Just Checking In, Really

I struggle to believe that it's been nearly a month since I last posted anything on this blog. I had a quiet aim to post once a week, and clearly that's not happened. Things in life have overtaken me somewhat. I don't write this in a 'woe is me' kind of way - I know there are always people worse off - but I suppose I'm trying to come to some understanding of it myself. If this first step is possible (or even when it isn't!), it's always the aim to (probably inadvertently) pass on some kind of wisdom along the way, so here's hoping.

I suppose the last time I wrote anything on here (rather than just linking) was before a fire that happened in my house. I was using an old laptop and the battery in it exploded. First of all, it's worth pointing out that, apart from happening at all, I was very lucky that a) I wasn't seriously hurt (I burnt my foot a bit, but that's all), b) that the damage was very localised (when you consider how quickly whole houses can go up, you know, this hadn't got anywhere near devastation level), c) the fire services were very quick to respond (I wasn't sure if I'd completely put the fire out before I had to leave the room due to smoke, so I was understandably nervous until they arrived). The worst thing about the whole episode was the loss of some of my writing (lots of papers were on my desk, especially newer drafts that I hadn't typed up yet) and, now that I think about it, the shock of it, and the interruption to what I was doing at the time, and the momentum I had built up (I was doing well sorting out possessions in my room, doing more reading and writing etc). As I say, tho, these are very minor concerns relatively, and I count myself extremely fortunate to be able to tell you this like I am.

Daniele Pantano's Mass Graves: City of Now and Maya Angelou's And Still I Rise are two books the cosmos deemed worthy by trial of fire.

I've gone 'a bit mad' (I won't bother unpacking that one, or we'll be here all night...) since then trying to make some eBay money. The constant scrolling through auctions and all that jazz has taken up lots of time and energy (all my choice, yes), and I've eased off that. Because I'm buying and selling (go to my shop for a bargain!) games, that means I've been playing on a few, too, and though I don't see that time as completely wasted (it's been fun, after all), I sometimes feel it is because it doesn't tie in with my, and other people's, definitions of 'productivity' - of which blogging is only a small part ('SMALL!?' I hear you shriek. 'But your blog's contribution to the world is so unfathomably large - how, pray tell, could it ever be described as a 'small part' of anything, unless in a crude, jokey sort of a way?' Well, I say stop being so sarcy).

Jazmin Linklater's Toward Passion According and Zarf: Issue 11 are two more works that have passed through the fire and come out victorious.

These are two selected flash-points in a general 'up and down-ness' that I think we're all going through at the moment (for those of us for whom life is already like that, then it's more pronounced, I think). There have been other frustrations and niggles that have got me down and fucked me up a bit, but c'est la vie. What did I do to help myself? Well, read on...

I have just written a bit of a diary, and felt my head was a little clearer afterwards. These days, my diaries aren't so angsty and dripping with soul torture juices (TM), they tend to be more about what I'm going to do to change (I suppose the seeds of this were sown in Robert Sheppard's focus on poetics as a speculative writerly discourse - when I write poetics, it is often to find a way forward. But anyway, I'm not the guy to broach that subject. And if I was, I'd do it in a post that isn't already huge, unwieldy, and generally rather inane), as this one was. Then I wrote a bit of poetry - first time in too long. Some of the drafts I mentioned before that were damaged in the fire, I made into a new poem by combining the words that were left behind, the ones that survived, and suddenly felt great (yes, probably a bit of mania before another drop, but I'm using it to write this! Strike while the iron's hot, etc. Dunno what you do when the iron's cold. Put it back in the cupboard, I suppose).

"Nature abhors a vacuum, and fire abhors unworthy poetry," says the aphorism as old as time. So it was that some of my work has completely perished. Some of it, however, fought back.

Is that the wisdomful nugget of this post? Writing cures all? Haha, I don't think so. I mean, I think it can help all of us in some way or another, but I think this deeper feeling of contentedness, perhaps (if it even is that...), is due to paying attention to one's own 'higher power', which for me I think is writing. To put that into a soundbite thing, maybe it's a case of you 'getting out of it what you put in'? Other things that I'm doing to combat the shit mental health are growing chilli peppers (thanks for the seeds, Ann!), and I'm working on making an effort to hopefully get my outdoor exercise levels back up to the point they were at before Covid-19 had me looking at people out the window like 'Unwashed doom-bringer! Stay out of my sight, lest you infect my eyes! The eyes are the windows to the soul, and I want my soul to be healthy. Yes, healthy soul, healthy soul... All the outside air is bad for the soul - Devil air, yes it is!' (this said as I rock back and forth on the floor, slowly clawing at my face until it starts to bleed).

And that, I think, is it (I have to legally add "for now" after saying that, because people's Blogtastic-based disappointment translates to a lot of litigation). Let's re-cap; it's all about moving forward. I'm not dwelling on the bad stuff in the past, or the bad stuff now. I am happy that I'm doing good stuff (self-defined), that there are people that I love and that love me, and that life is (at least potentially) rich and wonderful again.

Peace, love, and light, folks :)

Lemn Sissay Interview

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

Hoping for a Fringemas Miracle

This is obviously the Fringemas Carol poster... Courtesy of Alt-Space.

Last Friday, I went to see Alt-Space's 'Fringemas Carol', a production made by, and for, the Morecambrian community. What a laugh it was! If you know me at all, you'll know I'm so far up my own arse, that I've can't even laugh at things ironically anymore. So bogged down in pretentious over-analysis am I, that usually I'm unable to appreciate the joke on the end of my face. Not so, however, with this performance, which was delightfully silly, corny, and occasionally crude, given the appropriate gusto by all the actors. It was especially lovely for me to see two close friends - Jim Lupton and Geoffrey North - assume the roles of Benevolent Scrooge and Scrooge, respectively, who clearly enjoyed 'hamming it up', in the very spirit in which Jim and I wrote the first draft.

That draft was a first in another way, too, in the sense that I've never written stuff for others to perform before (not with an actual production in mind, I mean). It was an interesting process, really, from start to finish. There were lots of Morecambrians at the first meeting back in November, and I was anxious about how everyone would get their voices heard. Initially, Jim and me were writing the first scene, but that escalated to the full five scenes. We both found a solid few days together to nail down the plot arcs, dialogue, directions etc. As I've said elsewhere, we collaborated well together on it, both got our own jokes and stuff in, a lot of which remained in the final version. That was another thing quite new to me, the extent to which our draft would be changed - but not in the way a lot of people assumed. Some folks have thought I'd be annoyed/insulted by people "messing" with my words, but a) I'm aware of (not used to, or practised in) the collaborative process of producing (especially scripts. I mean, the logistics of a project can only truly be understood after contact with the event conditions, run-throughs and stuff, and the players have new ideas of their own too, so this medium is almost made to be changed. It's a natural part of the process), and b) my journey through life has ably taught me how egotistical thoughts (i.e. thinking of MY work, and how PERFECT it is) are a way of goading the cosmos into slapping you down into the ground.

Anyway, the changes were genuinely big improvements. One of my memories of the night that will stay with me 'til I get Alzheimer's is how big the smiles and laughter were of the kids in attendance. I know how schmaltzy that sounds, but it was true - those kids really enjoyed being there, and the songs that were added in after our initial draft were a big part of that. But, as I said before, lots stayed in, and it was a new buzz for me to have an audience laugh at things I'd written, and I felt so proud of Jim when people laughed at his jokes, and my other friends, too, because of their vibrant performances. A special mention to Matt Panesh, who put it all together and co-directed with June Metcalfe, all the actors, the costumiers, proppers, and the very public that came out to support us, and added to the ambience with singing and 'oh yes it is-ing'. It was truly a lovely night.

Now, a key change. The very place that has hosted our fair panto is in danger. Because of a lack of funding to cover the basics such as rent, Mr Panesh is being forced to close the whole shebang down. This is a huge shame, as you can see by all the glowing comments in this article. Although life and (mainly) work have prevented me from visiting Alt-Space as much as I would have liked, I still remember my first time there - going to a debating night, where I met friendly new people, and had a fun time irreverently arguing various different cases. Then there was a play reading group, which was another night outside my comfort zone, but it was energising to look at a form I hardly engage with, and actually look at the performance side of things - gives you a fresher outlook on your own writing practice, I reckon.

One of the positives, whatever happens, is that the fantastic Morecambe Fringe Festival can still go ahead (because they can use other venues to host their acts). The problem with that, though, is that the inclusion of local talent and home-grown shows will be much more difficult, because Matt has been using Alt-Space to build up these performers. Watching these local-wrought shows have been amongst my most amazing Morecambe memories over the last couple of years, and being around the buzz of rehearsals, re-writes, and reviewers has been an honour and a pleasure. I hope, therefore, that this is not the end.

Now, another key change - back to near where we were originally BUT NOT QUITE. Next year, if all goes well, I believe there's a proposed rebranding of Alt-Space to the West End Play House, shedding a brighter limelight on local drama talent (though I'm sure that house will still include the wonderful comedy, spoken word etc to which we have become addicted), for which there is a great anticipation. There is a fundraising page up already (clicking on this paragraph will take you there), and their target is £5,000, which should provide a fair bit of breathing space with the landperson well into the new year, and allow Morecambe to continue to have this vital, fertile atmosphere for artists. I think the best thing to do is to give what we can and even if that's nothing monetary, we can raise awareness by sharing the fundraiser link. If the right people see it, and get behind the project, then we should be able to put a significant dent in the rent, as it were.  So please have a look at the fundraiser, please look at the proposals, and please do what you're able - whether that be financially, or spreading the message, or both.

Peace, love, and light, folks :D

Write or wrong, we helped to create the Fringemas panto - Jim on the left, me on the right.

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.

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!

Recent Ruminations [As of Two Months Ago...]

hoard

First thing I want to get into is the [Peter Barlow's Cigarette] reading. As I said in my post announcing my participation, I wasn't feeling myself beforehand, thanks to one of the deeper and more prolonged periods of depression I've had. I was consistently anxious, thought I had nothing to offer and that I was generally going to be a failure, outed as 'not really a writer' and all the other destructive thoughts you get at times.

Actually, the reading turned out to be very positive. I didn't read well - I mean, it was beyond doubt in my own mind that I wasn't projecting well, and interrupted my own rhythm at a couple of points, but it was pointed out constructively by someone else as well, so not just my own opinion - yet there was good feedback on the poetry itself, which is more important to me to be honest. There were other supportive comments about my reading, and a nice chat about the act of reading in general (even people I see as far-ahead stars still suffer nerves and crises of confidence. We know this, and yet we forget it sometimes, especially when we compare ourselves to others). I read first, which was a big help (especially because that's how I'd visualised it happening), so then I could sit back down as soon as possible and enjoy the other readers, who were great (still can't believe I had my name anywhere near theirs on the same bill... I know that's no measure of me, or my work, but it still feels amazing). At first, I tried not to buy everybody's books (just because of the finances), but everyone moved me to the extent that I felt I had to have their works to peruse fully, which shows their high quality.

I'm really excited to get stuck into Linda Kemp's Lease Prise Redux, after having read extracts and, of course, enjoyed her performance. I think it's really important work, very sharp. Also to be enjoyed are Steve McCaffery's Certain Words, and Karen Mac Cormack's Rechelesse Pratticque, the readings from which I liked, too. Steve's felt more like a prose-collage poem, large and arresting in its being, but in Karen's I got the sense of smaller, more discrete pieces, with surprising twists in her delivery from one to another.

Afterwards, though, I felt a big change. Part of my worry leading up to the event was that some of my work didn't feel 'experimental enough' (to put it politely), and some of my more directly political pieces, I thought, were tending to less-substantial 'preach poetry' (and even though I've been told that I needn't worry about this, it's hard not to...). There's a time and place for that kind of work, and many people working wonders in [politically-based] performance poetry. I thought that I may have moved into that area because of what I'd recently read, but, thinking about it some more, saw through to what I think is perhaps a more core reason. I'm more and more 'down' about the world situation (more fearful, more angry, more ashamed, more disheartened...). I think that maybe some of these more 'performancey' pieces came out at this time because I want to address this, but even my best attempts feel shockingly ineffectual. Though I don't feel that all poetry is 'political' (or, rather, the main focus can be something else), and that in theory I should be able to 'just write about something else', I feel despondent and want to move on.

To be clear, even though the reading ended as a genuinely positive experience, the pervasive negativity in the world that I feel steeped in makes me want to stop writing poetry (for the time being at least). I was thinking about starting back up with an old novel of mine (started it last year, reached 39,512 words [including title], then started a job that hindered creativity for me) which, ostensibly, is a bit of silliness, but it was a good challenge, and a welcome distraction from what was going on at the time. I still want to read poetry, and I know that I'll still think 'poetic thoughts' - might even still put some of it down in words (or whatever else) - but, at the very least, my focus is moving on [to sorting out my life, hopefully]. In some ways, I'm only saying that I'm not going to 'try and force it' - which isn't really a readily recommended technique anyway - but I feel it's a tadge more nuanced than that.

[I was going to ruminate a bit on readings in general, too - some of those that have 'shut their doors', some that are still going, and some that have started up - along with a load of other personal, rambling garbage. I think, though, that this should end here, and I'll maybe put all that in another post, to possibly come out next year some time :P ]

Robert Sheppard Symposium @ Edge Hill University

Oh gosh, is that the date already? Please forgive me for being so late to advertise this. I thought March seemed like a way off, and yet here it is, being the second day of itself already. Anyway, enough of my incredulity at time's passionless passage - if you can make it on the 8th (next Wednesday...), then do come to what promises to be a great and illuminating gathering of people, papers and presentations on the legend that is Robert Sheppard.

If you click anywhere on this whole paragraph, you'll be taken to the Edge Hill website, where you'll find all the details you'll need, and the opportunity to reserve your place. Both the presentations through the day and the reading in the evening are completely free to attend, but booking your place is what you gotta do. I just booked mine, and I'm getting excited! That's why I've knocked up this wee post, because now I've done that, it all seems very real and imminent...

I hope to see you there!

Haiku a Day - Just A Few Lines

I know I said I wasn't going to write a load of posts about my latest 'annual project' [this year I'm writing a haiku a day. Last year was ‘a line a day’, the year before that 'diary a day'], but I don't think one update will tip anyone over whatever edge they may be on. After all, we have knocked through, rather inelegantly, into the second half of the year already, so it’s the perfect time for a neurotic person to take stock.

I'm still finding that there are some days I don't bother with the regime, and there has been a recent stretch of just over a fortnight where I was behind. Every time I fail and I write about it, I hope that putting my finger on the faults will stop them happening again. That's not happened! The greater wisdom, though, is to accept upsets are inevitable, and, though I wish I wrote 'perfectly' [both in the act of doing and in the words themselves], I have to realise that's just silly isn't it? Suffering comes from wanting things that are impossible, and wanting to change things that are inevitable. So there.

What I'm finding quite exciting is my engagement with 'haikuism', that is, what is a haiku, what are they to me, what makes a good/bad one etc. To me, a haiku isn't strictly the strict 5-7-5. I have tried to write at least one of these a day, before usually going on to do more in a less restrained and, hopefully, more intra-natural way, whether it be traditional or more 'pop-y'. After all, as Kerouac said in American Haikus [1959], it's unusual to think that the structure used in one language should be the same in a different one. Then you have the considerations of nature that are usually found in the traditional ones. I can see their original function, but first off they strike me like rhymes - clichés, wastes of space on the page... Secondly, nature isn't always natural in our lives today. When writing about a street fight, it may be lit more by streetlight than the moon. And maybe the colour of blood is more intriguing than the yellow buzz of halogen. And that's it, you know, I never believe you have to stick to this or that rule. You do what's right for the work. I remember having a conversation about this with someone who said, “'Yeah but it's good to follow the restrictions,” to which I say “It can be” [and we need look no further than OULIPO to make this point]. I mean, hey, sometimes you express something great in fewer syllables. Is that not worth applauding? Since the whole essence of haiku is to be essential, why stick more syllables in just to conform?

The other thing I was on about was what makes a good/bad one. The bad ones I've written are those where, put simply, there's no movement in it, no soul or energy or life or whatever you want to call it – it’s been bent by human hand, not living as if created cosmically. They're just 'this stuff happened, line break, this stuff, line break and this is the end'. Maybe that's over-simplistic, but here's a bad example of mine, from April 2nd:

Red Men keeping lead

'gainst Spurs, what a great result!

then Lovren gifts Kane...

As you can see, it's just exposition. No 'heart' or 'soul', really. I mean, there is a bit of humour. The exclamation mark suggests a finality that is ruined by the curt last line. But it's not good. Here's one of my favourite all time ones by Jack Cain:

 empty room:

one swinging coat hanger

measures the silence

What do you think of that? I think it’s really evocative. It's not just the image that is there in my head, as if I was already thinking about it without reading anything, or maybe even feeling like I'm there, but it's also the 'emotional connotation'. I always got the sense of the loneliness in the room, and it made me feel melancholy. Have I just missed something? Or [this has just come to me] has someone walked out on me? Anyway, that's great in my view. And here's one of my own that I think has turned out alright, just to balance things a little:

ocean's opposite sides:

pensioner waves, baby guggs

and bus rolls on

If you were to ask me about the effect of this year's 'project', I wouldn't speak about it too highly, but there are lots of little positives. It gets you to put pen to paper, it gets you to engage with your surroundings, it has a 'no pressure' [or little pressure, at least] thing about it, y'know, 'ah it's only three lines', which makes it accessible. And you learn a disproportionately great amount about poetry in general from those three lines [although I'm saying that having written hundreds of them...]. You can learn about sounds and rhythm, wordplay [linked heavily with where you 'turn' and also line breaks in general, but also ambiguous words/synonyms], form [more through the restrictions rather than the freedoms, i.e. you might think how you'd do it without the 5-7-5 syllables, or even if there's any point to it, y'know. It's like the mind examines the poetics of it once you're down in the rabbit hole] and, perhaps above all, focusses on the hygiene of what you're doing, the weight of each word, how it holds up after cutting out this and that.

So these aren’t earth-shattering revelations, but I remember the point where I'd written a few and thought 'hey lots of these are shit. All I'm doing is writing, essentially, diary-tic exposition, but breaking the line after five syllables, then after the next seven. It's not haiku, it's practically prose'. And then I started to bring it back to the basics, and asked myself 'what's the image, how's the mood and where's the opportunity for play'? Also, I found that I was beginning with this scene-setting [expositional] line every time, and actually, if I swapped the final line [which was often explanatory/illuminating] for the first, more curiosity was created. It wasn't clear what was going on, you know, there was an ethereality to it, a gas to walk through to try and feel through. And what I found then was that I sometimes wanted to delete the clunky line, and write something that didn't make everything so obvious. Not necessarily intentionally ambiguous, but just shining a light on part of the memory of what I was writing about, giving a fuller flavour of the situation I was in.

Again, it sounds basic, but sometimes I get so far down the road with, say, visual poetry, which, without going into detail, has different focusses than, say, lyric poetry [sorry for the simplicity of this...], that I get amazed all over again at the foundations of another genre. The unifying experience of most poetry I’ve worked on is how you can treat language like a material. Cut it another way, drape it over the back of a chair while you move the rest of it about, then stick it back together in a different order. What I'd like to do is move more towards the 'modern style', where small, mundane things take on an effortless gravity. It's just really cool. The last example of mine [above...] was a bit too self-consciously grand in theme. But we'll see what happens. I'm getting light headed here... Better lie down…

Line a Day 2015 - The Final Word[s]

I've only recently realised that I didn't 'wrap up' my last 'year project', which was essentially writing a sentence a day. I called it 'Line a Day 2015', which soon became a bit of a joke because the sentences were often longer than a line, but I digress... I suppose the fact that there was no real impetus to blather on even more about this simple discipline is telling, i.e. there's no big story here. But at least that means there's not gonna be a shedload more rubbish to read for you, dear human.

So I wrote these three-hundred and sixty-five sentences throughout the year. Some were poetic and imagistic, some were merely straight diary-tic style. Sometimes I yearned to break lines like mad and make the form something special, whereas other times the content got the boring shape it deserved. Most of the time, I used punctuation like Scarface uses coke. A chaos of commas.

I don't know... It was fun-ish. Really I wanted to foster a sense of hygiene, summing up entire days in one 'breath' [again, not strictly true as it turns out, but I'm trying to be romantic], and basically training the eye and the mind to work more like a venus fly-trap - waiting long periods inactive before SNAPPING on something that sustains. And when I say 'inactive', I don't mean I wasn't doing anything else, I just mean in terms of my 'centring project', if I can be call it that. Either way, I failed. I didn't even hit on the rigid habit that I wanted. I had periods of a week and longer where I left my entries unfilled, and caused plenty of other headaches along the way, and to top it all, I don't believe I've enhanced my technical ability that much more. But hey, it was better than doing nothing.

I'm in the process of typing it all up now. I envisaged trying to get it published somewhere, the aim being to show a poet's year, unadulterated, in its naked journalic persona. Of course, there are temptations to edit on levels of lexis, sentence, form, structure [inter month, inter year etc], but that's not what happens with our diaries, is it? Anyways, watch this space if you got time to spare and an appetite for disappointment [in which I am a specialist :-) ].

By the way, and this'll be my only Blogtastic word on this until the end of the year [and maybe not even then...]; this year, I'll be doing a haiku diary. Not necessarily just one a day, but as many as I can, again with possibility to publish, but I'm not bothered. Will have to see what the quality and radicality is like. And no, before you ask, they won't necessarily be 5-7-5s. I want to do at least one of those a day, but in general I favour the Kerouacian 'pop', which lets the snapshotting mind breathe and dwell on the beauty of imagery more naturally. Form can be tinkered with and 'metre' can be negotiated, and that's always good.

Anyways, have a happy future full of peace, light and love,

M x

Bits and Bats What I Learned in November

Here be the remnants of my ruminations on my first NaNoWriMo experience. I chiselled it off my previous post, basically so you didn't end up with too much rubbish on your plate at once. Hope you enjoy!

I've learned that all you need to do something is your own will, but you must accept that things outside your control can have an impact on that, however big or small. Even in doing reasonably well drafting a novel, I have neglected both blogs I write for. You might say that's 'craft getting in the way of craft', but it does show how there's only so much space in life for what must happpen. I don't know what I think the answer is to this, or even if I think there is one. Either sediment'll settle eventually, or I'll be all shook up forever - never grabbing a medal anywhere, but running many races. My point is that I have the will, and I'm cracking on, so let's see.
   I've learned that I really do over-analyse [he says, over-analysing his over-analysis...], and that this whole NaNoWriMo 'WeUp' has probably been a waste of time, or at least doing it every day has been. Maybe one paragraph on the week's lessons would've been more time and effort appropriate. To be quite honest, I did it more with others in mind, hoping that other newbies/potential converts might be made to feel better. Really, I didn't learn much more about myself/my reaction to different modes/genres, and I should've been concentrating more on technique and aesthetics, but that's something for another time... There's still more work to go into it, but I'll try and only give you another update when my novel is a world-wide bestseller...
   I've learned that technology still has Satan in it. Laptops distract - a ruler bar over here, a blinking cursor just there and then the internet everywhere... Normally I write onto paper first [as with what you're reading right now]. It helps me get into the flow and get lost in my mind, but that's just me.
   I've learned that, while it has felt good to get words down and feel productive, the relentless attitude of inflexible 'scientific' goals [i.e. 'measurable' or 'numeric' or whatever] can damage, or at least change, your approach. Does it matter if you're a sporadic/fluctuating writer in terms of output? Is it better to write one word a day, or a week, and build up something beautiful over time, rather than go for power and pressure, only to end by beating yourself up because you fell short of an arbitrary mark?
   Is encouraging writers [current or future] to think of art as a defined target, rather than an end produced in a purely personal way, full of twists and turns in its own right, the way to go? Not that I'm necessarily saying I think that NaNoWriMo does encourage that, I'm just genuinely asking. I think there's the threat of these things, but maybe that's where natural temperament and talent come in. Maybe?
   It does give people a drive and focus, which is good, but should there be a NaNoWriMo - and/or other generic equivalents [NaPoWriMo, NaScriWriMo etc] - where the encouragement is to expand conceptual playfulness as opposed to 'raw stamina/distance'. But then I suppose that's what we try and do every day. All creative writing is an experiment. Also, I suppose our lives are what build our stamina, our distance, and we can only hope that the habits we form are the ones we want to keep [and here I snigger at myself...]. I do think that this Novembral event can, if you're not one already, start you on your way to being a writer. Even if it takes you five years to ever pick up a pen/tap a key again, then it might've helped you. Then there'll be people, probably, who have the required number of words but never think about their work again - and there's nowt wrong wi' that.

Peace, love and light.

A Line A Day Keeps... Me Busy

Last year, I started a 'diary a day' thing. It was essentially an exercise in writing fitness, but I also had other hopes, such as examining/enhancing the way I look at and process the world. Anyway, whatever the results, I'm glad I did it, but this year I've been on a different 'adventure': a line a day. Already that's not accurate, because actually it's a sentence a day, but 'line a day' trips off the tongue a little easier, and in general I'm into that whole 'brevity' thing, man.

So, what's the thinking behind this? I wanted to move from writing lots about each day, to writing just a little. The idea was to 'become more poetic' - to be hygienic in my expression, but stronger in spirit. I wanted pith, humour, drama, formal inventiveness [as is always the wish], rhythm, music, soul... so many things, and so much, all inside a singular sentence. And, sure, I've bent 'the rules' a wee bit, vis-a-vis grammar, utilising ellipses, dashes, kerazy kommas and line breaks to cram in a lot, but I think I've already managed most of my original aims. Making long sentences isn't what I wanted the project to be about, originally, but it's fine that that's krept in [sorry, I'll stop using ks instead of cs now]. I still get days where I want to be 'plot focused' and record as much of what happened as I can, but then there are times where the 'more poetic' instincts lead me to express my summary in a natural breath, rather than mechanically ground out.

Another hope of this project was that it would take less time each day, therefore allowing me to crack on with other creative works [you may remember me wondering if the full diary a day doofer was sapping my time and energy each day so that my production of, say, poetry suffered]. Well, my production in that respect is still not really where I want it to be, although I have got a few new drafts to work on. I guess I can pretty definitively say how much work I do's got nothing to do with my little forays into life recording.

It has occasionally been the case that even this diddy-diary was 'too much' for me to do. I think, at my lowest point, I've let eight or nine days go by without writing anything. If I remember rightly, I was quite depressed at that point, but I got out of it at least. Other than that, at most it's been two days, and not very often at that. I've only managed to confuse myself once with respect to 'what day I'm on' [in my notebook, each sentence is literally just numbered. In hindsight, it would have been much more pragmatic [though 'less poetic' imho] to date them, so there would be no doubt, but then I guess I assumed my discipline would have been perfect for such a seemingly easy task], but I can at least say that, so far, my discipline has been better than last time. Would be a bad job if it wasn't, like, but I digress... I don't really want to dissect how/why I've not managed to diligently do every day as targeted, but I will say that life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans.

Another way in which this year's project is the same as the last is in what I might do with the resulting mess. After seeing Richard Barrett's collaboration with himself [not a euphemism] at an Edge Hill symposium, I was really intrigued by 'processing' one's diaries, reforming, regurgitating, repurposing and examining what remains. My hope with this, as you can imagine if you're familiar with certain language poets [or prose poetry?], is to turn it into a poem. In fact, in many ways it already is, always was and was always going to be a poem. I like the idea of it completing itself, maybe as twelve individual poems or a twelve-stanza 'mini-epic', or even something between the two. I can already imagine it being published, and where, but that'll obviously depend on the quality of the material I end up with etc. Watch this space...

But more on what's different. Of course, I don't get that hand-numbing marathon sensation that I used to. That was quite something, burning through, what was it, eight sides? Did I get up to sixteen once? Writing that much in one sitting was, as I say, somewhat wearying. And it was interesting mentally, because you got into a flow state - always nice - but one that was less dependent on outright creativity. Sure, memory in general is a creative process, but with the memories often being less than a day old, I didn't really need to stretch the truth to fit the day-sized gap. It made the flow feel a bit more... tranquil, I suppose, than with fiction, say.

With this 'line a day', however, memory plays a different process. I have two main sentence types - the one I write at the end of the day that I have just come up with on the spot, or one that I've formed and drafted in my head, either earlier on in the day, or just before I've picked up my pen. The latter is often less of a 'did x, y and z' type report, and more of a sweeping sentence. Especially if I've come up with this relatively early, the process of memory is more about remembering the words, rather than the experiences - so that's a strange kind of inversion that's interesting to note. Speaking of notes, I believe I note that this project slots into my life easier than the last, doesn't get in the way, and also makes me feel like I'm appreciating my awareness of what's going on in life without having to obsess over every little detail and, in doing so, be blocked from enjoying things as they happen. The contemplative processes of the two activities is radically different and - apologies if I'm overusing this word and/or its concept - this year I feel it's 'more poetic'

Speaking of 'more poetic', next year I think I'll do a haiku a day, just like Neil Schiller's done. That's actually a pretty decent challenge, I'd imagine. Haiku[s] are tough to get right at the best of times, so doing them in bulk could be worse [or the practice could improve your skills?], but I'd allow myself more editing freedom than I have done these past couple of years, so that'd be cool. But hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves...

Last thing to say is that I feel there's less to analyse about my journey this year. I think the reason is as simple as I'm writing less, the process is less arduous... there's just not that meat that there was last year for my masticating molars to malform. Or maybe I 'got it out my system' last time [lol]. Either way, good for you guys 'cause I won't be boring you with loads of posts on the topic. Although this one has built into an overly-long post. Sorry about that...

Another Update

Sorry for this being another update-y post, but I feel the need to take stock of things at the mo. There's been a fair lot going on, and some nice things to look forward to. Work is going fine, despite tiredness and having to work through a random headache I developed earlier in the week. One of the most lovely things that has happened recently is reading out at Peter Barlow's Cigarette in Manchester. I don't know if I'll write a post dedicated to it [I suspect not, since I was actually part of it], but suffice it to say there were a great many brilliant, witty and challenging poets and a generous response to my own work.

In other poetry news, Robert Sheppard's CW25 has purred to a halt, with a delightful couple of extras. Of course I've enjoyed the series, not just the overall diversity and inspiring nature of the endeavour, but also some of the singular poets have really shone above and beyond the general high standard. Check it out if you haven't already [or even if want to revisit!]. I was planning on writing a separate post about my involvement with it. Don't know if that'll happen or not [as time goes on, it's only going to seem less and less relevant to explain], but it's been a great pleasure to be part of it, both as a poet and as a reader [well, a poet is a reader more often than not, but you get what I mean...] - many thanks to Robert for doing it, giving us the opportunity and, on a more solipsistic note, mentioning me here [there'll be a strange mirrored mirror effect if we keep linking to each other in this way...]. It's going to be a bit strange now without it. I've been looking forward to each post for a long time, plus I've been re-blogging them, so my post rate has been higher because of it, but now that's finished. It's not been without problems; there have been times where I've given a CW25 post precedence over something of my own that I wanted to put up. But then that's just the next challenge - to get back to regular, 'original' posts, like I know I should be doing anyway.

On a related note, I've been thinking about setting up a Facebook page [and maybe something Twittery too] for this blog, just to play the social media game a bit better. As I understand it, it means that I won't need to 'manually' paste my links to my friends, and it gives them a better option to opt out of updates but, more importantly, will hopefully allow more people to find the blog and get involved. I'm in the process of setting up another site, too, one advertising myself, as it were. Primarily this is for career, although there's the same 'helping people to find my writing' element of it too [and if you're thinking that's the same as career, that's fine, but I make a distinction between my career and my art. At least for now...]. I'm doing this on the advice of a friend, whose website you can check out here, and, yeah, I'm sort of enjoying it as a bit of a mini-project, but will hopefully enjoy the results in the future [i.e. finding my dream job that starts just as my current contract runs out. Is that too much to hope for? Course not... Especially with our new arts-friendly government].

Speaking of jobby things, I'm having a CV overhaul of sorts. Apologies if this is the least interesting tripe you've ever read, but hey, it's an update [or could/should that be downdate?]. Perhaps because I've been feeling better [with respect to head health] most of the time lately, I've had a bit of an epiphany: I'm not that bad. I have done some interesting things, I do have skills and actually my CV could be pretty impressive. At the minute, it's very much a bullet pointy, angular, sharp-edges and straight lines thing. Very grey. I want to give it a personality, hopefully one that reflects mine and will convince people that I got stuff going for me. Anyway, even I can't say much more about this without falling asleep. I'll just finish by saying that, for some reason, I've been focused in this area of careery jobbiness lately, y'know, it feels like something's clicked and, who knows, maybe there's a future. On the point of interesting things, I've just started a new, free online course about Propaganda and Ideology what me aunt, writer of the wonderful Travelling Frogs, shared with me.

On a general note, I'm feeling more productive of late. Bit more blogging, bit more writing, submitted to IdeasTap's final brief, have started the aforementioned online course, have been looking at the BBC's artist in residence doofer [which I'd like to get, but the rules stipulate that one must be a "professional", and in my case there may need to be some semantic haggling there...], have been helping my folks more [cooking and gardening - Andrew Oldham would be proud!], been reading quite a bit [lots of online poetry etc]... Y'know, it's been reasonably groovy. There's a wee downside in that my level of blogging over at All Hail the Ale has ground to a stop, but I'm gearing up to put another review there soon. Watch that space! And this one, too. Please.

Also I'm really excited about some new purchases. I've been doing quite well at saving the cash lately, but yesterday I went book mad. I wasn't drunk at the time [that was the night before. A lovely night in Morecambe, not hindered in the slightest by rainy skies or election result], but I just felt this need to finally get some books I've been looking at for a long time. For example, from KFS, Joanne Ashcroft's From Parts Becoming Whole has been on my wish list for yonks - well soon I'll have it in my hands. I also got some stuff from Steph Pike, Richard Barrett, Robert Sheppard, Patricia Farrell, Calum Kerr blah blah blah... there's plenty. Troubles Swapped for Something Fresh is exciting. It promises to be an explosive collection of poem and prose-poem manifestoes and un-manifestoes - what the doctor always orders/ in regular doses/ for the artist! I'm not sure what I'm hoping for from it - I guess just a new perspective or two, a light in the dark, a suggestion of a new direction for me that'll see me write something I wouldn't have before. Speaking of great poetics, check out Steven's. I read some other good stuff recently, can't remember where though [I'm sure you're thanking me for that particularly useful statement].

Erm, I think that's it... Well, I think I've forgotten some of what I wanted to say, but that's about it anyways. Thanks for everything.

Peace, love and light.

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