Tilly

Suddenly. 9 November 2009. May she rest always in sunshine.

Music

I have probably mentioned this before, but music is very important to me. I listen to it a lot, especially when I'm first drafting. Finding the right stuff to key a mood or emotional atmosphere is very important. It's one reason I have a fondness for instrumental pieces. Lyrics can be distracting, although with songs I know well I can put them in the background, even sing along without it interrupting the flow of my own work (figure that one out for the man who can lose a thread if the door moves or the cat walks in).

It doesn't have to be orchestral, although I do enjoy a full-out symphonic work - Mahler, Beethoven, Sibelius, Rachmaninov... Film music is also good as it is written specifically to accompany pictures and evoke emotional responses. Again, it doesn't matter if I know the film. It can even help, providing a visual texture into which I can tap (Although whether this ever makes it into my writing is another matter).

I also enjoy contemporary instrumental work - Ozric Tentacles, Shpongle, Tangerine Dream, that sort of thing. But other artists and bands can hit the spot. Some (like Rammstein) provide energy and a post-apocalyptic industrial background that informs some of my work (Engel is a perfect example), others are very good at unlocking surreal trains of thought (or derailing ones going in the wrong direction - it's a harsh battlefield in my head, sometimes).

On the whole, music also keeps me emotionally balanced. I can indulge feelings by proxy, saving me those occasional tumbles off the edge into darkness. It doesn't always work, but I know I'm on the mend when I can put the headphones on, turn the volume up, and make my fingers sore typing in rhythm to the music. Like now.

All is not right with the world. But some things are better than they were and where I was recently clinging onto the precipice, I'm now enjoying the view and beginning to write some of it down. Funny things heads.

My love of music was inherited from my mother. It flowered in the late '60s (and has been stuck there ever since, some would say). I was a serial concert goer, travelling all over (and much further than my parents ever knew - but if you wanted great gigs, sometimes you had to get up to London). I cannot remember now how often I saw some bands. Pink Floyd, Nice, Incredible String Band, Free, the Bonzos, Hawkwind, Edgar Broughton, Strawbs, Fairport Convention, Hawkwind, Leonard Cohen, Traffic, High Tide, Third Ear Band, John Mayall and various incarnations of the Bluesbreakers, Colosseum (always better live than on their studio albums, I thought), Family, Van Der Graaf Generator, Roy Harper, Hawkind, some more Roy Harper, Moody Blues, Led Zeppelin, King Crimson, Jethro Tull, Hawkwind (did I mention them?). All of that has provided a soundtrack to both my outer and inner life . I suspect a lot of it (and I know for sure some of it) has found its way into my writing.

Sometimes when I'm reading, I hear music. No. Don't ring for those men in white coats (not just yet). It's always a tune I know, and I often wonder if that or something similar was playing when that sentence or paragraph was drafted.

I know some people find it impossible to work with music playing. I cannot do major editing. That requires the kind of silence you get at two in the morning when the rest of the world is asleep. But for the rest of it, I am grateful such a magic exists.

Depression

Writing and depression. Not easy bedfellows, even though artistic endeavour does seem to have some connection with extreme states of mind.

Depression is a dark cloud muddying the waters, all the filth that you hoped was lying undisturbed on the bottom, compacting into immovable layers, gets swirled up by some passing thought or incident. There is no real way of knowing what is going to do it. It’s not always the large things that disturb the detritus. Small things flitting past, inconsequential things that flip their tail and loosen just enough to set of a landslide that gathers speed down some subterranean slope and before you know it vast clouds are swirling up to choke you and the beautiful waters of your existence.

Yet in all that garbage, all that filth, all that choking misery, are the diatomic particles that provide food for the ever hungry imagination. I was swept away recently by just such an upsurge. I live in a fragile world. Poor physical health means I cannot do many of the things I would love to do; cannot be many of the things I would love to be. Like financially independent.

And trying to make something of an artistic talent (well, I think it is a talent) means you are climbing out on a thin branch over a long drop. Magnificent view. Great potential for a world of hurt. Artists are dependent on others. Not for their talent, but if they want to put food on the table, a roof over their heads, and contribute to a decent standard of living for their loved ones, other people have to like and buy their work.

That involves other people. Most of whom don’t give a shit about you, your talent, or your desire to live an unassuming life somewhere warm, dry, and with food in the pantry. These days the situation is more difficult. Not only is publishing largely in the hands of bean counters, but there is an increasing number of people who have grown up thinking books, music, movies, TV, and the like should be free; that the people who create their entertainment shouldn’t actually get paid for the hard work they put in.

At the same time, artists who try to go it alone are looked down on. If you self-publish, it is considered a ‘bad move’. Can’t think why. It’s the ultimate test. Writers are increasingly expected to do all the work. Not just write to the best of their ability, but spend time that could be spent writing another book on marketing, publicity, writing blurbs and press pieces, organising events. All of that out of their ten per cent (sorry, nine per cent, because if they have an agent, they will be taking their cut).

Can you blame a writer for getting tired of this and deciding they will do the lot and take all the proceeds? Easier, of course, if they are already well known and have a fan base. But they sink or swim on their own efforts and do not have to rely on others, especially all those others who don’t give a shit.

Now, I am well aware that there are plenty who do care, who work hard to get good books into the book shops and maximise sales. I’m not sure they’re on the winning side at the moment.

Like banks, publishers have approached the recent financial crisis with that always useful approach of: more of the same! Which is obtuse. I talk to people about books and like me they are hungry for new, good writing. It doesn’t have to be heavy, literary stuff. But all we seem to get from the world of entertainment at the moment is an incestuous mix of celebrity produced/endorsed ‘reality’ (like any of them know what the real world is like). There are good books, films, plays, works of art, and so on. But do we really have to pay the price we are paying to get them? Do we really have to sift through all that garbage to find something nourishing? Maybe we do.

So what has this to do with depression? No idea. I’m trying to write myself out of one at the moment. It isn’t helped by seeing trite garbage paraded and lauded as the next best thing since the last best thing; by successful people forever telling me I can live my dream (it’s only materially successful people who say that, isn’t it); by having to rely on others who really don’t care (because many of them are fighting the same battles as you – whatever happened to good old socialism? how did we let those few greedy bastards get away with it?).

Often, the only way I can do it is by venting the same old arguments and asking the same old questions. Maybe one day I’ll find some answers. If I do, I will share them. I could keep them to myself and get rich on the back of them. But I’m not like that. I’d rather spread the happiness around a bit. Because that’s what I really want. The security that brings happiness. Nothing more. Nothing less. Somewhere warm and dry. Food on the table. Loved ones safe and protected.

OK. That was one step up toward the light. Thank you for indulging me.

Reading habits

Well, that’s another short ‘review’ over on grumbooks. And while I was writing it, it struck me that my reading habits go through cycles. Sometimes, as now, I have several books on the go. I read a couple of chapters of one, move on to another, read a bit of that, then pick up yet another book. They are invariably variable. If I have three or more on the go, one will be non-fiction, one a children’s book, and the other something for adults.

I haven’t been reading a great deal of non-fiction recently, and what I have been reading has fallen into the vague category of research. I’m dipping into several tomes of late Anglo-Saxon history at present to refresh my memory (with the possibility of using this as a historical setting for some stories). Prior to that, I had read a lot about the home front during the Second World War. And now I am beginning to bone up on the period between 1955 and 1975.

Fiction… well, most of what I am reading is re-reading, and has been for three or four years now. I read new stuff, but that is mostly from authors I already know. I also try new work, but I have to say I find the vast majority of it that is classed as ‘literary’ to be dull, self-absorbed, and occasionally pompous. Anything exciting, anything that has something insightful to say about life, anything that plays with language, tends to be genre based or arrives in translation.

Perhaps it comes from having read so much, but I often pick up the latest sensation and think, ‘Oh yeah, so and so did that in the ‘50s, or someone else did something similar in the 60s – and they were so much better.’ In large part they were better because they were shorter, punchier, and not afraid to experiment. These days, books feel bloated. And safe. But maybe it’s just me. Perhaps I read too much (gives that two seconds thought and decides the answer is ‘no’).

Other times I can only read one book at a time. Which suggests there may be a larger cycle to my reading and that when I have had my fill of re-reading I will go in search of new stuff (or maybe there will be new stuff out there to suit my taste). I think my real problem is I like books that do something new. Genre, style, subject… But once they establish a trend, the books that follow rarely have the energy and sense of excitement of the ones that take the first steps (even if they are flawed).

That is why it amuses (and saddens) me to see something like ‘slipstream’ cited as a genre. Perhaps it is now. But the whole point of ‘slipstream’ was that it applied to books that had no genre. Now it is defined and people set out to write slipstream books. And they fail. Pretty much like any arts movement that starts with or develops a manifesto. The moment they do that, they kill themselves.

Art, writing, music, theatre – these are dynamic. OK, a finished product is a finished product, but even a piece of writing can, if it hits the spot, continue to evolve in terms of its relevance and interpretation. But that sort of writing (or other art form) does not come from a formula. It may use or subvert a formula, but what gives it a living core is its transcendence of what has gone before.

I’m not saying that books that stick to a formula cannot be and are not well written. Some are. Some are excellent, make you weep that someone is so talented. These are the swans. Their work glides sedately and gracefully along because of all the hard work they have put into it. I admire that. Which is why I admire the risk takers even more. Because they do all that hard work on something that has no easily reached audience because it is new.

Anyway, I’m rambling. Procrastinating as well, as I should be working on something else.

A story.

All the bits are there, but I can’t see, yet, how they fit.

Toys

Goodness. A new keyboard (one of those compact ones that does away with all those numbers on the right hand side you never use) and a new monitor stand that puts the monitor at a comfortable correct level. The trouble is, I have become so used to leaning my head forward to look down toward the monitor, I'm getting a neck ache by sitting in the correct position. Plus, it's further from the keyboard to the screen, so my neck is also getting tired with all the swivelling. Perhaps I will finally dig out that touch-typing course I have on disc somewhere. Then I'll be able to type like Fran Katzenjammer.

Would you look...

...at the state of this place. You leave it alone for a few weeks and what happens? Dust, damp, colonization, the growth of civilizations, empires, conflict, war, mutually assured destruction. Carbon dust glows in the dark. A breeze blows some of it into the air revealing the remains of a city. The particles spark in the dim light like stars, swirling, slowly coalescing. I decide to withdraw as I see the dust beginning to collapse into its own gravitational well. It could go either way. New star. Black hole. Whatever the outcome, I'd rather watch from a safer distan

Literary procrastination

As I have nothing interesting, provocative, saucy, or useful to say just now (brain wiped out by all the writing I’ve been doing), I thought you might enjoy the following that myself and some snuggly friends composed in a fit of literary procrastination a little while ago.

The premis is simple. Look at book titles. Remove a single letter to change the title and add a pithy resumé of the new book.

For example, The War of the Worlds might become The War of the Words – Martians land in Surrey and become involved in an argument.

Some titles are repeated but have different resumés. And be warned there are a couple of rude words! Read, enjoy, and have a go yourself.

The Ill On The Floss - exposé of addiction in the dental industry.
Lucky 'im – envy and avarice in the Cockney underworld.
Harry Otter and the Philosopher’s Stone – river mammal thinks about a pebble it found.
Madame Ovary – woman donates eggs to prostitute.
Little Omen – even smaller child is a bad influence.
Harry Otter and the Philosopher's Stone – Son-of-Tarka finds treasure in a river.
And Then There Were One – a guide to common mistakes in the English language.
The Rooked House – wicked estate agent deceives MPs.
Death on the Ile – murder in Paris.
The Cunt of Monte Cristo – nasty man gets locked in dungeon.
Avid Copperfield – novel about a very keen young man.
My Air Lady – Concorde stewardess plays hard to get.
One with the Wind – embarrassing guest at a house party.
10 Dalmatians – carnage in a dogs' home.
Lien Resurrection – ancient legal claim starts inter-galactic war.
EMA – busybody girl gets education grant.
The Coning of Joanna May – sextuplets forced to dress up as motorway bollards.
Little Omen – four sisters have a feeling something unpleasant is about to happen.
Voices in the Ark – Noah develops paranoid schizophrenia.
Ride and Prejudice – steamy love story.
Leak House – study of the Welsh assembly.
Liver Twist – cooking for the impecunious.
Ale of Two Cities – German and Suffolk towns fight over whose bitter is best.
The Lighthose Keeper – man hoards beige 10 denier stockings.
The Cricket on the Earth – David Attenborough's latest.
The Lord of the Rigs – British Peer fights takeover bid for North Sea gas.
A Roo with a View – baby kangaroo peeps out of pouch.
The Man in the Ion Mask – chemistry professor robs bank.
Mutiny on the Bunty – girls’ magazine staff go on strike in the 60’s.
Huckleberry Inn – blue hound takes up tenancy of hostel.
Tits Groan – Mervyn Peake’s epic tale of one man's quest to design a better bra.
A Stud in Scarlet – Sherlock Holmes investigates the seedy underworld of male escorts.
The Tin Man – Dashiell Hammett’s version of The Wizard of Oz.
The Cow – Ted Hughes early career takes a different direction.
The Rapes of Wrath – memoirs of a Viking plunderer.
Bleak Ouse – the story of a Fenland river.
Beak House – a study of parrot keeping in the UK.
He Hobbit – long-awaited follow up to 'Me Tarzan' and 'You Jane'.
Lice in Wonderland – a tale of a dream quest for personal hygiene.
Lack Beauty – show them brains are longer-lasting.
Travels Round my Ant – Graham Green's very short travelogue.
The Return of the Naive – Hardy's epic tale of the foolish going home.
Far From the Madding Crow – Hardy's treatise on how to avoid crazed corvids.
Brighton Roc – mythical bird is discovered in seaside town.
The Spy Who Came in from the Cod – a fishy tale.
Anne of Green Gales – strange weather afflicts a young woman.
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Ma – woman struggles with artistic ambition whilst raising children.
The Way of the Wold – William Congreve's script for Emmerdale.
The Wastelad – T S Eliot’s poem about an apprentice dustman.
Twelfth Nigh – the tale of a weary golfer who still has a lot of holes to play.
The Holy Bile – a study of religion and the gall bladder.
Two Years Before the Mat – R H Dana's tale of the everday life of a carpet salesman.
Mad Marian – T L Peacock's tale of a dotty woman living beneath the greenwood tree.
King Ear – a laboratory mouse takes control of the animals.
Ales from Shakespeare – The Lambs list the drinks mentioned in the Bard's works.
A Tram Abroad – an attempt by Twain to rival the success of the Rev Awdry.
The Wave – Virginia Woolf's little known attempt at a disaster novel.
An Veronica – in which Wells proves he never got the hang of indefinite articles.
A Christmas Carl – Dicken's tale of a medieval peasant.
Pint Counter Pint – Huxley's experiences of working behind a bar.
Oral Island – adventures of a group of shipwrecked dentists.
A Par of Blue Eyes – Hardy recounts a round of golf with Sinatra.
Onan the Barbarian – (enough said).
E – Zamyatin's dystopic tale of Yorkshire folk.
Rendezvous with Ram – A C Clarke's sequel to Do Androids Dream of Electric Shep (Dick's tale of a robot border collie)
Anima Farm – revolution on a Jungian health farm.
Swallow Ale – Ransome's children go off the rails and start boozing.
Lice through the Looking Glass – disaster novel about a particularly virulent strain of glass-eating bugs.
Liver Twist – Dickens writes a Hannibal Lecter story.
Wallows and Amazons – a hippopotamus puchases books online.
Wild Wans – pale people run amok.
I, Root - an android researches his family tree.
OU of Africa – the Open University takes over tertiary education in Africa.
Jams and the Giant Peach – Delia launches new preserve cookbook.
Charlie 'ad the Chocolate Factory – East End drug dealer holds Belgium to ransom.
Trough The Looking Glass - a pig-breeder's guide to using mirrors to fool stock into eating less.
'Ot Of Africa – Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells goes on Safari.
Middle Arch – tales of the dodgy car dealer.
Birdson – novices guide to budgie breeding.
Gone with the Win – crime mystery about lottery syndicate leader's sudden disappearance.
The Testament of Gideon Mac – fantasy tale of a raincoat's romance with a feather boa.
The Canterbury Ales – local pub guide.
The Coming Of The Ing – a Dutch bank's success story.
Middle Marc – a study of birth order among boys.
Iddlemarch – Caesar's oracle's unfortunate speech impediment.
2001: A Pace Odyssey – how I completed the London Marathon eight years ago.
The Tree Musketeers – Forestry Commission's guide to firearms training.
Goodbye Mr. Hips – a man's guide to slimming.
Lady Chatterley's Over – women cricketers of the twentieth century.
Tar Wars – the MacAdam Clan's battle to name a road surface.
Midsummer Night's Dram – holiday guide for whisky enthusiasts.
Chronicles of the Canonate – Scott's stories of a churchman's epicurean adventures.
Gulliver's Ravels – how a traveller got in a tangle.
A Severe Head – failing school gets new management.
The Pizza Tales – Melville's collection on Italian cuisine.
Plan Tales from the Hills - Kipling's account of his attempt to get permission to build a conservatory.
Around the World in Eight Days – an abridged version.
The Ploughman's Ale – Chaucer's drinking song.
The School for Sandal – Sheridan's popular shoe shop comedy.
Regauntlet – epic search for a new glove.
Silas Maner – adventures of a hairdresser.
The Gapes of Wrath – speechless with anger.
The Maser of Ballantrae – mad scientist builds super weapon in small Scottish village.
Vanity Fir – Scot's pine thinks a lot of itself.
What Maisie New – Maisie has a makeover.
The E-public – Plato for the 21st century.
Language, Ruth and Logic – an account of marital arguments.
Cold Comfort Arm – the case against sleeveless dresses.
Who's Afraid of Virginia Wool – why we should import American knitting.
Pus in Boots – a guide to foot infections.
The Hack – journalist encounters God in a log cabin.
War and Pace – workout video for the armed forces.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Seep – post apocalyptic horror story where robots battle to save their energy supply.
Gulliver's Ravels – a collection of knitting patterns gathered on his journies.
Heat of Darkness – A level physics manual.
Life of i – my soon to be finished autobiography.
Uncle Tom's Cain - past life regressions.
Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Ire – Harry, in his cups, Gets Very Angry!
Hard Ties – neckwear for real men.
The Prince And The Paper - HRH William caught reading Daily Express.
The Rave - partying with Eddie Poe.
The Ouchstone – how to sue when a brick lands on your head.
Whit Fang – Bank Holiday fun for vampires.
Robin Hod – brickie becomes an outlaw.
His Last Ow – detective stubs toe, tumbles over waterfall.
The Terminal Bach – Ballard’s tale of the last days of the great composer.
Rash – a cautionary tale of what to expect if you insist on that sort of behaviour in a car.
Unlimited Dram Company – distillery discovers it has a magic vat.
Super-Canes – what Max Mosely got up to in the south of France (allegedly)
Fahrenheit 45 – nice day for a bonfire (now, what can we burn?)
A Clockwork Range – wind-up cowboys.
The Reel – Camus’ treatise on fishing.
Shadow Dane – Angela Carter’s Scandinavian spy story.
The Magi Toyshop – they spent a long time in there before going next door and blowing it all on gold, frankincence and myrrh.
Artemis Owl – nocturnal bird takes to crime.
Omo – Michael Ende’s fantasy about washing powder.
Win in the Willows – Ratty enters the woodland olympics.
Our Ma in Havana – Mum’s trip to Cuba.
Rave New World – the US party scene.
The Tailor of Panam – get your trousers mended in-flight.
Absolute Fiends – le Carré’s horror story.
The Ox of Delights – bovine dispenses happiness.
The Sow Spider – genetic experiment goes horribly wrong.
Bedknob and Broomsick – witch discovers she has no stomach for flying.
Woman on the Edge of Tim – woman tries to attract man’s attention.
The Rouble with Harry – Russian financier is found dead, comic mayhem ensues.
Three Men In A Boa – fashion for the gay ménage a trois.
Hat Katy Did – young woman takes up millinery.
Hat Katy Did Next - young woman milliner joins forces with fashion chain.
Hat Katy Did At School - young woman opens Youth Training Scheme in millinery.
Stranger In A Range Land – a travellers' guide to Texas.
Dun – long, boring tale about the colour of desert sand.
Due – long, boring tale about the cost of desert sand.
Une – long, boring French tale about desert planet.
The Greatest Story Eve Told – first woman reveals all.
Rime and Punishment – ice-cold retribution.
The Boo of Common Prayer – supplications from the disaffected.
Close Encounters of the Third Kin - distant relatives in near miss.
Of Mice and Me – true confessions of a rodent fetishist.

And, yes, I'm aware there are a few film titles in there. They've all been novelised (if that counts), but who cares.