Floating an Idea or two, or fifty-six

When is a good time to launch a book? 

Verulam Writers' Circle's anthology, The Archangel and the White Hart, has been available on Lulu since February and on Amazon since April,  but VWC wisely decided to save their official launch party until the long warm evenings of Summer.

So, if you can make it to Waterstone's in St Albans at around 7:00pm on Thursday, 7th July there'll be a complimentary glass of wine with your name on it and your own copy of The Archangel and the White Hart, for a very small outlay, that we believe you'll enjoy and value. Many VWC authors will be there to give readings, to chat, and to sign your personal copy.

The Archangel and the White Hart's authors include Toby Frost, author of the Space Captain Smith books and Jonathan Pinnock, winner of the Scott Prize 2011, editor of the Archangel and the White Hart and author of this year's million-seller-to-come Mrs Darcy Verses the Aliens.

I do hope you can be with us to celebrate on Thursday 7th July in St Albans where good things happen… unless, of course, your name happens to be Alban.

Surviving Michael Moorcock

The Panel (l-r): Norman Spinrad, John Clute, Roz Kaveney (chair), Michael Moorcock and Brian Aldiss

(Image © Jonathan Pinnock)

I've decided that world-renowned SF author Michael Moorcock is either my guardian angel or a serious threat to my existence. I’m convinced because of something that occurred last night, just like all those other times more than fifty years ago when we first met.

To be clear, I'm talking space-time problems here. Weird life-threatening things that keep happening to me soon after I’ve entered space adjacent to Mike Moorcock at the same time.

Don’t get me wrong, Mike is a nice guy – indeed, he's one of the very best – but, for me, he’s also dangerous to know.

It was in the early 1950s in Thornton Heath, South London, that I first met Mike. In truth I don’t remember much from that time other than his name. He is two years older than me, which is nothing at our present ages, but represented a vast difference when we were kids. But we did share common ground in a wild garden – with a lot of other wild kids – near where we lived. And we had at least two mutual friends.

It was in that same wild garden that someone (I forget who) shot me in the mouth… with my own airgun. In my own garden, next door but one, a guy called Billy Lowe split my head open with a Dutch hoe. In the garden next to that a kid called Jimmy Cooney threw an African spear at my chest. You’ve spotted a trend here haven’t you? I was a popular child – as a target. I’m not blaming Mike for these events in any way, although undeniably they did occur in our shared space-time. In fact this is where the guardian angel possibility comes in.

Were it not for some equally bizarre counter-circumstances, any one of the above events could have killed me. The gun with which I was shot was my Diana pistol, a notoriously inaccurate gun with a very weak mechanism. The pellet passed between my lips and stopped against my teeth. Had it been my powerful Webley pistol… When Jimmy threw that leaf-bladed spear he was not kidding. He had a wicked temper. But by chance I happened to be holding a piece of wood a couple of feet long, about 2” thick and circular in section. In blind panic I closed my eyes and held the wood in front of me. The spear hit the wood dead centre and penetrated. I swear had it been a millimetre to either side of centre, because of the curvature, it must have hit me in the chest. The Dutch hoe? It was plain lucky that the blade stopped against my skull without penetrating the bone. I’d bent into Billy’s swing – my own fault. I still bear the scar of that one.

However, more than half a century has passed since our paths last crossed during which time I’ve lived a safe and cosseted life as a sparky, working on high voltages, in dangerous environments and at scary heights. I’ve even parachuted, all with hardly any a threat to my continued existence. Until last night.

Last night I attended a talk by Brian Aldiss, John Clute, Michael Moorcock and Norman Spinrad at the British Library, accompanied by my old mate Jonathan Pinnock. I was driving home after dropping Jon off at St Albans when a front tyre blew out. Not simply a puncture, but an instantaneous deflation. The tyre proved to have a hole the size of a 50p coin in the sidewall. Thanks, Mike.





Seriously folks, the blowout was entirely down to my own stupidity. Had I not been reaching into the foot-well to retrieve a fallen mascot the incident would not have happened. I clipped a kerb. But here I am: alive, well and writing it up. So, thanks again, Mike.

Despite that slight accident it was a terrific evening. The only other downside being that I would have liked to spend more time blathering with Mike about the past – so much catching up to do. But that would have been unfair on the scores of his fans queuing for book signings.

Maybe one day, Mike, we’ll meet again and chew the fat for longer? On second thoughts, perhaps an exchange of emails would be safer.

Srebrenica Beyond Tears - A Story

Some time ago, I wrote this flash fiction piece for a competition. A picture prompt of a female face lined with suffering initiated the idea. The picture triggered in my mind - a misinterpretation of the image on my behalf as it turned out - events I could clearly remember reported in the world's press. I read the piece at Verulam Writers' Circle and received their excellent critique, as ever. It clearly required attention and other things took precedence, so on the back burner it went. I do recall thinking at the time that some of VWC's younger members may not have known much if anything about the events I was trying to capture.

In the past week the wheels of history have turned again and one of the 'swaggering beasts' is caged at last.

With thanks to my friends in VWC, in hope that I have done justice to their critical assistance, here is the latest version:

Srebrenica Beyond Tears

When clouds blush the shelling will stop, Anna knows this. Dusk in the valley spoils the gunners' aim. Yet wild beasts still swagger the commanding hills with murder in their hearts, some toting rifles with starlight scopes.

Again the market place contains fresh meat, stuff that once was fathers, husbands and sons. Nothing moves. No sane being would retrieve the dead 'til dark. A loud report says desperation willed one try.

Dry-eyed, alone in a shelter built of faded dreams, Anna surveys her sometime garden in debris that once was home.

Hers is the timeless face of war, a young face aged by fear and a world's indifference to a clash of ideology insignificant in the arc of time.

Of cherished evening primroses a single stem survives. Daylight fades. Her frail blooms open one by one, the colour of sunlight, the hue of hope.

Anna ventures out to wait once more for Fate's next tumble of the dice.
 

© Oscar Windsor-Smith 2011

Versatile Blogger or Blog Bogof?

Be warned: In the unlikely event that you were to hit me with a chain letter or a pyramid sales pitch I'd tell you where to stick it without fear or favour. I have no hesitation in 'breaking the chain'. Your reaction on receiving such a missive – being a rational and discerning person (You must be because you're reading this blog) – would no doubt be similar.

Why then am I chuffed at having been presented, by Trish Nicholson, a New Zealander writer friend, with a Versatile Blogger Award, when part of the obligation that goes with that award is to nominate several other bloggers?

I'm no mathematician, but I do remember the old story of the blacksmith and the horseshoe nails which illustrates the power of compounding. So presumably my blog can't be that good or statistically I should have received dozens of VBAs by now, and so should you and every other half-competent blogger if each recipient had in fact nominated several others.

Clearly the Versatile Blogger Award is a form of chain. That said, receiving mine did give me genuine pleasure; it came from a friend and was intended I'm sure as a compliment. Because of that I have no problem with passing on the award to a few others out of many whose blogs I genuinely value. I simply hope that my nominees will accept their Versatile Blogger Awards in that same spirit.

Meanwhile, bloggers everywhere, I suggest you prepare a suitably emotional acceptance speech because - statistically speaking - you should receive your VBA any day now.

The Versatile Blogger rules, with which I trust the below named recipients will also comply, appear to be * that I should state seven things about myself that might not be generally known. So here goes:

    •    My maternal grandparents were railway crossing keepers on an electric railway – their cottage had no electricity, running water or main drainage.
    •    I support the Royal National Lifeboat Institution whenever I can – my father, then a trawler fisherman, was lost at sea.
    •    I went to the same school as Christopher Craig and Derek Bentley (Google their names or the phrase: 'Let him have it'). That was no easy place or time for a soft Cheshire lad.
    •    I almost blew up my two sons and myself with a German grenade, when metal detecting on a French beach (I was clearly an unfit parent).
    •    Two versions of my first completed novel, Tamar, had readings at HarperCollins – their final rejection letter was dated September 11th 2001.
    •    I almost buried my two sons and myself whilst  dump digging, collecting antique bottles (Clearly I was an exceedingly unfit parent - but boy did we have fun).
    •    I once held Albert Einstein's brain in my hand (well, actually it was a soft plastic cast taken direct from the real tissue) – a very eerie experience.

Here then are some of the blogs that I find particularly informative and entertaining.

http://morenewsfromvg.blogspot.com/
http://helpineedapublisher.blogspot.com/
http://www.jonathanpinnock.com/
http://meandmybigmouth.typepad.com/scottpack/
http://titaniawrites.blogspot.com/
http://nikperring.blogspot.com/
http://www.claire-king.com/

Finally, I pass the metaphorical baton to my own 'awardees' above and reiterate my sincere thanks to Trisha Nicholson for including my blog in her list of winners.

* The origins of the VBA seem already to be lost in the mists of urban myth and misinformation. Who started it and when? If you believe you know the answer, please let me know.

Flash Fiction Meets Art: Fantasy and SF in "The Sixty"

Artist Andy Bigwood's forthcoming book The Sixty (to be launched with Ian Whates' anthology Further Conflicts at 5pm on 22nd April at EasterCON, Hilton Metropol Hotel, NEC, Birmingham UK) is a collection of stunning fantasy and science fiction art juxtaposed with flash fiction stories inspired by the images.

Andy won the coveted British Science Fiction Association Award for Best Artwork of 2007 and 2008. He is short listed for the same award for 2010 (winners to be announced at EasterCON).

Samples of Andy's work may be found at deviantart.com.
 
Story contributors to this collection include Geoff Nelder and my Verulam Writers' Circle friends Jonathan Pinnock and Dave Weaver. I feel honoured to have been invited to contribute and to find my own story Anomaly included with the work of such talented company.

Something Different for Mothering Sunday

Does your old mum have a strong constitution and a healthy sense of humour? If not, please don't read on.

Still here? Then I guess you want something completely different for Mothering Sunday, yes? It helps if Mum resides in or near St Albans, UK, but with today's technology that's not essential.  You could move her there, of course, if you're very quick. It is a lovely, historic, city - but I digress.

 Okay. The next instructions come in two flavours:

1) If she lives in/near St Albans: Wake Mum up at 10:00am tomorrow with the wireless (if she doesn't know what that is, she's not mature enough for the next bit) tuned in to Radio Verulam on 96.6 FM.
2) If she lives anywhere else in the world: Wake Mum up at 10:00am (BST) - no, honestly, she'll love you for this - with her laptop logged-on to Radio Verulam and hit the "Listen Live" button.

If you've followed the above instructions correctly you'll soon hear the honeyed tones of the lovely Elspeth Jackman introducing her Sunday morning music and interview show called Tracks of Your Life. This week there'll be a eclectic mix of sixteen unlikely music tracks interspersed with rambling, bumbling, cockups and very occasional attempts at humour by some weirdo called Oscar Windsor-Smith.

Do be prepared for some surprises. In one or two households - mainly around the UK - Mum will pull a funny face and perhaps employ an unaccustomed expletive or two. At this point no doubt you'll laugh at her antics, particularly when she says: "I don't know what you're laughing at, that idiot's your dad."

You have been warned.

Whatever you do, have a great day. And be kind to Mum.

World Book Night: An Epilogue

World Book Night has taken me longer to write up than any event I can recall. Most of my review pieces take shape fast, organically, from clear impressions. But for some inexplicable reason I’ve found it hard to get a handle on WBN. What was that all about?

After several weeks of fruitless pondering I was approaching cerebral meltdown. In a fit of what I hope was inspiration, I decided to explain WBN to an imaginary friend – one who’d been incommunicado in solitary for a year – in order to clear my head. The conversation went something like this:

OWS: Yes, they’re calling it World Book Night. It’s new this year.
IF: That’ll be the night of World Book Day, then?
OWS: No. It’s three days later.
IF: World Book Day encourages children to read. I guess World Book Night is aimed at the world’s non-reading adults?
OWS: No. UK only.
IF: But directed at non-readers?
OWS: Not exactly. They’re attempting to give away a million books.
IF: Attempting?
OWS: That’s what they say: The biggest book giveaway ever attempted.
IF: Sounds very charitable.
OWS: Yes. And on the night before WBN there’s a grand bash for the book givers with famous writers and other celebs in Trafalgar Square. Oh, and there’ll be limited edition T-shirts, too.
IF: Sounds a lot like Band Aid?
OWS: Yes. Only this event is free and…
IF: There are no bands?
OWS: Yeah.
IF: And there’s no aid?
OWS: …I suppose… But think of all those free books. They’ll be passed from reader to reader for years. There’s no knowing how many people they’ll reach.
IF: That could fulfil the ‘World’ bit, then?
OWS: Indeed. And the 25 chosen titles will be specially printed for WBN.
IF: Specially printed?
OWS: Uh, huh.
IF: Doesn’t that make them limited edition – you know – collectors’ items?
OWS: …I guess.
IF: Won’t there be temptation to hang on to the books, maybe to collect all 25 titles?
OWS: Now you’re just being cynical.
IF: How many givers did you say?
OWS: 20,000
IF: That’s an awful lot of people in Trafalgar Square to collect their reward.
OWS: No worries. It’s limited to 2,500 pairs of tickets: first come first served.
IF: Won’t that – sort of – limit the take-up to the South East?
OWS: Possibly. But don’t forget the Antony Gormley designed T-shirts.
IF: Of course – there’ll be 20,000 T-shirts.
OWS: No. 1,000: first come first served.
IF: So… first to arrive on WBN will get T-shirts?
OWS: Ah… No.
IF: First to arrive at Trafalgar Square will get T-shirts?
OWS: Not quite.
IF: Who does get T-shirts then?
OWS: First to arrive at Waterstones in Piccadilly, the day before Trafalgar Square.
IF: Ah… That’s pretty much the book givers who work in or around London, eh?
OWS: Mmmm…
IF: And they’re planning to do all this again next year?
OWS: So it seems.

I based that fantasy exchange on a view from before the event of course.  Had I told my imaginary friend that we’d been requested to enter manually in each book a 10-digit code – received only a day before Trafalgar Square – he might well have pleaded to be locked up again. Especially given that anyone receiving a manually coded WBN book will be unlikely to have the slightest idea what the code means or what to do with it (For the record: it’s intended to make the book traceable on a website called BookCrossing.com).

I should explain that, at the time of my becoming involved with WBN, I had no idea there were to be perks for the givers. I submitted my application in response to a TV advert in 2010 as one of the ‘givers’ to distribute a million books because it seemed like a good idea to encourage others to read. In short, I believed I was offering to take part in an essentially charitable undertaking.

In fairness I must add that from a viewpoint of my personal satisfaction World Book Night was a success. The Trafalgar Square event was a blast. Terrific atmosphere. Cool in every sense. And my own book-giving event cemented friendships within Verulam Writers Circle, with Radio Verulam presenter Danny Smith and with Sean, the helpful manager at Waterstones, St Albans. Yes, WBN and its precursor event proved to be fun and memorable. But what was WBN really all about?

Friends from Verulam Writers' Circle with Radio Verulam's Danny Smith at Waterstones, St Albans on WBN

Perhaps a writer with excessive imagination might liken World Book Night to the irrational convulsions of a doomed giant in denial. But I couldn't possibly comment. Anyway, worry not. If a leviathan is expiring it is the legacy world of paper publication: AKA the treebook trade. Publishing – you'll be relieved to hear – is alive and well. At least Ebooks and their authors are thriving, or so it seems.  < NB This link connects to a long piece. But it's one not to miss if you need to know the latest buzz about publishing. [CONTENT WARNING: Do, please, ignore the "monkey" link if you’re easily offended]

Penultimately, a prediction: Electronic delivery – on one platform or another – will dominate book publishing within two years, supplying our reading needs without ever completely replacing codex (paper) books. The codex book though will fast become a luxury item, a lifestyle statement saying: 'This is who I am'. When this metamorphosis is complete only the best-loved and most prestigious works will transfer to paper. Then more than ever you’ll judge a person’s credibility by checking out the spines of their Kafka and their Joyce.

So prepare for some shake-ups in the immediate future of publishing. It will still be book publishing but certainly not as we know it.  Maybe – in the fullness of time – this will prove to be what World Book Night was really all about?