Tuesday, 29 September 2015

Oh No! It's Another Update Post...

I've got no choice, I had to write this because I was annoyed at myself for doing it again. No, I'm not making a vague Britney Spears reference, I'm talking about my 'line a day' commitment. I've had a couple of patches of leaving it to pile up. Yes, only for three to four days, and yes I caught up easily enough, but why can't I just do it properly? I can't come up with any reasonable excuses for not being able to write one measly diary-style line in a little book each day. I guess it comes down to apathy, more than lethargy or anything else. I've been busy of late, sure, and 'over-indulging' in certain things, but it's my choice at the end of the day [literally at the end of the day, I'm not just wasting words here] when I say 'sod it, I'll do it tomorrow'. Has anyone achieved success by doing that, outside of the field of Procrastination? Ah well. It's been logged and analysed now, so I suppose I can move on.

Other than letting that slip, production's been up lately. I've written a number of poems, including one about kicking a ball, a short story, about unwitting cannibals, and seemed to be on a roll until I tried restoring some papers of mine that were damaged by a leaking radiator [when I say 'restoring', I just mean trying to fathom out what the words were before the ink was washed away]. By sheer luck, the papers affected weren't completely full of writing, so I've not lost a whole book or anything, but one had an interesting and dark short story on it, and the other was part of the Sci-Fi novel I'm working on, so they're important enough. I've found it hard going so far, and may even go into it in further detail later, since it's been an interesting process, but I'll carry on with it after writing this and hopefully get it out the way.

Reading-wise I'm still finding time here and there. Currently enjoying Calum Kerr's wonderful worlds of Flash Fiction - all from his collection of collections The 2014 Flash365 Anthology.

One thing I didn't mind myself indulging in was the latest Storm and Golden Sky, the Liverpool reading series. While in the city, I went to The Bluecoat, visited one of my favourite pubs - The Swan Inn - and found one that had been recommended to me by a Liverpool Museum volunteer that time I went to see the dazzleship at Albert Docks. The pub she said to visit was 'Ye Cracke', just off Hope Street, and lays claim to being where John Lennon set up his 'other band' - The Dissenters - who never played a note. Picked up a copy of The Skinny to read while I had a pint there. Good times.

But the poetry itself was even better. Natasha Borton was reading her work, and I usually rather like it, so there I went to hear her pieces inspired by the tragic intentional flooding of Capel Celyn. Such a wonderfully provocative collection, covering ideas and themes from all angles, going into the history of the town, the post-history [after 'Capel' had been changed to 'Llyn'], the emotions, the images and the sad, sad music sung by the place and the events that happened there. The second reader, John Redmond, was less well known to me, but, as always at SAGS, I was more than merrily surprised by the quality of his work and performance. Fruity babies indeed! Everything seems so right in there, even if the poetry's dark or challenging, it's all groovy. Love it, especially when I get to catch up with some ol' uni pals, and general poetry pals.

I still don't have a job and am running out of savings, so if you have an opening at your place I've got skills ranging from proof reading and editing, through to original content and creative collaboration [as well as boring stuff like pulling pints and making customers happy...]. Still not got my website up and running and, whilst I'm under no illusions that it's going to instantaneously solve all my problems, I still hope it'll create some interest in who I am/what I do [in a career sense].

A bientot, friends!

Tuesday, 15 September 2015

Pages: Protest Against the axeing of A Level Creative Wri...

Pages: Protest Against the axeing of A Level Creative Wri...: As you may be aware, a (political) decision has been made to cut the Creative Writing A Level that many people worked so hard to see introdu...

Monday, 14 September 2015

September-time Blues

The thing that really triggers it for me is the adverts. Sure, there are those on TV, but it's the ones that pop up when I'm on my laptop, when I'm on my own and feeling more vulnerable. Young folk talking about 'your next big step', standing in front of some big, beautiful building as students mill about, smiling, chatting and buzzing silently with knowledge, promise and Jagerbombs. God I miss university...

Last year was the first year in my life, since I was three, that I've not gone into an 'academic year'. It wasn't too tough, though, because I had just recently finished my MA dissertation and had yet to graduate. This year was more like cold turkey. It's not the ideal time to get nostalgia-based blues of any kind, not when there's such sorrowful suffering in the family and the rest of the world at the moment. But I felt like putting this out there. I don't want to make others feel bad, but maybe it'll encourage others to think about education or their life or whatever.

I still remember first moving into halls, how I had three plastic litre bottles of spirits I'd brought back from Salou that September and how I tried to make new friends by sharing some of it with people in the same halls as me. I remember my first lessons, the feelings of awe at tutors, the attraction to those in your class who 'got it' in their way and made you look up to them because of it. I still remember the sometime loneliness, but also the fantastically oddball days and nights with friends I still love today and the freedom to be your own person in a way you couldn't imagine, even just a few months ago in sixth form. I remember losing my virginity [ish...]. I remember the greenery on campus. I remember the uni shops, the bar, the computer rooms, the odd spaces they'd try and shelve us writers during our lessons... I remember pride, fear and disappointment during/after assignments.

I remember so much. It's not really gone. It's made me who I am now and, crucially, who I will be. I'm not sad because it's over, I'm happy it's happened. I'm appreciative of all the luck, love and hard work that got me there, too, and I know it's silly of me to feel down about not being as young as I was.

Would still like to re-live it though...