Here's the link: https://scroll.in/article/953193/we-actually-think-in-poetry-because-we-cannot-speak-in-poetry-we-speak-inadequately-lemn-sissay?fbclid=IwAR07NUTNKOmu_EGfsbYGho2tnfuDiau8wDWqA5XJ92C6LVJWsNe3vtbqP6U
Two things struck me. First is the line about 'thinking in poetry'. Maybe someone out there can help me, but I think I've heard something similar before somewhere? Not that I'm trying to call Sissay out on being unoriginal, I'd just like to read more about it. Anyway, I read it and thought 'yeah, that's a nice soundbite', but then mulled it over a little more, and it's quite apt, really. The ramifications of its truth are that speech (and prose, according to him) are standardised against our own inherent nature. I had understood why, in terms of a system of writing, we would want to standardise things, so that everyone can understand each other, but to think that there is such a disconnect between how we experience things, and 'the' rules of expression... It's a bit thought-provoking, anyway.
Certainly I think poetry is in the best place to reflect the experience of living. In prose you can describe it, and set such a scene, you can capture it, but not the experience of it, i.e. to make you feel like you're going through it. Sort of present tense vs past tense. Drama you can really pierce the heart of issues and emotions (and radio, film, TV), but they're a vastly different kettle of fish being as though the disparity between the way it is on the page and its performance is much bigger. They are great at conveying emotions, but again, generally it's not as close to the living experience. Form is how I see poetry better reflecting life's experience, and drama is close to that (or can be), but I think it's the acting that brings that out, you know, the power is more latent on the script's page, whereas poetry has it in ink and in performance in more similar levels. I've always said poetry's the purest use of language, and therefore it stands to reason for me that it would be more potent - but I don't expect anyone to buy that as a great objective argument lol. And the disclaimer to this whole ramble is that I'm more into the 'experimental side' of writing, so most comparisons between genres have huge holes in them, not only because borders (i.e. standardised definitions of genre) are blurred, techniques and forms are happily nabbed between them, but also because the very newness that is (trying to be) found could completely discredit what I'm saying. Have I made any sense? I suppose, to say it another way, I mean that there are going to be exceptions to what I'm saying because of the scope of the world's imagination, and I feel that once there are exceptions, what I've said is a bit pointless. But then again, I've never let that stop me before. Anyway, enough!
Second thing I wanted to say was just that I'm happy about his stance on universities - that they provide a worthwhile space for people to develop their craft. Some people I know (who are lovely, yes, and good writers, sure) have these negative ideas about unis, not limited to; they are a robot-factory, producing many people who all do the same thing; no-one can teach you how to write anyway (the implication being that unis are a waste of time, and people are idiots for going to them), and; people who write at uni are somehow 'softer', they don't have any bite or an engaging voice. Not necessarily true, by any means! I guess it would have been interesting to read what he would have said had he had more time to answer the question, what nuances he would've brought to the fore, but anyway, like I say, it's nice to know that a chap of his calibre, and his appealing poetry, is for universities. I found that my experience was illuminating through exposure to possibilities rather than 'rules' or whatever (and I had the desire to be educated, you know, I opened my aperture to the light. But then that's true of any discipline - if you're not being listened to, you can't teach a new dog old tricks), not some kind of methodical 'write by numbers' thing that I think my aforementioned uni-sceptic friend was hinting at. There were plenty of discernible 'tools' we were given, for sure, such as poetics, for which I could not have had a better experience at Edge Hill with Robert Sheppard. That's one thing I wonder - where would I have been without even just that one facet? I analyse writing, look at techniques etc, but I don't think I'd've realised the energising power of speculation without that tutelage. Hmmm... No answers, only questions...
Obviously there's lots else to take from the article, so I hope you have time to read it 😊 I just wanted to focus on those couple of bits 😀
And, since you've been so good as to get all the way to the end of this post, have another interview - this time with Roger Robinson: https://globalvoices.org/2020/02/14/an-interview-with-roger-robinson-winner-of-the-2019-t-s-eliot-prize-in-poetry/?fbclid=IwAR0YS6-qUxscuVrJgkqbNahj4RZU6bvLZt6920or-aAyi0B82yQ5UNHRfmw
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 March 2020
Monday, 13 January 2020
Just Duck Breakin'
I fancied 'breaking my duck' for 2020 with a short, banal post, just to ease myself back into the blogging rhythm.
But then I thought better of it. Why not start the new year with a long, banal post?
And we're off!
It's been a decent start to the year to be honest. I wrote a first draft of a children's story (I know, where did that come from? But what can I say? I was walking around a park in Lytham, got that ol' inspired feeling, and acted on it. Any publishers of new writing for children out there - hmu!), have been keeping up to date with my various diaries, am doing a bit of sketch writing with a friend, have submitted a new poem to a local radio culture show... Quite a lot, really. In terms of consumption, too, I'm doing well. I've finished a few books, and seen some films, too. If I continue going like I am, I might find a level of consistent contentedness - could it actually happen? When you consider it, happiness doesn't take all that much - just spending your time in the right way...
I finally got round to reading Eleanor Rees' Blood Child a bit back. After finishing it, the dark character of its (our?) world has stayed with me, and I feel compelled to say a bit about it. I got so deeply slathered in language when reading this, it was wonderful. Like a weatherful walk along a beach, it was full of palpable (and yet also ethereal) experiences; the wind holding you by the shoulders, the rain lashing and prickling your skin, the sensation of sand slipping underfoot, the gulls' cries touching your brain - all rendered in seductively sonic language, and active imagery. Take these few lines from 'A Burial of Sight':
The cities crouch, and yet loom, as do the shadowy, mythic woods of Grimm-esque tales, where even the still things are alive, and have momentous presence, like in 'Becoming Miniature', where, "...the houses [are] pressed with satellite dishes./ Aerials all point west as if hearing the sea." This is down to keen eyes and ears, and the technical strength and beauty to do life justice. I mean, some of these sentences thrill me with their sonic luxury. How can you not get a kick out of this, from 'Arne's Progress: Cortège', "...he drives over cherry blossoms splattered on tarmac/ while a man at the bus stop scrambles through a sandstorm"? I also enjoyed the thematic tightness of the collection as a whole, the recurrence of natural, earthy lexis, splashes of colour, the way humanity is presented, and the sense of travelling through air and time. Although we have a diversity of poems in terms of length ('A Burial of Sight', 'Blood Child', 'Arne's Progress' - made up of several distinct sections - and 'Blue Black' being the longer works) and form, the collection sits comfortably like a nests in a tree. It's rich poetry, and I thoroughly recommend it.
While reading Blood Child, I also had Robert Sheppard's Micro Event Space on the go (whilst sitting stationary). There was a moment where both texts were talking about gulls, and there was this strange synaptic flash between these two very different books. Sheppard's collection is, I think, more of a menagerie, and there's not a lot (especially not in terms of, say, motifery) to link the collection together, apart from the idea of smallness - but under that banner there is such a range, that everything hardly manages to fit under it. The pieces range in length from twelve lines to ninety-seven, in form from 'Twittersonnets' to Haibun (which is interesting because the only way it fits, for me, into the idea of 'smallness' is in how it uses language, i.e. being small by its conciseness. But, obviously, this could be said of a lot of poetry. In terms of the scene, one could say the poem's about a walk in the park (which is at least partly true), and that's a small thing, but it's actually looked at from so many angles as to make it a Tardis-like 'hugeness contained within a smallness. So, as I say, it's interesting how it strains at the edges of its "small poems about small things" description [in the blurb]), and in content from Roman coins to a car park fire.
I've seen examples of the Twittersonnet before (in 'Twitterodes' from Pages, and in A Translated Man), but they were no less potent here. When reading them, I feel like I'm descending a small diameter helter-skelter (what a belter...). So quick are the line breaks, for me there's a sense of dizzying pace. And it completely works, not just in the pace of reading, but the stresses it provides, y'know, generally the way they say so much, as Sheppard always does, in such a short space. 'higgs boson', as with most of them, I read over and over. I'm a fan of the cheeky "pip," "dip," and "tip" rhyming, and the way 'photons and leptons' are ensmallenised even further as "...the pho[/] and the lep[/] tons..." I know there are constraints at play, and yet the effect they make - just yes! Like with any good fairground ride, I want to go again. I also like the effect he creates in 'Leeds'. The three numbered parts - which themselves reference art - create this pleasing gallery-within-a-gallery feel. Anyway, I could go on about formal inventiveness in Sheppardian work 'til I'm blue in the face, but for me, sometimes you just can't beat a super serving of sibilance, and so I swing your attention 'The Working Week'-wards, to an image that I'd like to think summed up the author as he got to grips with his poetic material, "A sweat-band soaks up/ the effluent of/ his excess labour." But this is just supposed to be a short mulling over, so I'll leave it there. It looks like Micro Event Space is sold out already - hope you got your copy! And if Twittersonnets are your bag, check out these six from Tyneside by Alan Baker - wonderful living nuggets from the north-east.
Fictionly, I'm reading Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got his Gun. I became aware of Trumbo recently when watching the film based on his life, starring Brian Cranston. It was actually pretty good, genuinely compelling, and avoided (too much) of the glossy white-washing that these biopics often lazily pedal. When I read the synopsis, I was fully expecting a 'yeah, America used to be bad, y'know, with the Communist witch-hunts etc, but now that we've venerated one of the victims, we're cool, right? Right?' kind of thing, but it was more rounded than that. Anyway, film aside, I got to researching Trumbo a bit, and the aforementioned book came up in my trawl. It's a powerful book, up there in terms of emotional effect and unswerving craft vision with American Psycho for me (yes, an odd comparison, but it is what it is!). I won't go into it a lot, but I think that the way he unflinchingly explores the life of his deeply disabled protagonist is inspiring, and rekindles in me the desire to follow through with ideas that my internal censor sometimes says 'no, that's too weird for an audience to like'. I mean, really, the ideas are just what we hang our words on. Here, the words and ideas have a singular effect. I feel really close to Joe - the main character - because his mindscape is so well represented, and his motivations and patterns seem genuine. I'm not too much a fan of the lack of punctuation, which makes reading difficult, but this is perhaps a more sympathetic representation of the processes of Joe's mind - not ordered in a standard(ised) way. In this sense, it was the punctuational equivalent of Chuck Palahniuck's Amy Hempel's 'burnt tongues', forcing you to re-read. I'm not sure if that was entirely the intended effect, but it means that you have to be wary of reading too quick, you know, and because you have to slow down, and open your apertures wide, you take the full force of the light within the book. It is almost blinding. If you've got a strong constitution (mentally as well as physically), then I think you should read it, too. Especially if you're of the right, politically. And/or extreme left, I guess. I dunno. Maybe all humanity should read it... People have got to listen at some point, right? RIGHT? Oh, I forgot...
Well, I've prattled long enough, I think. Soon, I'll have a little muse upon some of the films I've been seeing lately, so, if this post hasn't been too much excitement for you, I'll see you then.
Peace, love, and light, amici!
But then I thought better of it. Why not start the new year with a long, banal post?
And we're off!
It's been a decent start to the year to be honest. I wrote a first draft of a children's story (I know, where did that come from? But what can I say? I was walking around a park in Lytham, got that ol' inspired feeling, and acted on it. Any publishers of new writing for children out there - hmu!), have been keeping up to date with my various diaries, am doing a bit of sketch writing with a friend, have submitted a new poem to a local radio culture show... Quite a lot, really. In terms of consumption, too, I'm doing well. I've finished a few books, and seen some films, too. If I continue going like I am, I might find a level of consistent contentedness - could it actually happen? When you consider it, happiness doesn't take all that much - just spending your time in the right way...
I finally got round to reading Eleanor Rees' Blood Child a bit back. After finishing it, the dark character of its (our?) world has stayed with me, and I feel compelled to say a bit about it. I got so deeply slathered in language when reading this, it was wonderful. Like a weatherful walk along a beach, it was full of palpable (and yet also ethereal) experiences; the wind holding you by the shoulders, the rain lashing and prickling your skin, the sensation of sand slipping underfoot, the gulls' cries touching your brain - all rendered in seductively sonic language, and active imagery. Take these few lines from 'A Burial of Sight':
...the flight paths of geese above a city park.
In the night I am with them,
solid wings slapping against air currents,
almost like thoughts...
The cities crouch, and yet loom, as do the shadowy, mythic woods of Grimm-esque tales, where even the still things are alive, and have momentous presence, like in 'Becoming Miniature', where, "...the houses [are] pressed with satellite dishes./ Aerials all point west as if hearing the sea." This is down to keen eyes and ears, and the technical strength and beauty to do life justice. I mean, some of these sentences thrill me with their sonic luxury. How can you not get a kick out of this, from 'Arne's Progress: Cortège', "...he drives over cherry blossoms splattered on tarmac/ while a man at the bus stop scrambles through a sandstorm"? I also enjoyed the thematic tightness of the collection as a whole, the recurrence of natural, earthy lexis, splashes of colour, the way humanity is presented, and the sense of travelling through air and time. Although we have a diversity of poems in terms of length ('A Burial of Sight', 'Blood Child', 'Arne's Progress' - made up of several distinct sections - and 'Blue Black' being the longer works) and form, the collection sits comfortably like a nests in a tree. It's rich poetry, and I thoroughly recommend it.
While reading Blood Child, I also had Robert Sheppard's Micro Event Space on the go (whilst sitting stationary). There was a moment where both texts were talking about gulls, and there was this strange synaptic flash between these two very different books. Sheppard's collection is, I think, more of a menagerie, and there's not a lot (especially not in terms of, say, motifery) to link the collection together, apart from the idea of smallness - but under that banner there is such a range, that everything hardly manages to fit under it. The pieces range in length from twelve lines to ninety-seven, in form from 'Twittersonnets' to Haibun (which is interesting because the only way it fits, for me, into the idea of 'smallness' is in how it uses language, i.e. being small by its conciseness. But, obviously, this could be said of a lot of poetry. In terms of the scene, one could say the poem's about a walk in the park (which is at least partly true), and that's a small thing, but it's actually looked at from so many angles as to make it a Tardis-like 'hugeness contained within a smallness. So, as I say, it's interesting how it strains at the edges of its "small poems about small things" description [in the blurb]), and in content from Roman coins to a car park fire.
I've seen examples of the Twittersonnet before (in 'Twitterodes' from Pages, and in A Translated Man), but they were no less potent here. When reading them, I feel like I'm descending a small diameter helter-skelter (what a belter...). So quick are the line breaks, for me there's a sense of dizzying pace. And it completely works, not just in the pace of reading, but the stresses it provides, y'know, generally the way they say so much, as Sheppard always does, in such a short space. 'higgs boson', as with most of them, I read over and over. I'm a fan of the cheeky "pip," "dip," and "tip" rhyming, and the way 'photons and leptons' are ensmallenised even further as "...the pho[/] and the lep[/] tons..." I know there are constraints at play, and yet the effect they make - just yes! Like with any good fairground ride, I want to go again. I also like the effect he creates in 'Leeds'. The three numbered parts - which themselves reference art - create this pleasing gallery-within-a-gallery feel. Anyway, I could go on about formal inventiveness in Sheppardian work 'til I'm blue in the face, but for me, sometimes you just can't beat a super serving of sibilance, and so I swing your attention 'The Working Week'-wards, to an image that I'd like to think summed up the author as he got to grips with his poetic material, "A sweat-band soaks up/ the effluent of/ his excess labour." But this is just supposed to be a short mulling over, so I'll leave it there. It looks like Micro Event Space is sold out already - hope you got your copy! And if Twittersonnets are your bag, check out these six from Tyneside by Alan Baker - wonderful living nuggets from the north-east.
Fictionly, I'm reading Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got his Gun. I became aware of Trumbo recently when watching the film based on his life, starring Brian Cranston. It was actually pretty good, genuinely compelling, and avoided (too much) of the glossy white-washing that these biopics often lazily pedal. When I read the synopsis, I was fully expecting a 'yeah, America used to be bad, y'know, with the Communist witch-hunts etc, but now that we've venerated one of the victims, we're cool, right? Right?' kind of thing, but it was more rounded than that. Anyway, film aside, I got to researching Trumbo a bit, and the aforementioned book came up in my trawl. It's a powerful book, up there in terms of emotional effect and unswerving craft vision with American Psycho for me (yes, an odd comparison, but it is what it is!). I won't go into it a lot, but I think that the way he unflinchingly explores the life of his deeply disabled protagonist is inspiring, and rekindles in me the desire to follow through with ideas that my internal censor sometimes says 'no, that's too weird for an audience to like'. I mean, really, the ideas are just what we hang our words on. Here, the words and ideas have a singular effect. I feel really close to Joe - the main character - because his mindscape is so well represented, and his motivations and patterns seem genuine. I'm not too much a fan of the lack of punctuation, which makes reading difficult, but this is perhaps a more sympathetic representation of the processes of Joe's mind - not ordered in a standard(ised) way. In this sense, it was the punctuational equivalent of Chuck Palahniuck's Amy Hempel's 'burnt tongues', forcing you to re-read. I'm not sure if that was entirely the intended effect, but it means that you have to be wary of reading too quick, you know, and because you have to slow down, and open your apertures wide, you take the full force of the light within the book. It is almost blinding. If you've got a strong constitution (mentally as well as physically), then I think you should read it, too. Especially if you're of the right, politically. And/or extreme left, I guess. I dunno. Maybe all humanity should read it... People have got to listen at some point, right? RIGHT? Oh, I forgot...
Well, I've prattled long enough, I think. Soon, I'll have a little muse upon some of the films I've been seeing lately, so, if this post hasn't been too much excitement for you, I'll see you then.
Peace, love, and light, amici!
Thursday, 19 September 2019
The Way to a Film's Launch
 |
| The Way to a Man's Heart poster, courtesy of LBP Productions https://lbpproductions.com/2019/02/03/the-way-to-a-mans-heart-poster/ |
Brilliant news! From LBP Productions comes a darkly humourous short film - The Way to a Man’s Heart - based on a short story written by yours truly. I am immensely proud of director Lewis, and his team’s, hard work in scripting, filming, acting, and editing this gem, and think it's a lovely interpretation of the original material. You can, and should, check out the film HERE, and keep up with more LBP Productions news HERE.
*** RIGHT, FROM HEREON OUT THERE BE SPOILERS(!) ***
In honour of the film’s recent release, I thought I’d say a little bit about the source material - my story, also called ‘The Way to a Man’s Heart’ - and where that came from. Sometime in 2015, I was watching a documentary about Stephen Fry’s travels around central America in a yellow school bus. He was visiting a prison in Honduras - ‘murder capital of the world’ - where he spoke to a woman who’d had something like seven husbands, who she’d killed and had either eaten, sold as meat, or both. It struck Stephen that she seemed really ‘normal’ to speak to, and it struck me that still, today, there are humans who, for whatever reason, are pulled toward modes of behaviour that seem too ‘evil’ to be real - like the whole Sweeney Todd legend, for example, but it does go on.
In honour of the film’s recent release, I thought I’d say a little bit about the source material - my story, also called ‘The Way to a Man’s Heart’ - and where that came from. Sometime in 2015, I was watching a documentary about Stephen Fry’s travels around central America in a yellow school bus. He was visiting a prison in Honduras - ‘murder capital of the world’ - where he spoke to a woman who’d had something like seven husbands, who she’d killed and had either eaten, sold as meat, or both. It struck Stephen that she seemed really ‘normal’ to speak to, and it struck me that still, today, there are humans who, for whatever reason, are pulled toward modes of behaviour that seem too ‘evil’ to be real - like the whole Sweeney Todd legend, for example, but it does go on.
Around the same time as this, a dear aunt of mine told me about a short fiction competition I might like to enter - the Mogford Prize for Food and Drink Writing - which has food and/or drink as its theme, the clue being the title... These two things swam around in my head, and soon coalesced as this thing about a strained relationship being, initially, ‘healed’ by a lovingly-made meal. It’s true that good company and nourishment can improve our mood, but I was intrigued by an almost supernatural angle - inspired in part by the Roman idea that you absorb the characteristics of animals you eat - and I think the first draft came pretty easily. Certainly the dinner scene was the focal point of my efforts, and was a kind of fun to write. I had a lot of polishing to do, though. My word count needed reducing to fit the rules of the competition anyway, and I had a lot of self-indulgent motifery to cut, along with the usual concerns of good writing (no clichés, adverbs, or silly grammatical over-complications, make sure speech is natural, etc, etc), but I took the job as seriously as I ever have, I think.
Around this time, I sent the story out to volunteer friends to proof read, and let me know their thoughts (thank you all, again!). Lewis was one who, happily, obliged. We’d studied at Edge Hill together and shared certain lessons in scriptwriting. I particularly remember one time when we were having a conversation about some of the weird things we have to research for our work, including, for those whose stories involve a bit more gore, how long it would normally take a human to bleed to death from various wounds. Writers, eh? Anyway, we had remained writing compadres, keeping up on each other’s news, and passing along bits to read now and again - as it was with this project.
After reading it, and giving me some feedback, I eventually had my final draft, which was duly dispatched to the Mogford Prize in March 2016. I don’t remember the timeline after this, but there was a moment where interest was expressed in making ‘The Way to a Man’s Heart’ a film (later in the same year?). Being a good friend, and someone whose writing and positivity I admire, I sold Lewis the rights for a knock-down, virtually nominal fee of one million quid - which I have since invested in local public house projects.
We liaised on it from scripting to casting, and he listened to what I had to say with regards to how certain edits panned out, but honestly, all my input could genuinely be summed up in the ‘brilliant work, keep going’ kind of vein, because that’s how it was, nothing else was needed. As for the story of the filming itself, you’d really have to ask Lewis what the craic was - although he has put some lovely set pictures up on his site, so we can look behind the scenes in that respect. Again, all I can say is how high quality the end result is, in all respects, and, simply, I enjoyed watching it. I hope Lewis and his colleagues gain lots of deserved recognition for their work, and that they keep feeling inspired and energetic, thus producing many more fine pieces like this.
And just so you know, ‘The Way to a Man’s Heart’ did not win the Mogford Prize. I know, I know, the judges are absolutely blind, and I was totally the best by a million clear miles. Yes, yes, must’ve been favouritism. A conspiracy, you say? Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far. But now you mention it… Anyway, now that the boos have died down, I can say that none of that matters, really, because I feel like I’ve won a much more valuable prize in seeing Lewis’ vision come wonderfully to life. It’s a prize you too can view, and that link, again, is thus: https://lbpproductions.com/2019/09/13/the-way-to-a-mans-heart/
Peace, love, and light, folks!
Monday, 28 October 2013
Ghostories
Had a wicked time last Friday at Edge Hill's ghost story night.
I loved the celebratory air, which for me had more of an emphasis on student endeavour than it did on 'scariness' or Hallowe'eny things. The majority of the readers were students, and although the works of the individuals were admirable, what really took my breath away (apart from the dry ice atmosphere) was the amazing diversity of the evening as a whole. The range of concepts and themes was wide and stimulating, and this is all from not (yet) established writers.
I listened to narratives about a strangling scarf, a regretful affair, a palpable loss, vengeful memories, supernatural sexual predators and more besides. Sex and death wrought into original and compelling products. Groovy.
It wasn't all about the students' pieces, though, and the night was rounded off with readings from two classics: Oscar Wilde's 'The Canterville Ghost' and Susan Hill's The Woman in Black. Both were read wonderfully, allowing Wilde's hilarious wit to shine and ramping up Hill's already-high drama nicely.
It was a great night not just for trying to learn for myself as a writer, but also to learn as human beings that there is such talent, so many diverse and energising possibilities out there for us all. In short, it made me hopeful.
Not bad considering it's coming up to Christmas...
I loved the celebratory air, which for me had more of an emphasis on student endeavour than it did on 'scariness' or Hallowe'eny things. The majority of the readers were students, and although the works of the individuals were admirable, what really took my breath away (apart from the dry ice atmosphere) was the amazing diversity of the evening as a whole. The range of concepts and themes was wide and stimulating, and this is all from not (yet) established writers.
I listened to narratives about a strangling scarf, a regretful affair, a palpable loss, vengeful memories, supernatural sexual predators and more besides. Sex and death wrought into original and compelling products. Groovy.
It wasn't all about the students' pieces, though, and the night was rounded off with readings from two classics: Oscar Wilde's 'The Canterville Ghost' and Susan Hill's The Woman in Black. Both were read wonderfully, allowing Wilde's hilarious wit to shine and ramping up Hill's already-high drama nicely.
It was a great night not just for trying to learn for myself as a writer, but also to learn as human beings that there is such talent, so many diverse and energising possibilities out there for us all. In short, it made me hopeful.
Not bad considering it's coming up to Christmas...
Saturday, 31 August 2013
I'm Not Literary
And it disgusts me...
Yes I'm feeling this, rather than trying to cement my position as a snob. But it's all I have.
I don't know - this isn't even a proper post... I just wonder sometimes why people do things. If you're not literary then you are (based on my limited perceptions) looking for popularity or money. What else?
And what's wrong with that? Nothing. Inherently at least. I have friends who are already making their mark in the world of plottish-series fiction, and doing a good job. But where is the reach out to poetry, the thing that links everything to humanity? Not human interest, but humanity?
I've written pages and pages on single elements within this rubbish post, but I don't think they'll find the light of day. The main thing I want to do is stimulate discussion (or at least thought).
Sorry, this is a poor attempt.
Sorry, goodbye.
Yes I'm feeling this, rather than trying to cement my position as a snob. But it's all I have.
I don't know - this isn't even a proper post... I just wonder sometimes why people do things. If you're not literary then you are (based on my limited perceptions) looking for popularity or money. What else?
And what's wrong with that? Nothing. Inherently at least. I have friends who are already making their mark in the world of plottish-series fiction, and doing a good job. But where is the reach out to poetry, the thing that links everything to humanity? Not human interest, but humanity?
I've written pages and pages on single elements within this rubbish post, but I don't think they'll find the light of day. The main thing I want to do is stimulate discussion (or at least thought).
Sorry, this is a poor attempt.
Sorry, goodbye.
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Word Factory Apprenticeship!
Entry is free, so if you're passionate about the short story form and want to develop yourself alongside practising professionals, CHECK THIS OUT: http://www.thewordfactory.tv/site/apprenticeship/
All the ts and cs are on that page, so read them carefully before you submit. Think about why you want to do it, what it'd mean and how it'd help you, then submit your summary along with your sample to the provided email address and good luck!
Thursday, 6 December 2012
Vanndalized
He read from Legends of a Suicide, Dirt and even some unpublished material of his, and it was a very valuable experience. He was as open as a river mouth, and the knowledge that flowed forth, the links between his life and his writing etc was very illuminating. I felt again, if only for a few hours, that it's okay to be a writer. I'd say he has big cojones to write about what he does, let alone talk so openly to an audience about such personal things (five suicides, one murder and a very slippery head, for example).
His poetics were really meaty as well, particularly how his relationship with Greek tragedies has given his work a universal flavour. The way he got to the bare bones of his process of writing reminded of the talk Jeremy Dyson gave after The Cranes that Build the Cranes was published. They were similar in that they don't find redrafting as rewarding a process as many make it out to be, with respect to short stories at least. They were both writers who were unafraid to say what they felt and they were both FREE events set up by Edge Hill.
The self-revision and humility of his performance was just so real, it was beautiful really. No offence to other readers at Edge Hill (at least in terms of fiction), not only was he the best but I don't see how he's gonna be topped. Still, with the amount of events open to students and non-students alike, it's probably just a matter of time. Watch this space, then.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Gloriae
OOOOOOOOOOOOOH TODAY IS SIMPLY GLORIOUS! The halls have got the chairs outside and music playing again and all is comparatively well. The scene brings to mind the song 'California Soul' coz it's very summery, lazily party-ish and most of all akin to the few retro hits being played outside.
It ain't all been lazing around today though, oh no! Had me fiction class this morning which focused on flash fiction (reet short stories in other words). One attempt of the single sentence bad boys I produced was "It turned out there was no inheritance after all." It kinda works because it allows the reader to fill in back story. You may think, 'maybe it was a crime story about someone killing for inheritance and there weren't none in the first place' or something similar. You like? I also produced a longer piece which I liked so much that, after some re-drafting, I'm gonna submit it to a short story competition. I could win a loada moolah, I could get published or I could be binned, but I like what I wrote so either one is good!
After said lesson, me and some mates went to the school sports bit to have a kick around. The 'multicourt' was priced at £16, so you can imagine us poor students said 'no thanks!!!' We went outside to the track and three of us thought 'yeah, why not have a race?' P. left early due to an ankle upset and I just managed to pip D. to the post, but he was wearing jeans and didn't pace himself anyways... A hollow victory but a victory nonetheless, and my testosterone is through the roof at such a male act lol.
Then I went food shopping. Here is my shopping list:
No, only joking I'm not that bad! Still ain't got no beer in me room, so I'm gonna make another trip in tomorrow and bring back a few thousand gallons or something... Watching Liverpool v Wigan tonight in the SU bar. We is playing away (like John Terry... Ok that joke be old now... Even still, check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OtzURRG108&feature=related) and I reckon 2-1 to us like last time. More news on that to follow in a predictable fashion...
Finally, check out 'Thoughts of a Broken Clock' at http://thethoughtsofabrokenclock.blogspot.com/ This is a lovely lad who's on my course at uni, and you only have to read a little bit to agree he's an excellent writer. His writing has a lot of power and emotion in it, he uses imagery nicely and he's a darn good bloke to boot! Read it NOW.
Bye
It ain't all been lazing around today though, oh no! Had me fiction class this morning which focused on flash fiction (reet short stories in other words). One attempt of the single sentence bad boys I produced was "It turned out there was no inheritance after all." It kinda works because it allows the reader to fill in back story. You may think, 'maybe it was a crime story about someone killing for inheritance and there weren't none in the first place' or something similar. You like? I also produced a longer piece which I liked so much that, after some re-drafting, I'm gonna submit it to a short story competition. I could win a loada moolah, I could get published or I could be binned, but I like what I wrote so either one is good!
After said lesson, me and some mates went to the school sports bit to have a kick around. The 'multicourt' was priced at £16, so you can imagine us poor students said 'no thanks!!!' We went outside to the track and three of us thought 'yeah, why not have a race?' P. left early due to an ankle upset and I just managed to pip D. to the post, but he was wearing jeans and didn't pace himself anyways... A hollow victory but a victory nonetheless, and my testosterone is through the roof at such a male act lol.
Then I went food shopping. Here is my shopping list:
No, only joking I'm not that bad! Still ain't got no beer in me room, so I'm gonna make another trip in tomorrow and bring back a few thousand gallons or something... Watching Liverpool v Wigan tonight in the SU bar. We is playing away (like John Terry... Ok that joke be old now... Even still, check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1OtzURRG108&feature=related) and I reckon 2-1 to us like last time. More news on that to follow in a predictable fashion...
Finally, check out 'Thoughts of a Broken Clock' at http://thethoughtsofabrokenclock.blogspot.com/ This is a lovely lad who's on my course at uni, and you only have to read a little bit to agree he's an excellent writer. His writing has a lot of power and emotion in it, he uses imagery nicely and he's a darn good bloke to boot! Read it NOW.
Bye
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