Toby Frost, popular author of the amazing Space Captain Smith series of books and secretary of Verulam Writers' Circle, recently raised on the VWC website the intriguing question of whether an author, or that author's beliefs and character, should be inferred from their work.
It is an interesting question and one to which I suspect there is no simple answer. My instinct is that it would be unreasonable to infer the author from any single piece, but perhaps if one were to look at a substantial body of work created over a significant period of time...
For instance, were anybody terminally bored enough to pick up a selection of my stories and dissect just one they might draw any number of erroneous conclusions, dependent upon which piece they chose. I would hope, however, that - taken together - they would reflect an average human male attempting to reproduce a wide variety of imaginary characters and situations for the entertainment of others.
Misinterpreted conclusions based upon a small sample can of course occur in any context. For example: at a VWC manuscript evening not so long ago I read a piece of off-the-wall Oscar-trash entitled Stitch-up. Now, I consider Stitch-up to be about as atypical of my work as any piece could be, it's poetry (of sorts) and it is somewhat sick in a tongue-in-cheek black-humour sort of way. But when I'd finished reading it a longstanding female member of VWC, whom I'd always considered to be a good friend, made it clear to me in shocked and disapproving tones that she considered me a misogynist. Ouch! I believe she really meant it, and I've not seen her since. For the record, I'm not a misogynist - far from it – I love women (Okay, not as often as I once did, perhaps, but that's another subject altogether). Neither am I a coal miner, an avenging spirit, a lesbian native American squaw, a Spitfire pilot, etc., etc... It's all only pretend.
So, from hard personal experience, I believe inferring the author from the work should be undertaken with considerable care, imagination, and a fair amount of empathy. We writers should critique, yes. But judge not...
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Saturday, 11 September 2010
Brilliant Sparks in Brighton
No, not me – modesty forbids – anyway, I'm not in that trade * anymore. I'm referring to SPARKS 10.
My VWC pal Jonathan Pinnock and I trekked down to Sussex for this occasional reading and photography event last Tuesday evening. Of all the days in the year we had to chose one when London Underground was hit by strikes, which made for an interesting and protracted return journey. That small inconvenience, though, was well rewarded.
In a theatrical review I once referred to the New End Theatre, Hampstead, as 'petite'. By that reckoning the theatre – for it is a mini-theatre – above the pub at Thirteen and Ten, Steine Street, Brighton, is positively Lilliputian. The atmosphere though is Brobdingnagian in a friendly, arty and welcoming way. So supportive indeed were the organiser, the mesmerising Jo Mortimer, and my talented fellow readers that I almost forgot my fear of reading to a paying audience... Almost.
Aided by a little Dutch courage from the bar I made it through the performance without serious upset. People were still talking to me afterward – that must be a positive sign. I even received a generous compliment or three, which, coming from such talents as Vanessa Gebbie, Jac Cattaneo and Naomi Foyle, give me cause to hope I have survived my first hesitant step as a performance writer and reader.
Yes, I'm hooked. I'd like to read at a SPARKS event again.
* Strange synergy here: In 'another life' I was an electrician, Vanessa Gebbie is the editor of the excellent Short Circuit, A Guide to the Art of the Short Story, and there I am reading at an event called SPARKS. Spooky.
My VWC pal Jonathan Pinnock and I trekked down to Sussex for this occasional reading and photography event last Tuesday evening. Of all the days in the year we had to chose one when London Underground was hit by strikes, which made for an interesting and protracted return journey. That small inconvenience, though, was well rewarded.
In a theatrical review I once referred to the New End Theatre, Hampstead, as 'petite'. By that reckoning the theatre – for it is a mini-theatre – above the pub at Thirteen and Ten, Steine Street, Brighton, is positively Lilliputian. The atmosphere though is Brobdingnagian in a friendly, arty and welcoming way. So supportive indeed were the organiser, the mesmerising Jo Mortimer, and my talented fellow readers that I almost forgot my fear of reading to a paying audience... Almost.
Aided by a little Dutch courage from the bar I made it through the performance without serious upset. People were still talking to me afterward – that must be a positive sign. I even received a generous compliment or three, which, coming from such talents as Vanessa Gebbie, Jac Cattaneo and Naomi Foyle, give me cause to hope I have survived my first hesitant step as a performance writer and reader.
Yes, I'm hooked. I'd like to read at a SPARKS event again.
* Strange synergy here: In 'another life' I was an electrician, Vanessa Gebbie is the editor of the excellent Short Circuit, A Guide to the Art of the Short Story, and there I am reading at an event called SPARKS. Spooky.
Pics (atmospheric) courtesy of Jon Pinnock.
Above: Me, hiding nervously behind the mic.
Above: Jon P, towering over it.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Does writing for live reading require special skill?
I think so. And the actual reading requires yet another skill set.Regrettably, both are skills that I have yet to master. Successful performance writing – and successful performance – are, for me, figments of aspiration not badges of achievement.
Thanks, however, to the advice, critique and fine examples of writer friends from Verulam Writers' Circle – notably Julie Mayhew, Jonathan Pinnock and Dave Weaver, all of whom are successful in the field of prose performance – I am beginning to make a little headway.
Having heard great things about the occasional SPARKS photography and reading events in Brighton, last month I decided it was time to kick myself out of my cosseted literary isolation and do something really scary. So I went out for a walk (have you seen the way they drive in Hertfordshire?). I came back, muddied but unbowed. Then and there – without a moment's hesitation and with no safety net – I edited a story down from 1600 words to fewer than 1000, the SPARKS maximum. After reading it a time or two I hit the dreaded 'send' key.
Gulp!
Panic set in, and then I thought: No worries, it'll never be accepted. Almost exactly an hour later I received from the organizer, Jo Mortimer, a lovely acceptance. My bluff she had called.
Double gulp!
That's why on 7th September you will find me as the trembling warm-up act on a SPARKS 10 bill of otherwise stellar proportions alongside such luminaries as Vanessa Gebbie (she who edited the excellent Short Circuit - my constant companion and guide through the dark maze that is short fiction), Jonathan Pinnock (who had a story broadcast on Radio 4 only last week), Tom Vowler (novelist), Naomi Foyle (poet), Paul A Toth (much-published American novelist), Jac Cattaneo and Sam Mead.
Am I shaking in my shoes? You're too darn right I am.
So, wish me luck. Turn the light out when you go, and go particularly easy on the tea and biscuits this time, please. I have to save up for the train fare down to Brighton – a return ticket would be nice.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
"Which Battle of Britain?"
... said the shop girl to Ronald Tooke, World War Two RAF veteran. *
It makes me so sad to realise that an increasing number of young people are unaware that an unprecedented battle occurred in British skies – reaching its turning point seventy years ago this week – which, had it been lost by the young people of that time, would have rendered the possibility of our freedom – our very existence – today highly unlikely.
BBC Radio 4 is broadcasting an excellent daily series on the Battle of Britain, see links below.
This was my rather pathetic attempt to recreate the atmosphere of that time on EDF a year or two back. If you are kind enough to read it, please take time to check out the Guinea Pig Club link.
If you have time to listen to the two BBC pieces – and I hope you do – at the end of Day 1 you'll hear the voice of James Nicholson VC, who was the inspiration for my – entirely fictional – story.
BBC: Battle of Britain - Day 1
BBC: Battle of Britain - Day 2 *
And, when you've done all that, perhaps you'd like to visit one of these links with your PayPal details or your credit card. Thank you.
RAF Wings Appeal
Help for Heroes
It makes me so sad to realise that an increasing number of young people are unaware that an unprecedented battle occurred in British skies – reaching its turning point seventy years ago this week – which, had it been lost by the young people of that time, would have rendered the possibility of our freedom – our very existence – today highly unlikely.
BBC Radio 4 is broadcasting an excellent daily series on the Battle of Britain, see links below.
This was my rather pathetic attempt to recreate the atmosphere of that time on EDF a year or two back. If you are kind enough to read it, please take time to check out the Guinea Pig Club link.
If you have time to listen to the two BBC pieces – and I hope you do – at the end of Day 1 you'll hear the voice of James Nicholson VC, who was the inspiration for my – entirely fictional – story.
BBC: Battle of Britain - Day 1
BBC: Battle of Britain - Day 2 *
And, when you've done all that, perhaps you'd like to visit one of these links with your PayPal details or your credit card. Thank you.
RAF Wings Appeal
Help for Heroes
Monday, 16 August 2010
What is it with writers and cats?
I mean, why do otherwise intelligent cats keep pet writers?
Based on empirical evidence from writer friends, I conclude the lives of writers and cats are inseparable. Let's be clear, I'm not talking solely about female writers here. Ladies who write and cats seems like a logical connection. No, the cunning felines have invaded male lifestyles too. Not just your willowy softie male writers, either, I mean blokey blokes, big hairy bitter-swilling geezers. If they write, you can bet your ASDA tuna some mercenary moggie has latched onto them.
Writers, we've been got at. Believe me, there's a clear correlation between literary output and cat food sales.
So, where lies our fatal flaw that the felines exploit? One possibility is our subliminal need as writers to focus our procrastination. Cat equals mandala, as in: talking plot twists through with Felix is a whole lot easier than real writing. And then again, according to my sketchy understanding of Occam's razor principle we can shave the subject down to basics and arrive at the conclusion that cats have simply suckered us writers into accepting mews as muse.
Look, there's a whole lot more I could write on this subject – nine tales at least – but I've got four cats to feed… I mean stories to write.
The teapot's on the go as usual but it's no good looking for the biscuits behind the side bar anymore, that's reserved for the litter tray and tuna tins.
Turn the light's out and lock up when you leave, okay? And, whatever you do, don't obstruct the cat flap.
Cheers
Based on empirical evidence from writer friends, I conclude the lives of writers and cats are inseparable. Let's be clear, I'm not talking solely about female writers here. Ladies who write and cats seems like a logical connection. No, the cunning felines have invaded male lifestyles too. Not just your willowy softie male writers, either, I mean blokey blokes, big hairy bitter-swilling geezers. If they write, you can bet your ASDA tuna some mercenary moggie has latched onto them.
Writers, we've been got at. Believe me, there's a clear correlation between literary output and cat food sales.
So, where lies our fatal flaw that the felines exploit? One possibility is our subliminal need as writers to focus our procrastination. Cat equals mandala, as in: talking plot twists through with Felix is a whole lot easier than real writing. And then again, according to my sketchy understanding of Occam's razor principle we can shave the subject down to basics and arrive at the conclusion that cats have simply suckered us writers into accepting mews as muse.
Look, there's a whole lot more I could write on this subject – nine tales at least – but I've got four cats to feed… I mean stories to write.
The teapot's on the go as usual but it's no good looking for the biscuits behind the side bar anymore, that's reserved for the litter tray and tuna tins.
Turn the light's out and lock up when you leave, okay? And, whatever you do, don't obstruct the cat flap.
Cheers
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Why Short Fiction Competitions?
Writing competitions are a waste of time: Discuss.
A day or two ago I made an apologetic post on my home writers' circle bulletin board at having only achieved third place in the excellent The Write Idea website's annual Whittaker Prize competition. This drew a post from one of my peers, which said, that: Being absolutely frank, he had never seen the attraction of these competitions, and felt they're possibly a distraction from writing what you really wanted to write (i.e not in response to someone elses brief). He also worried about the quality of the adjudication.
I couldn't resist the following reply, which I'm minded to share with anyone who might wander through these murky backwaters of cyberspace by mischance:
Do you write short stories, Frank? If not, there's probably no way I can explain other than to relate: 1) Why I write short fiction and then, 2) Why I have entered '...these competitions'.
1) Why short fiction? I have written one novel, and have begun about three more. The 'completed' novel took up a big chunk of my life and I made just about all the mistakes a writer could make - not once, but time and again. Writing that first - unsuccessful - novel took years, if you include innumerable rewrites. I'm getting old and do not have such time to waste anymore.
So, in parallel, I became drawn into short fiction. Besides the fact that I enjoy writing 'tight and short', my reasoning is the same as why genetic researchers have employed the fruit fly, dorosophila, rather than the elephant - a short gestation period. I can experiment and make mistakes on a much shorter cycle, and can also execute the one and only acid test - does my work sell? - more readily.
In addition, there is a worldwide upsurge in interest in short fiction and a sea-change in the means of distribution/marketing the 'product'. The world of short fiction - online in particular - has an exciting 'wild frontier' atmosphere where remarkable things can and will happen (but you also have to watch your back).
2) Why competitions? To be clear, the competition in question, which triggered your enquiry, was the recent Whittaker Prize competition, so I'll address that. The competition involved writers submitting a short story every fortnight over a period of eighteen weeks. Although prompts were provided (three per round) these were only to stimulate creativity (the prompts did not have to be incorporated in the work) so writers were free to write whatever they pleased - not '...to someone elses brief.' - up to the maximum word count.
The main attraction to me is that I have a deadline to work to and a concrete reason to create something new. If I stick to the schedule, I end up with nine new pieces of work I would not otherwise have created. You could even regard the creative output from such competitions as the raw material 'input' to a further on-going process of learning and refinement.
As to the quality of adjudication, who can say? If not always names you would immediately recognise, the judges nonetheless have a standing in writing circles acknowledged by their peers. In this case there were two judges who adjudicated anonymously on alternate rounds, and in parallel on the final round (with interesting comments and results). In Whittaker, the entries are given points/values for nine defined parameters, e.g., Opening, Closing, Voice, Technicalities etc. All literary adjudication must be subjective, but I have found that the Whittaker values, arbitrary as they may seem, have given me clear indication of areas of weakness in my writing. When two judges independently highlight the same areas again and again, a sensible aspiring writer will take notice.
Success in competitions in general can bring your writing to the notice of a wider audience, and success does, it seems, breed success, if my mate Jonathan Pinnock's progress is any guide.
Distraction? Nope. Focus? Yup.
In short: it works for me, Frank.
Oscar
A day or two ago I made an apologetic post on my home writers' circle bulletin board at having only achieved third place in the excellent The Write Idea website's annual Whittaker Prize competition. This drew a post from one of my peers, which said, that: Being absolutely frank, he had never seen the attraction of these competitions, and felt they're possibly a distraction from writing what you really wanted to write (i.e not in response to someone elses brief). He also worried about the quality of the adjudication.
I couldn't resist the following reply, which I'm minded to share with anyone who might wander through these murky backwaters of cyberspace by mischance:
Do you write short stories, Frank? If not, there's probably no way I can explain other than to relate: 1) Why I write short fiction and then, 2) Why I have entered '...these competitions'.
1) Why short fiction? I have written one novel, and have begun about three more. The 'completed' novel took up a big chunk of my life and I made just about all the mistakes a writer could make - not once, but time and again. Writing that first - unsuccessful - novel took years, if you include innumerable rewrites. I'm getting old and do not have such time to waste anymore.
So, in parallel, I became drawn into short fiction. Besides the fact that I enjoy writing 'tight and short', my reasoning is the same as why genetic researchers have employed the fruit fly, dorosophila, rather than the elephant - a short gestation period. I can experiment and make mistakes on a much shorter cycle, and can also execute the one and only acid test - does my work sell? - more readily.
In addition, there is a worldwide upsurge in interest in short fiction and a sea-change in the means of distribution/marketing the 'product'. The world of short fiction - online in particular - has an exciting 'wild frontier' atmosphere where remarkable things can and will happen (but you also have to watch your back).
2) Why competitions? To be clear, the competition in question, which triggered your enquiry, was the recent Whittaker Prize competition, so I'll address that. The competition involved writers submitting a short story every fortnight over a period of eighteen weeks. Although prompts were provided (three per round) these were only to stimulate creativity (the prompts did not have to be incorporated in the work) so writers were free to write whatever they pleased - not '...to someone elses brief.' - up to the maximum word count.
The main attraction to me is that I have a deadline to work to and a concrete reason to create something new. If I stick to the schedule, I end up with nine new pieces of work I would not otherwise have created. You could even regard the creative output from such competitions as the raw material 'input' to a further on-going process of learning and refinement.
As to the quality of adjudication, who can say? If not always names you would immediately recognise, the judges nonetheless have a standing in writing circles acknowledged by their peers. In this case there were two judges who adjudicated anonymously on alternate rounds, and in parallel on the final round (with interesting comments and results). In Whittaker, the entries are given points/values for nine defined parameters, e.g., Opening, Closing, Voice, Technicalities etc. All literary adjudication must be subjective, but I have found that the Whittaker values, arbitrary as they may seem, have given me clear indication of areas of weakness in my writing. When two judges independently highlight the same areas again and again, a sensible aspiring writer will take notice.
Success in competitions in general can bring your writing to the notice of a wider audience, and success does, it seems, breed success, if my mate Jonathan Pinnock's progress is any guide.
Distraction? Nope. Focus? Yup.
In short: it works for me, Frank.
Oscar
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Manic Creativity?
Ah! That explains a lot. Research confirms connection between creativity and certain mental conditions, according to the BBC
Seriously though, it figures. I met this guy once, a guest at a writers' group – nice guy. He was a bit socially awkward, but we got on really well. After a while, he told me he was a diagnosed schizophrenic but he was okay because the drugs were working. I was cool with that, but it did worry me a bit when I realised that in many ways I had more in common with the guy than I have with a lot of 'normal' people I know. And he clearly identified with, and felt comfortable in the presence of, creative people.
Made me think a bit about what being 'normal' means, if anything.
And then there was that TV programme a while back fronted by Stephen Fry; Tony Slattery was featured in it. I can't remember what it was called. It was about manic depression… no, that's not what they call it nowadays, is it? Bipolar disorder, that's it. Often goes hand in hand with depression, and with creativity apparently. The programme emphasized observed parallels between bipolar disorder and creativity. At one point, Stephen asked Tony (indicating a hypothetical 'button') if by pressing the button he could be free of the 'disorder', would he push it. Without hesitation, Tony said he would not. Clearly the creative benefit / high outweighed the negative / low.
So, summing up: to be creative you've got to be slightly potty, eh?
Guess I really am a little bit creative after all?
Look. Go steady with the tea and biscuits, okay? No dossing behind the links section... And do turn out the lights when you leave. Thanks.
Seriously though, it figures. I met this guy once, a guest at a writers' group – nice guy. He was a bit socially awkward, but we got on really well. After a while, he told me he was a diagnosed schizophrenic but he was okay because the drugs were working. I was cool with that, but it did worry me a bit when I realised that in many ways I had more in common with the guy than I have with a lot of 'normal' people I know. And he clearly identified with, and felt comfortable in the presence of, creative people.
Made me think a bit about what being 'normal' means, if anything.
And then there was that TV programme a while back fronted by Stephen Fry; Tony Slattery was featured in it. I can't remember what it was called. It was about manic depression… no, that's not what they call it nowadays, is it? Bipolar disorder, that's it. Often goes hand in hand with depression, and with creativity apparently. The programme emphasized observed parallels between bipolar disorder and creativity. At one point, Stephen asked Tony (indicating a hypothetical 'button') if by pressing the button he could be free of the 'disorder', would he push it. Without hesitation, Tony said he would not. Clearly the creative benefit / high outweighed the negative / low.
So, summing up: to be creative you've got to be slightly potty, eh?
Guess I really am a little bit creative after all?
Look. Go steady with the tea and biscuits, okay? No dossing behind the links section... And do turn out the lights when you leave. Thanks.
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