Saturday, September 01, 2007
Fairies (Not Pink)
This time last week I woke up with the overwhelming urge to turn an old screenplay of mine into a novel. The script is called The Fortune, and came close a few years ago to getting produced. It's about a property developer who falls in love with a fairy.... with disastrous consequences. I've always been able to see this story very cleary - the bright neon of London vs. the twilight of the countryside - plus it's also a very tight plot (featuring magic, madness, murder and ritual masturbation, no less). That, and conversations with my sister, who has had some amazing insights into what the story is actually about, has convinced me that I may need to divert my alchemical intentions and get on with The Fortune for the time being. Given that the script is 20,000 words long, I've already got a third/quarter already written, plus I think it would work well as a fantasty novel - hence eminently marketable. And, of course, there's the famous wanking-in-the-woods scene... (Not based on the author's own experience, I hasten to add, actually being inspired from something I read in Barbara G. Walker's Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets. Or possibly it's sequel, I forget.)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Fires
I have four poems in the latest issue of Fires (issue 28, June 2007). On another note, I make a fleeting appearance in Adam Thorpe's new novel. Not actually in the novel itself, but in the acknowledgments at the end. (Guess why!)
On far less exciting fronts, my next book will be New Waves in Cinema, due out next June from Kamera Books. I'm still doing the reading for it, and wondering what to leave out, as there have been rather a lot of new waves, and only 40,000 words to tell the story in.
And the news for parrotts: no work on Elias has been done of late. No parrots were involved. The Parrot Society of the UK cannot say for sure when Mr Martin will complete all or even part of his novel. They recommend Between Each Breath and Is This the Way You Said? by Mr Thorpe instead.
On far less exciting fronts, my next book will be New Waves in Cinema, due out next June from Kamera Books. I'm still doing the reading for it, and wondering what to leave out, as there have been rather a lot of new waves, and only 40,000 words to tell the story in.
And the news for parrotts: no work on Elias has been done of late. No parrots were involved. The Parrot Society of the UK cannot say for sure when Mr Martin will complete all or even part of his novel. They recommend Between Each Breath and Is This the Way You Said? by Mr Thorpe instead.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Medicine Show #2
Just back - well, a few weeks have elapsed in real time, but in inner time, it's only a few days ago - from my second boot camp with Lindsay and Adam. The first was of course 18 months ago at Lumb Bank, whereas this one was at Tŷ Newydd in North Wales, AKA 'the Welsh Arvon.' (It's actually Lloyd George's last house, and he's buried down the lane in a tomb overlooking the river. A very peaceful spot.)
Unlike the legendary 'Slash & Burn' tactics of Lumb Bank, I actually wrote several thousand words at Tŷ Newydd. This was partially deliberate: I thought that if I cut any more of the novel, I'd become a permanent fixture on Michael Bentine's Potty Time. So I skipped a few classes - with teachers' approval - and, lashing myself to my desk in best Turner-on-deck-in-a-storm fashion, proceeded to labour away at the Beast.
The great thing about working with Adam and Lindsay is that they are perfect foils for one another, both in terms of teaching and also in their respective critical perspectives. Adam gave me some great broad-stroke comments about the piece (i.e. most of the first half of Part I), while Lindsay, as ever, had to split hairs. But, to his eternal credit, they were the right hairs to split, my homework for the last night being to cut the opening section down by 2/3.
I then spent an hour reworking the opening paragraph, hoping I could walk down the lane to the river via Lloyd George, paying my respects en route of course (it would be quite nice to have a Liberal PM again, methinks...) and then commune with the water in the way I did at Lumb Bank. However, I spent so long on that paragraph, and then reworking the following section, that I had no time to get down to the river, and had to hotfoot it to the evening meal. What was interesting, though, about this bit of slave labour, was that I'd never before spent so long on one paragraph, and somehow wrote it by feeling. Another way of saying that was that I was trying to make the language as vital as possible, using as few words as possible. Everything passive had to go: this had to be concrete images, feelings; a sense of place and forward movement; a sense of magic and wonder latent behind the ordinary.
Other highlights of the week included the drive there and back, through Snowdonia, which I' never seen before (fucking spectacular, if you'll pardon mon Français); the great pub in the village, to which Steve and I repaired nightly, joined on the Thursday by the Minor Wizard and Harry Potter themselves. (These two latter reprobates being Lindsay's and Adam's alter egos, as determined for them by students: one evening over supper, Adam admitted that former students had dubbed him Harry Potter, whom they thought he looked like, at which point one of our group thought that Lindsay looked liked 'a minor wizard.' Lindsay didn't think much of being thought minor!)
Unlike the legendary 'Slash & Burn' tactics of Lumb Bank, I actually wrote several thousand words at Tŷ Newydd. This was partially deliberate: I thought that if I cut any more of the novel, I'd become a permanent fixture on Michael Bentine's Potty Time. So I skipped a few classes - with teachers' approval - and, lashing myself to my desk in best Turner-on-deck-in-a-storm fashion, proceeded to labour away at the Beast.
The great thing about working with Adam and Lindsay is that they are perfect foils for one another, both in terms of teaching and also in their respective critical perspectives. Adam gave me some great broad-stroke comments about the piece (i.e. most of the first half of Part I), while Lindsay, as ever, had to split hairs. But, to his eternal credit, they were the right hairs to split, my homework for the last night being to cut the opening section down by 2/3.
I then spent an hour reworking the opening paragraph, hoping I could walk down the lane to the river via Lloyd George, paying my respects en route of course (it would be quite nice to have a Liberal PM again, methinks...) and then commune with the water in the way I did at Lumb Bank. However, I spent so long on that paragraph, and then reworking the following section, that I had no time to get down to the river, and had to hotfoot it to the evening meal. What was interesting, though, about this bit of slave labour, was that I'd never before spent so long on one paragraph, and somehow wrote it by feeling. Another way of saying that was that I was trying to make the language as vital as possible, using as few words as possible. Everything passive had to go: this had to be concrete images, feelings; a sense of place and forward movement; a sense of magic and wonder latent behind the ordinary.
Other highlights of the week included the drive there and back, through Snowdonia, which I' never seen before (fucking spectacular, if you'll pardon mon Français); the great pub in the village, to which Steve and I repaired nightly, joined on the Thursday by the Minor Wizard and Harry Potter themselves. (These two latter reprobates being Lindsay's and Adam's alter egos, as determined for them by students: one evening over supper, Adam admitted that former students had dubbed him Harry Potter, whom they thought he looked like, at which point one of our group thought that Lindsay looked liked 'a minor wizard.' Lindsay didn't think much of being thought minor!)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
On BBC Radio Bristol on Sunday
I'm appearing on the Trevor Fry show, Sunday Starts, on BBC Radio Bristol this coming Sunday 29 April, between the ungodly hours of 0730 and 0800. (This means I will have to wait until 0900 for breakfast, but at least means I will be up in time to take my Mother and her flower arranging gang to the airport for 1130.) I will be discussing The Gnostics along with Trevor Fry and a local vicar, who is apparently sympathetic to the cause, which is a relief, as I was expecting the Enemy. You can listen online here.
On another note, The Gnostics has had a good review in the May issue of the FT. (That's the Fortean, not Financial, Times. A far worthier publication, in my opinion.)
And finally, something alchemical: today is the 625th annivesary of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel's second successful transmutation, which happened in Paris on this day in 1382, at five in the afternoon. So, as the cocktail hour approaches, raise a glass of elixir in their direction.
On another note, The Gnostics has had a good review in the May issue of the FT. (That's the Fortean, not Financial, Times. A far worthier publication, in my opinion.)
And finally, something alchemical: today is the 625th annivesary of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel's second successful transmutation, which happened in Paris on this day in 1382, at five in the afternoon. So, as the cocktail hour approaches, raise a glass of elixir in their direction.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Review of The Gnostics
My new book, The Gnostics: The First Christian Heretics, has just had a good review in the UK Independent here.
On another note, today is the 70th anniversary of H.P. Lovecraft's death. Here's hoping the Old Ones return soon to clean up town...
On another note, today is the 70th anniversary of H.P. Lovecraft's death. Here's hoping the Old Ones return soon to clean up town...
Friday, February 23, 2007
Journal of the Plague Year
It's back to my old ways, I'm afraid, in that this is another post not about the novel. Or at least partially so. I'm currently being distracted from the great work by revising an old tome on the Black Death, originally published in November 2001. (Note that Amazon still show an early version of the cover that was never used, showing part of Bruegel's Triumph of Death. It was my suggestion that this image be used, which was later overruled by the forces of Middle England and New Labour etc etc.) The revised edition is due to be delivered at the end of this month, with it being published in Jesusland in May, and over here in Old Blighty in June. The current version of the cover can be seen here. Note that they have again ignored my wish for the Bruegel image to be used. (I suspect the hand of religious fundamentalism, or possibly the Leader of the Opposition...)
However, there is some connection between the plague and Elias, in that one of the main characters dies of it during the Great Plague of 1665. It also appears, offstage, in the first part, where it breaks out in Amsterdam during the winter of 1601/2, one of the series of harbingers that starts the novel. So, a nice little overlapping of paid hackery and Mein Verk!
However, there is some connection between the plague and Elias, in that one of the main characters dies of it during the Great Plague of 1665. It also appears, offstage, in the first part, where it breaks out in Amsterdam during the winter of 1601/2, one of the series of harbingers that starts the novel. So, a nice little overlapping of paid hackery and Mein Verk!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
And the scores on the doors...
On Saturday the group met at Sue's new flat in Canonbury (very nice! the sort of London district familiar to Arthur Machen, I believe), as our local haunts in Fitzrovia were double-booked with the usual problem of salsa classes etc.
I unveiled the new beginning I wrote in early January in Inverie and got a largely good response. Absolutely no-one liked the first two (lengthy!) paragraphs describing our hero Jacob's walk through his home town of Enkhuizen, and I was subjected to a Comfy Chair experience in which Lindsay asked me to remind him of his 6 golden rules of How to Begin a Novel. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember any except for pace (which I failed at) and a hook (which came far too late).
He was good enough in his wisdom to remind me of the other four points that I forgot: have a strong image; show human interest; indicate the style of the whole thing and also hint at the overall themes. In fact, come to think of it, I did more or less make it on the style and themes front, but I did indeed fall down on the image and human interest elements, which only kicked in after the first two paragraphs were history.
So... I cut the opening paras, and it's a lot better. Thank the Divine Powers for writing groups, supportive feedback, and Sages from Frome.
I unveiled the new beginning I wrote in early January in Inverie and got a largely good response. Absolutely no-one liked the first two (lengthy!) paragraphs describing our hero Jacob's walk through his home town of Enkhuizen, and I was subjected to a Comfy Chair experience in which Lindsay asked me to remind him of his 6 golden rules of How to Begin a Novel. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember any except for pace (which I failed at) and a hook (which came far too late).
He was good enough in his wisdom to remind me of the other four points that I forgot: have a strong image; show human interest; indicate the style of the whole thing and also hint at the overall themes. In fact, come to think of it, I did more or less make it on the style and themes front, but I did indeed fall down on the image and human interest elements, which only kicked in after the first two paragraphs were history.
So... I cut the opening paras, and it's a lot better. Thank the Divine Powers for writing groups, supportive feedback, and Sages from Frome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
