs, Radio 4
Recordings Editor, were impressed with
the high standard of entries.
If you would like to enter next year’s
writing competition, and also receive
Vision magazine and a range of other
benefits, you can join RNIB as a member.
Just call the Membership Team on
0303 1234 555 or visit
rnib.org.uk/membership
You can listen to the full version of the
three winning entries at
rnib.org/visionmagazine and also
listen out for them on Insight Radio’s
talking books show in April.
Here’s an excerpt from the winning entry:
A haunting memory
by Gladys Taylor
Inside the hospital, the lady at the big
high desk looks down at me. She’s
got a squinty eye, and funny, twisted
wire specs that are tied to a black
string. She stares, and I say…
“You’ve got a man’s face.” Well,
she does. Her moustache sticks out
like the bristles on granny’s orange
hairbrush.
“Oh, shush!” Mammy grabs a card
from the lady, and we run along
corridors where green doors rush
past us, all looking the same. When
we turn the corner, the floor squeaks
at my rubber soles. “For God’s sake!
Can’t you do anything right? Quick,
that’s the door. Push it open.” So I
do, and rows of tired-looking saggy
chairs seem to look at us and creak
and sigh.
A nurse comes along, and she sounds
like daddy’s best shirt on ironing day,
sort of…crackly.
“Are you the McKenzie child?” My
mammy nods. “Then you’re late.”
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