What's Love Got To Do With It?

Before I get cracking, this is not a literary review. I know a lot of you come here looking for high-brow criticism and insights, so, you know, I just wanted to let you down gently.

I'm going to be talking about Robert Sheppard's Petrarch 3, though, which is literary. I'm a big fan, I must say. I've been to a few readings and seen him perform from this, and it was brilliant, from the laughter at a poem from a dog's point of view, to the particular silence one feels after a sonnet addresses Jimmy Saville in, well, in quite the way he does... I'm sure there's loads of people more qualified than me that have reviewed his work, so I'm not going to do that here. Instead, I wanted to say how refreshing it was.

I've been in some trouble lately. Almost everything has been getting me down, from sunsets to birds gaily tweeting, and the carefree way a child, er, bounces a ball... Or something... But the things that really trouble me are love songs (though music in general has plenty of thorns). Whether they're about unrivalled beauty and devotion, or about the hurtiest pain and wanting to end it all, they've all been getting me teary. It seems that when you're bleeding, the world is full of sharks sniffing your lost liquids (or a more appropriate and well-formed analogy).

When Petrarch 3 came in the post the other day, though, it was full of pointed references to pain, to loss, to love, to awe and more, and yet it did not cause an avalanche in me. Here was love and its process presented, despite having been processed, in all its allusory [to the 'original translation' - the one Sheppard uses, anyway] and thematic power, yet I enjoyed it without pain. The idea of being stung after self-acknowledging your supposed sense of security - the way it happens in Petrarch's third sonnet - is real for many of us, and certainly made me think back to just over a year ago, but it didn't pull at the thread of me, making me fall apart.

I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think it was Sheppard's original intention to give me work about love that didn't upset me. I might be wrong, but I think he just wanted to write good poetry. Well, he's done both, just in case you wanted to know, and I think it's a welcome change.

G'night folks! Peace, love and light.

Another Day, Another Big Decision Made in an Attempt to Wrest Control Back From the Cosmos Which, I Know, is Actually Futile, But One Has to Try, at Least

A couple of days ago, I took the relatively drastic step of deactivating my Facebook account. If you're not aware, that's not the same as deleting it. I can wake it up any time I want, but for now it's not usable. First off, it's a pretty strange process to deactivate your account. As well as many 'are you sure?' questions, and text outlining in too much detail what you're about to do, there was also a page with selected friends on it which said, and I paraphrase, "x will miss you! Maybe send them a message to explain why you're leaving." I found it odd because of its emotive connotations, as if I was breaking up some happy 'real-world' home, rather than just becoming slightly less contactable. It was also weird in the way that it was seemingly putting words into my friends' mouths. If they're going to miss me (not in a higher existential sense, just on Facebook...), they can text or call me to say so. They don't need a social media site to tell me that on their behalf. It was just a bit creepy is all I'm saying.

So quite a few people have asked me why I decided to do this. The reasons, as always, are many an varying, but at the very least it was nice that people were concerned (I don't mind admitting that). One big reason is that I've been driving myself slightly mad with going over old memories. This is following another big loss in my life, and I need to take action as soon as I can, otherwise I worry where I'm going to end up. As a secondary factor, I'm seeing it as a little adventure (hopefully!). How long now have I been saying how awful Facebook is, a time-hungry machine that is probably one of a government's favourite tools for letting people to harmlessly rant, and let all that angst and energy dissipate digitally, rather than have people actually mobilise and do something more... potent? So, with that being said, I've finally taken the step. It already feels disconcerting. There's been a few times a day where I've been reading a news article and thinking 'so-and-so would really like this, I'll share it with them', or on a bigger scale, I want people to know what I'm concerned about so we can discuss it. Facebook is at least handy for easily opening up a discussion to a wider audience.

Right, I've sort of gone off track a little bit. It's a bit hard for me to talk about in a way. Some points are so pragmatically motivated that it'd be banal for me to go into them ('saving time' being one thing), then some of them are quite personal to me and others. I don't mind so much being honest about myself, but I don't want to say things that'd make other people feel uncomfortable or whatever. And talking about not talking about it makes it all sound very strange, like a passive aggressive status update where nothing's said, but lots is implied, so I'll stop.

I was quite excited to deactivate my account. I think perhaps I thought it was going to be instantly revolutionary, but very little is when it needs to be. I guess in time I'll see the benefits of not stewing in depressing thoughts while online. Maybe the time thing will be a great help too - hopefully most so with my writing, but I'm learning a new language at the mo and that need concentration too. One thing I've already done is reach out a bit more to people via more personal means, i.e. phone calls, but Facebook was a good signaller, I suppose, for telling you when someone might want a call. That's the main worry, really: what I'm missing out on. And life has taught me quite pointedly how much you can be 'out of sight, out of mind' with anyone, but I have stopped expecting things of people as a result so hopefully that doesn't get to me. I'll have less of a window into their lives, too, so I can only hope I'm good enough at keeping in touch with them, and that they know I'm here for them if they need me. Of course, the other side to missing out on things is going to mainly be poetry events. I'll have to be more disciplined with my email checking and diary keeping. No biggie, in many ways. By the way, I'm not complaining - if it comes across like that at all - just ruminating.

One potentially groovy thing about getting rid of Facebook is that it has led me back to an old poetry project I started when on the MA. Let's just say it involves a certain examination of the behaviour of language in social media contexts, as well as other things. I quite liked the idea myself, but someone I respect very much on that course said they thought it was cool too, so I suppose maybe some of the excitement I felt could have included the starting of this project. It does rely on the habit of social media use, though, so I wonder if it'll be a problem that I'm 'on the wagon', in that sense. Will I eventually be weened off  the wall wailing altogether? We'll have to see, I suppose.

Right, so I suppose that's the only point to this post, just a bit of a ruminate... Has anyone else felt they had to give up social media for a while? Any particular reason? Did it help you?

Peace, love and light, everybody x

Sad 'First World' Truths

They don't call me Martin 'Two Bottles of Sparkling Wine Despite Having Nothing to Celebrate in Fact Quite the Opposite Because I'm Feeling Sad and Alone and Desperately Trying to Fill the Void with Something and Alcohol's to Hand and I Know it's Not Good for Me I'm Not Saying it is but What am I Going to do Wait Ages to See a Doctor Only to be Put on a Drug that Makes me Feel Worse When as an Insecure MAle I feel I can Handle the Problem a Little Better Myself Anyway' Palmer for nothing.

NaNoWriMoWeUp3

Day Fifteen: 746. Just can't muster any more effort. I'm in such a bad habit at the minute with staying up all night watching YouTube videos and generally not sleeping, so by now I'm way too tired to reach my goal. Never mind, though. I'll get there.

Day Sixteen: 2,939. I'm happy to be writing at a more reasonable time today. Could be better, like, but there's tomorrow for that.
   Felt really bad about the fundamental quality of all that I've written so far, especially with respect to 'show don't tell', one of the most basic basics of writing. I've actually been scared when I think of how useless it all is.
   But I'm trying to stop such thoughts. Not only have there been some passages I'm proud of, but I could well be over-exaggerating the bad bits and, plus, there's the vital component of editing yet to come. I know I'm not great at editing, but this is a good chance to get going. No-one said this has to be a masterpiece. Come on! Enjoy!

Day Seventeen: 277. Started well-ish, y'know. Found myself an hour before the footy.
   But then a sneezing fit struck. Then I had a headache. Then the screen started making my eyes bounce. So I stopped.
   The footy was good entertainment, and thankfully a drama-free testament to humanity's resilience in the face of intolerance. Feel somehow guilty that England won, though...
   Then, I got so drunk that I had a hole in my memory and absolutely no hope of carrying on writing.

Day Eighteen: 0. I felt so shit that I didn't want to get out of bed, or even live, and I answered the question 'what's the point?' with 'NO!'.

Day Nineteen: 2,430. Climbing the mountain back to 'normality'. Not bad stuff. A bit 'all over the place' in places, but then some places had good parts.

Day Twenty: 534. I was very lucky to have a replenishing social engagement. Although it left me short on writing time, I penned some stuff on the bus on the way in, and even got an early bus back with the plan of doing more later. Alas, I was too tired by the time I got home, but I'm satisfied with the dedication there :-)

Day Twenty-One: Nice to get support from Aunty S who's been keeping up with the blog during this period :-)
   A light has flickered on that's probably about as strong as a candle on the Morecambe seafront, but since I'm recording it here, there'll be a reminder in the future. I've spent a lot of time worrying about how inferior this draft is and will be, but, though I've already touched on how it'll be good editing practice, it's also going to give me impetus to move even further [whether that's in terms of word count, re-forming or whatever], to really get to the end of a novel [because fifty-thousand words is an arbitrary aim, not necessarily a natural end]. Now I'm over half way, this thought is even more exciting than when I'd started it in the first place.
   Also, I've had more people asking about NaNoWriMo itself, its 'proper' aims and customs, so I'm going to address that briefly. Basically, I'd advise you to forget about the idea of the 'proper' way, because the best way is your way. I didn't sign up on NaNoWriMo.org, I'm not going to get a certificate of completion [which is, however controversially, a major focus for some of the people undertaking this challenge], but I am going to complete my purpose. My purpose for NaNoWriMo was to generate material, to experiment with application, to look at the possibility of spirit. I was never going to be bothered about being under fifty-thousand words, because even one-thousand would've been something I could either use directly, put in a drawer for later and/or learn from.
   So if you do have questions, first off ask yourself. What do you want? What do you think it's all about? What will the audience [however futuristic] think?
   Peace, love and light, folks!

Again, PLEASE

Human
 umans
  manity

Woop!

This actually happened a wee while back, but i just wanted to tell y'all that i finally got my name on the wall. The HashtagBeer wall, that is! I 'officially' feel part of it now.

I've been writing for HashtagBeer now since August 2013 and it has been lovely to share one of my greatest passions with the internettal community. Also it has been great to work with Paul, a true visionary in the field. He not only motivates me, but also inspires me.

May HashtagBeer reign always!

Peace and love x

Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho

I’m probably not saying anything here that other critics (i use the term loosely in my case) haven’t said elsewhere, but here goes… I’ve wanted to review American Psycho for a while, but for some reason haven’t got round to it – now is the time. It's the story of a businessman and psychopath called Patrick Bateman. I probably read it about three or four years ago and, although it wasn’t always the 'most readable' book, it was always gripping enough and 'true literature' in the sense of the risks it takes, coupled with great technique. I’m not going to go into a full review here, i just want to talk about a couple of things i still think of, even after all this time.

            Number one is the structure of the thing, i.e. the chapters and passages. It seems so blunt, so textbook, to break up plot with the dense, extended descriptions of products and consumables, but also so absolutely natural in context. It makes one feel tense (especially as the more ‘gritty stuff’ kicks in, around the ‘Dry Cleaners’ chapter), as it’s like a closed door against overtly compelling material. We can hear sounds coming from behind it, but it’s not going to open until we read through.

            Of course these chapters serve another vital function, which is the satire of the yuppie culture in the late eighties and early nineties. Such a long reflection on, say, Whitney Houston’s albums, and to an even greater extent the model of hi-fi they are played on, neatly encapsulates the terror of capitalism (as it is today, at least) and the reaction to it. ‘Adverts’ are a way of keeping people fearful, making them feel afraid and ill-equipped in the world. How can ‘citizens’ take control? By spending money! But to spend it you gotta make it etc etc… I don’t want to get too political here, but Bateman seems to represent some sort of microcosm of the world. To me he’s an exaggerated response of insecure masculinity – ‘I have it all, I have the best, I know what I’m talking about, I’m in control’.

The main criticism of these passages is that they’re “boring,” but that’s the point in a way, nor would they work if they were ‘interesting’. They represent the quiet delirium of modern madness where consumerism, seemingly benignly, replaces ‘normal human function’ i.e. love. In terms of narrative it’s like a sweater thread being pulled at, i suppose; the process itself is slow and uninteresting, but it’s what the process eventually reveals that makes it more than worthwhile.

So these chapters both split up the narrative and make the whole novel more cohesive in terms of thematic content. ‘Boring’ just doesn’t add up here.

Second, i just wanted to talk about the much famed ‘gruesome bits’. I felt like a changed person after reading them: a genuine (if mild) post-traumatic discomfort. It lasted weeks. It coloured my thoughts for a while, not necessarily with fear but not necessarily with hatred either. Come to think of it, i’m not sure what i thought. I think mainly there was a kind of emptiness, a more visceral cynicism or something.

But hey, it passed. I was back to the ‘normal functioning’ human being that i am soon enough. Sure i’m weak, but i’ve got to say that you need an iron stomach and a heart of ice to not feel at least a little off-kilter after reading this. I don’t want to put you off, that’s the thing. This is brave literature at its peak, you have to have a deal of commitment to read it that you wouldn’t, say, with Dan Brown…

How the hell am i going to close this? Well i’m glad i read it. From a writer’s perspective it made me more comfortable with taking on whatever’s necessary and treating it more like clay: a material – not something with inherent moral certitudes. As a reader it certainly challenged my idea of ‘readable’. I felt such shifts in ‘comfortability’ with the writing matter that i have never since come close to. But it wasn’t mere sensationalism. Despite it being far from a didactic  narrative, i’ve learnt things. Maybe about how human humanity is, maybe about how human i am. Whatever it is, it's palpable.

Peace and love x

Highlight HashtagBeer

I been doing some some new stuff, baby
but this ain't about me -

it's about beer, y'hear?

Check out this blog 'cause it's happening,
it's got news of current affairs and, more important,
reviews of taste sensations you can get in on.

You don't need to be no connoisseur,
just embrace the spirit of the beer,
enjoy life, endeavour and tongue-artistry.

See Paul Bailey, an awesome chap and friend of mine,
who has passion and wit unparalleled,
in a cosy fireside snuggle with one of the world's favourite beverages.

SO (drum roll):
here be the link you've been waiting for!
HastagBeer - there it is.

Check it out and enjoy!
Peace and love x

So Excited!

I'm getting on with a ten-minute script at the mo. That probably seems very underwhelming to you guys BUT this one, this ten-minute script could well be made into a film by media students of Edge Hill University.

I am so excited. I might actually end up with a realization of my dream. Seems too good to be true, like a love I once had, but perhaps this will come good.

Hehe, come good...

[Please note, the picture is not a page from my script, it is just an example of a page of script I can use without copyright infringement]

Per Annum

A lot can change in a year. You grow older (physically, if not mentally), you might start a new job, you'll probably get some naff socks for Christmas. The Prime Minister might change, aliens might invade (well, more of them might) and maybe even you could win the lottery. Somewhere between the more comfortable changes and the ground-breaking ones, however, you might meet someone new. Someone you love, and who loves you.

I experienced this phenomenon last year. I met my lovely girlfriend about 13 months ago, and on October 7th we were on our first date. We'd actually met up the night before and got pretty damn drunk together, meaning the meal I took her to wasn't finished because we were feeling a bit sick, and the film we went to see after was in danger of causing us headaches. It was still a fantastic day.

Yesterday we relived that first date. We went into Liverpool and, instead of Barburrito's and The Other Guys, we indulged in Pizza Hut and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. One year on and, despite all that's changed in everybody's lives, joy still lives in my heart.

Thank you dear! x