Dear Planet Blog,
By my count, it has been nine days since my last confession. It has been a week-plus-three that has been both wonderful and depressing. More on that story later.
The previous Wednesday was an interesting for reasons I had not really expected. My dad had managed to get tickets for Showstopper! at London. For those not in the know, the Showstoppers are a group of performers who improvise a musical based on audience suggestions - their home page can be found here. I first saw them at the 2009 Edinburgh Fringe, and since then I have been in love with their way of making something memorable from audience suggestions that have been shouted across a theatre. Every one of their musicals has stayed with me - a whole lot more than most of the award bait films and television programming recently. If you get a chance to see the show, people of Planet Blog, do so. You will not regret it.
However, I did have a moment of worry when it was decided by audience vote that this Showstopper performance was to be about a pole dancing studio in 1980s New York. Having somehow convinced my Mum and Dad that the Showstoppers were an amazing group of talented performers, I began to sink into my seat. Thankfully, it turned out wonderfully, but I had to sit through an anxious twenty minutes and two songs - 'Work the Pole' and the inspirational ballad 'Climb the Greasy Pole'. Augh. Still, it became a memorable evening, and the title song - 'Poles Apart' - rattles around my brain as I type this. There is something wonderful about that, I think. Not bad for ten pounds a head.
Friday marked the last event for my year's MA events. The Draft has been pushed as much as humanly possible by the effort - that night, Raj K Lal acted as compere and publicist for an evening, and led an evening of readings in Cafe Blend (a wonderful establishment on Navigation Street, Birmingham). Being one of the readers for the evening was intimidating, especially at such a classy joint. I was glad for the company of my peers when they arrived - Sarah Jane Cuming, who I suspect shall become a living legend in a year's time; Alice Bradshaw, and her wonderful parents, who I believe to be on the verge of being discovered; Nick Tipple, Lord of the Stately Calm (and nuclear scientist); actress-writer-folk-musician Miranda Floy, who probably has enough adjectives; Rose Moulding, whose young adult fiction combusts with passion; and Raj, as I mentioned before, who marshalled the event with Birmingham Book Festival liason Sara Beadle. All of these people gave me support - as did the Cafe Blend Prince of Wales liqeur, an interesting mix of coffee and Drambui that served to give me an energetic stupor. With this helping of courage, I gave my last live reading of my short story Slow Days.
The evening was a success. Everyone really pulled together to make the readings enjoyable and engaging, and we were blessed with an attentive audience. Those audience members who approached us were warm in their praise - a senior gentleman in a turban gave deeply gratifying praise, telling me that I had captured Coventry in my work. As a fantasy writer, this is probably the best critical acclaim I will ever receive, and I thanked him for it. It certainly encourages me to create more material, and makes me want to attend more readings. It was unfortunate that we couldn't hang around long after the event, and the management asked us to clean up soon after our readings ended. However, we did manage to find a subterranean refuge in Bacchus, where all the remaining writers drank into the night. I am happy to report that we gave the last night touting The Draft a good send off - or at least, a good marinade.
What else should I report? To be honest, the next couple of days have been rather uninteresting. At least, uninteresting from the perspective of blog writing. I have spent every odd day in my local Costa Coffee, trying to ground the story ideas I have been working on. My current pet project, Two to Go, is shaping up well and I hope to put a cap on it soon. Compared to a lot of my recent pieces, I feel that it has organically grown from a simple idea to something that would speak to a number of people. When I finish this short story, I hope to send it to some of the big SFF magazines (under the advice of fellow writer Tori Truslow, who has been very supportive of my unusual fictions).
Next week sees the beginning of my power play. Apart from clearing my head of annoyingly interesting ideas, I have been planning my novel for NaNoWriMo. With the aid of a newly reconstructed whiteboard, a trusty blue board marker and a makeshift ruler, I am slowly constructing the bare bones plan of a fifty thousand word novel. It is crazy, but at the time being, it seems like it is going to work. This is something of a first for me, as well. I am the kind of writer who tends to write by the seat of his pants - any conclusions, revelations and characterisation occurs as a result of whatever I am feeling at the time. I have come to associate planning with essays and school room tedium, hence my aversion to subjecting my stories to them. However, I don't have the luxury of relying on positive thinking to buoy up my novel, and so I have devoted a few hours to creating a little framework for the next month. What surprises me is that I'm beginning to enjoy planning this thing. Now, when faced with my large grid, I feel joy when I begin to fill in the spaces. The borders are beginning to fill up with notes. Something that I never expected seems to have happened all of its own accord. Is that not strange?
I have nothing else to add on that subject - and writing about writing always seems like onanism. So while I'm ahead and you are still reading I shall stop.
Next Week on the Forge:
More details about my NaNo novel.
The Beginning of the NaNo Blog.
Possible excerpts from Two to Go.
A Revised Release of my Epic Tradition Parody Somewhat Epic, or the Tescoliad.
A trained penguin.
Friday 21 October 2011
Monday 10 October 2011
A Wholly Literary Week, or Literally
Dear Planet Blog,
Forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been fourteen days since my last confession. I have been busy with living this average life of mine for the last few days. That is my excuse and I'm sticking with it.
I must confess that 'average' is too diminutive for the weeks I experienced. Okay, I have not had a whirlwind romance or gone to the moon recently, but during my blog silence I have hardly been twiddling my thumbs. Although, if you asked my family what I'd been doing, I must confess that I have not been taking part in my artistic occupations within their view. This is of course natural for me - I'm of the view that much like a watched pot never boils, a watched artist can not create. Any writers reading this blog, I would point to the lectures of Virginia Woolf, and her assertion that a writer requires a room of their own with a lock on the door. Being the only family member with a lockless door, I feel that I must find the true privacy of a public area to write my short stories. After all, where else can you find a space where nobody pays attention to you, where the individual is unimportant, where the people are unapproachable and distant, but in suburbia? I do not consider myself a sociopath, but the local chain of a coffee shop in my suburban hell is the perfect environment for me to be allowed to work. The only time I shall be bothered is if I need to buy a coffee to justify my continued haunting of the corner tables.
However, I shall come to my writing practices later. I hope to tell you this story in some mockery of chronological order, as dull as that may be.
First, a little piece about my current reading habits. Since my parents have gifted me with Amazon's little black box, I have been consuming words at a rate I am currently pleased with. Thanks to the Kindle, I am now in some small ways cool and mainstream - since my last post I have finished the Game of Thrones and am currently working through the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo before that is out of vogue as well. I am also now able to dip into the philosophies that have defined how people think - currently reading the Communist Manifesto, a piece that is becoming more powerful in light of the recent articles published with regards to youth employment and the exploitation of a generation through unpaid internships. I hope to read something lighter in the coming month. I have set myself the project of reading the works of the western philosophers - naturally, in the order of the Monty Python Philosophers Song.
Okay, now the dry subject of reading is over and done with, I can begin to talk of the interesting events of this week.
This week saw one of the last events of my Warwick MA in Writing. I attended The Draft event that was part of the Warwick Words literary festival, and I can certainly say that it was an experience. Folk singers, story tellers and an actress worked to reinterpret a selection of stories featured in this year's anthology. While I believe that the evening only touched the surface of all the great work that featured in The Draft, I was glad for the opportunity to hear the tales afresh. Furthermore, I was glad that others had the opportunities to hear these tales, including the next year's MA students (two of whom are dear friends of mine).
Of course, I enjoyed the opportunity to return to the Warwick area after what seemed like a small age, even though my rational self knows that it has been less than a month since I returned to my suburbia. It says a lot about the writing program that I now consider Coventry and Leamington to be my home; it says a lot about the people who I met during the year, with whom I forged friendships that I feel will last for a long time (not eternity - eternity is cheap). It was these friendships that I revisited when I returned for the event. There were far too few people for my liking - I felt the absence of the wonderful international students who were unable to attend. However, I briefly enjoyed the embrace of those who were able to - made all the briefer by a bus schedule, unfortunately, but I did spend the rest of the night with SJ, a dear woman who put me up and puts up with me. She is very deep, and the world does not give her enough credit. I will always be one of her biggest fans.
Before I break the internet with gushing, I will stop. Next subject.
This week also saw a very interesting meeting with several interesting individuals. I have made a number of friends through the National Autistic Society - vivid people, all of them, and I would say underappreciated by the majority of polite society. This Friday, we took a couple of hours to forget the rest of the world and sit in a pub off Westminster. There, we shared a copious number of pints (with particular bias to Tanglefoot, a wonderful real ale), and discussed literature and writing. We had barely enough time to speak, but speak we did, and in various pissed voices, about how we are trying to create fiction. One is working on a piece of Alternate History Fantasy that would rival the efforts of Victor Hugo; another is hard at work on a meticulously detailed piece of crime fiction that shows a lot of potential; and our numbers also included a journalist and a creator of indie comics and graphic art - also worthy artists. I feel honoured to be counted among their numbers, artists working to create new genres and modes for expression. I feel like I'm part of a larger collaboration - even if that is simply producing a new voice.
Okay, now that was way too deep. I can no longer write about complex things, or I shall break Planet Blog irreperably. I shall save my comments on my writing experiences for another day. I already feel like I have been writing for hours. Now signing off. Enjoy the next week, those who listen.
Forgive me, for I have sinned. It has been fourteen days since my last confession. I have been busy with living this average life of mine for the last few days. That is my excuse and I'm sticking with it.
I must confess that 'average' is too diminutive for the weeks I experienced. Okay, I have not had a whirlwind romance or gone to the moon recently, but during my blog silence I have hardly been twiddling my thumbs. Although, if you asked my family what I'd been doing, I must confess that I have not been taking part in my artistic occupations within their view. This is of course natural for me - I'm of the view that much like a watched pot never boils, a watched artist can not create. Any writers reading this blog, I would point to the lectures of Virginia Woolf, and her assertion that a writer requires a room of their own with a lock on the door. Being the only family member with a lockless door, I feel that I must find the true privacy of a public area to write my short stories. After all, where else can you find a space where nobody pays attention to you, where the individual is unimportant, where the people are unapproachable and distant, but in suburbia? I do not consider myself a sociopath, but the local chain of a coffee shop in my suburban hell is the perfect environment for me to be allowed to work. The only time I shall be bothered is if I need to buy a coffee to justify my continued haunting of the corner tables.
However, I shall come to my writing practices later. I hope to tell you this story in some mockery of chronological order, as dull as that may be.
First, a little piece about my current reading habits. Since my parents have gifted me with Amazon's little black box, I have been consuming words at a rate I am currently pleased with. Thanks to the Kindle, I am now in some small ways cool and mainstream - since my last post I have finished the Game of Thrones and am currently working through the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo before that is out of vogue as well. I am also now able to dip into the philosophies that have defined how people think - currently reading the Communist Manifesto, a piece that is becoming more powerful in light of the recent articles published with regards to youth employment and the exploitation of a generation through unpaid internships. I hope to read something lighter in the coming month. I have set myself the project of reading the works of the western philosophers - naturally, in the order of the Monty Python Philosophers Song.
Okay, now the dry subject of reading is over and done with, I can begin to talk of the interesting events of this week.
This week saw one of the last events of my Warwick MA in Writing. I attended The Draft event that was part of the Warwick Words literary festival, and I can certainly say that it was an experience. Folk singers, story tellers and an actress worked to reinterpret a selection of stories featured in this year's anthology. While I believe that the evening only touched the surface of all the great work that featured in The Draft, I was glad for the opportunity to hear the tales afresh. Furthermore, I was glad that others had the opportunities to hear these tales, including the next year's MA students (two of whom are dear friends of mine).
Of course, I enjoyed the opportunity to return to the Warwick area after what seemed like a small age, even though my rational self knows that it has been less than a month since I returned to my suburbia. It says a lot about the writing program that I now consider Coventry and Leamington to be my home; it says a lot about the people who I met during the year, with whom I forged friendships that I feel will last for a long time (not eternity - eternity is cheap). It was these friendships that I revisited when I returned for the event. There were far too few people for my liking - I felt the absence of the wonderful international students who were unable to attend. However, I briefly enjoyed the embrace of those who were able to - made all the briefer by a bus schedule, unfortunately, but I did spend the rest of the night with SJ, a dear woman who put me up and puts up with me. She is very deep, and the world does not give her enough credit. I will always be one of her biggest fans.
Before I break the internet with gushing, I will stop. Next subject.
This week also saw a very interesting meeting with several interesting individuals. I have made a number of friends through the National Autistic Society - vivid people, all of them, and I would say underappreciated by the majority of polite society. This Friday, we took a couple of hours to forget the rest of the world and sit in a pub off Westminster. There, we shared a copious number of pints (with particular bias to Tanglefoot, a wonderful real ale), and discussed literature and writing. We had barely enough time to speak, but speak we did, and in various pissed voices, about how we are trying to create fiction. One is working on a piece of Alternate History Fantasy that would rival the efforts of Victor Hugo; another is hard at work on a meticulously detailed piece of crime fiction that shows a lot of potential; and our numbers also included a journalist and a creator of indie comics and graphic art - also worthy artists. I feel honoured to be counted among their numbers, artists working to create new genres and modes for expression. I feel like I'm part of a larger collaboration - even if that is simply producing a new voice.
Okay, now that was way too deep. I can no longer write about complex things, or I shall break Planet Blog irreperably. I shall save my comments on my writing experiences for another day. I already feel like I have been writing for hours. Now signing off. Enjoy the next week, those who listen.
Monday 26 September 2011
The Rediscovery of the Self In Relation to the Wider Community of Bloggers, or Oops
To anybody who may be following,
I have been away for the last nine-tenths of a year, so it seems. Neglect is the word that would be on most people's lips, and it is certainly the word on mine. I have been tangled up with the workings of university life and work to the extent that I have completely ignored the fact that I had started a blog. Like everything we resolve to do, like diet, or try something new, or read the greatest works of literature, there are moments where we think - you know what, that little blog post can wait - and we put it off until we do something amazing.
So... nine months later.
To anybody reading now, you haven't missed much in terms of blogging. This is it, really. Beginning anew and afresh.
To anybody who found this page before, and is returning, my life has been full of little changes here and there. I have handed in a large number of portfolios to be marked by the academia of the University of Warwick. Some tutors have said they loved my pieces and marked me down; others have written that they have absolutely no clue what I'm trying to do and push up my marks to a first class degree. Not the most confusing element of my life, but I would certainly like to know whether I should try harder or take a breather. And the scientists and mathematicians think that the art student's life is full of coffee and walks in the park...
I am free from campus life now. My dearest friends are now spread around the world, as far as Singapore, India and Wales. Now I am back in the country with my family, I long for the hectic pace of Warwick and Coventry even more. I miss the kind of day when, stressed out from trying to shoehorn plot into my slice-of-life long project (now done, dusted, and twenty-thousand-wordsed), I could walk into Costas and order myself a flat white. I could pretend to write in my journal or read my shiny new Kindle and become privy to the pulsing life of campus dwellers. Then I would see the people I know come into view and we would talk about everything (of which there is so little) and nothing (of which there is way too much).
Of course, I shouldn't complain about life as it is now. My prison - a house with my well meaning but ever present family - is a prison made of glass, and one I can leave whenever the feeling takes me. There is a Costa in the town I live in, where I can order my flat white. Unfortunately, I can no longer hear the chatter of students, and babies and mothers make up the babble that I hear now. Still, the stability of life is an illusion, and adapting to the little changes are what makes human experience such a varied thing. I shall attempt to make it more varied over the coming days, and rely upon my friends and family to make the coming year more interesting than before.
To Do List:
Finish Current Short Story [Two to Go, a story of the life impaired, coffee and being human.]
Repurpose Old Short Story [The Tescoliad, a mock-epic of two thousand words. Re-write for the discerning reader, and post as part of my first venture onto the Kindle Store.]
Plan about Five Other Short Stories [Because my brain always furnishes me with short story ideas when I want to get working on my Great Fantasic Novel]
Prep for NaNoWriMo [Because I never do. This time I will reach the fifty thousand mark!]
So here we go. Once more. One more try. It is a nasty blog, but I intend to keep it and fill it with my life. Every other blogger can - or maybe should - and I am found wanting. No more thought about writing, and more actual writing.
[Before I become completely incoherent, I'll stop here. Stopping here. Seriously. Now.]
I have been away for the last nine-tenths of a year, so it seems. Neglect is the word that would be on most people's lips, and it is certainly the word on mine. I have been tangled up with the workings of university life and work to the extent that I have completely ignored the fact that I had started a blog. Like everything we resolve to do, like diet, or try something new, or read the greatest works of literature, there are moments where we think - you know what, that little blog post can wait - and we put it off until we do something amazing.
So... nine months later.
To anybody reading now, you haven't missed much in terms of blogging. This is it, really. Beginning anew and afresh.
To anybody who found this page before, and is returning, my life has been full of little changes here and there. I have handed in a large number of portfolios to be marked by the academia of the University of Warwick. Some tutors have said they loved my pieces and marked me down; others have written that they have absolutely no clue what I'm trying to do and push up my marks to a first class degree. Not the most confusing element of my life, but I would certainly like to know whether I should try harder or take a breather. And the scientists and mathematicians think that the art student's life is full of coffee and walks in the park...
I am free from campus life now. My dearest friends are now spread around the world, as far as Singapore, India and Wales. Now I am back in the country with my family, I long for the hectic pace of Warwick and Coventry even more. I miss the kind of day when, stressed out from trying to shoehorn plot into my slice-of-life long project (now done, dusted, and twenty-thousand-wordsed), I could walk into Costas and order myself a flat white. I could pretend to write in my journal or read my shiny new Kindle and become privy to the pulsing life of campus dwellers. Then I would see the people I know come into view and we would talk about everything (of which there is so little) and nothing (of which there is way too much).
Of course, I shouldn't complain about life as it is now. My prison - a house with my well meaning but ever present family - is a prison made of glass, and one I can leave whenever the feeling takes me. There is a Costa in the town I live in, where I can order my flat white. Unfortunately, I can no longer hear the chatter of students, and babies and mothers make up the babble that I hear now. Still, the stability of life is an illusion, and adapting to the little changes are what makes human experience such a varied thing. I shall attempt to make it more varied over the coming days, and rely upon my friends and family to make the coming year more interesting than before.
To Do List:
Finish Current Short Story [Two to Go, a story of the life impaired, coffee and being human.]
Repurpose Old Short Story [The Tescoliad, a mock-epic of two thousand words. Re-write for the discerning reader, and post as part of my first venture onto the Kindle Store.]
Plan about Five Other Short Stories [Because my brain always furnishes me with short story ideas when I want to get working on my Great Fantasic Novel]
Prep for NaNoWriMo [Because I never do. This time I will reach the fifty thousand mark!]
So here we go. Once more. One more try. It is a nasty blog, but I intend to keep it and fill it with my life. Every other blogger can - or maybe should - and I am found wanting. No more thought about writing, and more actual writing.
[Before I become completely incoherent, I'll stop here. Stopping here. Seriously. Now.]
Tuesday 14 December 2010
Christmas days are rolling on...
Currently sitting on the top floor of the University library. Anna is working through Locke's writings, while Angela reading through yet another book that claims to explain Blake's poems on the Zoas [unknown whether this one is better than the others. Sitting in the Quiet Zone, so no dialogue and no texting. Shall find out at lunch.]
As for me, I'm wading through my commentary for my Term One Portfolio. Thanks to the helpful comments of my seminar tutor, I know what I'm supposed to be doing. Only difficulty is working out how to achieve it. It would be so difficult if there wasn't the issue of the word count to deal with as well. Luckily, I will not be having trouble meeting the two thousand word count required; unluckily, one thousand of those has been dedicated to the first story already, leaving around five hundred words each for the remaining two stories. Such joy... When I finish, I will be in need of a literary chainsaw and a much needed caffeine injection.
Also, my story for this year's MA anthology is coming along nicely, if rather slowly and frustratingly. I know that I'm on to something unusual, but it feels as if I have to bludgeon this story rather viciously before it will see the light of day.
More updates when something wonderful occurs...
Golden Mallet.
As for me, I'm wading through my commentary for my Term One Portfolio. Thanks to the helpful comments of my seminar tutor, I know what I'm supposed to be doing. Only difficulty is working out how to achieve it. It would be so difficult if there wasn't the issue of the word count to deal with as well. Luckily, I will not be having trouble meeting the two thousand word count required; unluckily, one thousand of those has been dedicated to the first story already, leaving around five hundred words each for the remaining two stories. Such joy... When I finish, I will be in need of a literary chainsaw and a much needed caffeine injection.
Also, my story for this year's MA anthology is coming along nicely, if rather slowly and frustratingly. I know that I'm on to something unusual, but it feels as if I have to bludgeon this story rather viciously before it will see the light of day.
More updates when something wonderful occurs...
Golden Mallet.
Sunday 12 December 2010
Beginning of Failure
Hello, good evening, and kudos to those that recognise the reference.
This marks the beginning of my blog, as I try to become writer and generally not fail at life. Currently studying at Warwick University, trying to get my MA qualification in Writing. At the moment, I'm doing well: I'm surrounded by a great number of supportive people, including my comrades of the Warwick MA class and my housemates Angela and Anna. I suppose I should also mention my family, but I think they already know how much they contribute to my writing.
My posts will no doubt be small, but I hope to submit many over the next year. Maybe something fantastic shall happen in 2011, or maybe it has already begun... No matter what, I'll make it a year to remember!
To the next year,
Golden Mallet
This marks the beginning of my blog, as I try to become writer and generally not fail at life. Currently studying at Warwick University, trying to get my MA qualification in Writing. At the moment, I'm doing well: I'm surrounded by a great number of supportive people, including my comrades of the Warwick MA class and my housemates Angela and Anna. I suppose I should also mention my family, but I think they already know how much they contribute to my writing.
My posts will no doubt be small, but I hope to submit many over the next year. Maybe something fantastic shall happen in 2011, or maybe it has already begun... No matter what, I'll make it a year to remember!
To the next year,
Golden Mallet
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