James Ross 101

My New Website

2011-02-02T13:17:00.000-08:00

www.jamesross.eu

All future blogs will be on the new website. Pop over and have a look.

I'm still working on it but all new writing will be on that site. I've started transferring my stories to that site too.

Civilised

2011-01-23T19:53:00.000-08:00

Had to get up in the middle of the night due to an asthma attack.

I always know when I'm getting asthma in my sleep as it gets dark in my dreams.

Used my inhaler, made myself a coffee and watched a docu on TV about the Normans who, it appears, were a bunch of medieval stone-killer takeover-artists and empire builders. I then switched over to watch the BBC 24 hour news channel. There I watched some talking heads discussing the EU parliament, an organisation which is sort of like the Normans, but wearing cord pants and spectacles instead of chain mail and spears.

Takeover artists and empire builders nevertheless.

Anyhow, I got to thinking about what makes us civilised, as you do at half three in the morning when you can't breathe properly. Here's a very short version of my list:

Municipal parks.
A local library.
Clean toilet facilities.

Just realised that the above are all inanimate. Ok, parks contain living things but the park itself is just a place. My list is all venues, in fact. Maybe that makes me a bit autistic. Should I have included some sort of sentiment in my list? Empathy? Good manners? Affection?

Naah. Get the venues right and the sentiments will follow.

poetry: no thankyou

2011-01-23T08:57:00.000-08:00

Just came back from the gym after spending an hour on various punchbags, speed and floor-to-ceiling balls, and was feeling quite happy. Endorphin-mellow, in fact.

Stupidly I turned on the radio and came across Poetry Please on Radio 4, one of the BBCs various radio literary programmes. Words can't express how much I despise the BBC. I hate its actively mild, lefty-liberal, middle class world-view in which we are assumed to be either town-houses dwelling worthies or toiling immigrants desperate for betterment.

The real people of this country, the stroppy, beer-swilling crew who are occasionally called on to defend us all from behind the point of a bayonet, and who constitute about 90% of the population of this green and pleasant land, they rarely get a look in. The Hogarthian excess for which we are also known, is only ever mentioned as some sort of social disease to be cured, presumably, by exposure to radio programmes about poetry, from the BBC.

Poetry Please? I'd rather listen to a drunk puke.

In fact, I intend to. I'm off to the pub to get drunk.

Moon

2011-01-23T07:11:00.000-08:00

Talking of wolf-moons: the word month comes from the word moon. A moon'th: a period of time based on the orbit of the moon, which is about 29.5 days. But the moon is less important to us now that we have electric light and cars in which to travel.

I went for an overnight hike once with my man Wilson. We walked for hours up and across the steep moors between two valleys. We missed the trig point by about a mile and a half, and after a couple of hours walking we weren't sure of our exact position or direction; as we checked the map, both our head-torches went out at the same time leaving us in almost complete darkness.

This was probably due to buying cheap batteries, but at the time it was a bit spooky.

Could have done with a moon right then, but it was misty.

wolf moon

2011-01-23T06:58:00.000-08:00

Historically, January is the month of hunger and darkness, the month after the winter solstice when the parties are over and the lights extinguished, and all we can do is sit patient for Spring to arrive.

There's an old tradition of January being the wolf moon; the time when wolves, bone thin and ravenous from the winter's lack would descend upon villages to steal livestock, their fear of man overcome by their need for food.

Nowadays people have Seasonal Affective Disorder and huge post-Christmas overdrafts. People panic at three inches of snow. We have central heating and allergies, and personal trainers.

Think I'd prefer the wolves.

More about Taft

2011-01-18T12:44:00.000-08:00

The work I'm doing with Taft High in Chicago is going really well. Miss K's class are really sharp, ask some great questions and make me think deeply about what the hell it is I'm supposed to be writing. Busy speaking to a couple of other high schools too, with a view to working alongside them either to do a short story or a longer piece.

Apart from that, I'm almost ready to jump ship to my new website, like the gunwhale rat I secretly am, but when I do, I'll leave a great big link.

Thelonious Punk

2011-01-11T12:34:00.000-08:00

My new mouthpiece came through the post - I really wanted an SR Tech that would have cost over £300, or a Selmer that cost about half that, but settled for a Bari that set me back half of that again. Short of another decent writing contract I won't be buying any expensive musical toys for a while.

But the Bari is lovely, and it's got a wide tip which I really like. So me and my sax will be making mucho loud noise next week, at the first Thelonious Punk gig of 2011.

I'm all excited.

(200th post btw.)

Everybody knows

2011-01-10T12:13:00.000-08:00

I want this played at my wake. And free beer. And some bull-baiting and dwarves. No clowns. Tents.

A live band.

Cinnamon Girl

2011-01-10T12:09:00.000-08:00

It's raining steady outside and I've spent the whole day editing the next section of a book I'm working on. It seems ok but I can never tell until it's done whether it'll work or not, so at the moment I don't quite know if things are coming together or they're falling apart.

Need to go for a long walk along the coast.
Need Neil Young to play me a one-note guitar solo. Twice.

Need to switch off.
Wish I could.

business model

2010-12-27T13:53:00.000-08:00

Saw this in a carpark next to a windswept beach, in late October.

The very definition of ambition.

Clan

2010-12-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

My dad's family are Scottish: grandmother's family from Barra, grandfather's from Caithness. Mum's family were called Noble, and they were a clan of West March border thieves.

Celts and Vikings. Invaders and thieves.

My dad tells me the Ross clan was a small mercenary outfit who'd fight anyone for the right sum of money, and I've read that the MacNeills of Barra provided the harp players to the Royal houses of Scotland. So you can add mercenaries and musicians to the rollcall of my roots.

It was a long time ago, all that violence and legend and stuff, but even though I don't live in Scotland or the Border Marches I love having those roots, being from the North, and being the descendent of thieves and desperados and harp players. Then again 200 years is only six or seven generations; my grandparents' great-grandparents, in fact.

For example, one of my ancestors is called Catherine Wright and she lived in the mid-18th Century, a farmer's wife from north east Scotland. I see her standing at the door of some white-painted farmhouse, wearing long heavy skirts and an apron, hands raw from work and washing and weather, food in the oven, pausing to watch the hills and fields for her menfolk.

Every time I think of her, that's where I see her. She's still real, to me. I want to approach her and say Hello, Catherine.

I can't express what thinking of my ancestors makes me feel. A mixture of warmth and glad sadness. What my Irish friend Cullen calls the lament.

Chap Book

2010-12-27T11:33:00.000-08:00

I'm going to begin producing chapbooks of my short stories. Each chapbook will be of a numbered, signed, limited edition of 100.

Of each one hundred, about 30 are earmarked for people I've worked with or have been in regular communication. Some will be on sale at a couple of markets. The rest are available to readers.

I'll be giving more details of the content of each chapbook next week, including the illustrator, but email me if you want to book one in advance.

More Zippo

2010-12-27T10:34:00.000-08:00

Discovered a new film version of Zippo here - I don't know anything about Sepehr Rezaei the guy who made it, or even where he's from, but it's actually really good, very close to my own idea of how the story would look.

A good movie. Check it out.

LISHMAAAAAN!!!

2010-12-27T10:30:00.000-08:00

My man Lishman popped over from Barcelona looking like a more handsome version of Howard Hughes - hair long, plus a viking beard and his usual beaming smile.

We discussed general writing ideas, including my plan to produce an illustrated chapbook of some of my more recent short stories - more about this anon.

We chatted about FrontLip too, and how it should be on reputable eShelves by early January. Quite a few people are contributing already, some of it social and personal, some of it very political, and the artwork looks excellent.

cough! cough!

2010-12-27T10:21:00.000-08:00

Spent Monday to Thursday last week busking; standing on snowy street corners playing carols to Christmas shoppers. I earned more money in four days than I've earned for a year of playing in Thelonious Punk. Entertainment money plus, I suspect, sympathy-vote money too.

Good money-to-buskers givers are the arty types who I think just really like the idea of buskers playing Christmas tunes on sax - one of them even bought me a coffee, which was lovely. Other really good givers are older people who often give generously. Bad givers are young lads, especially if they're drunk, who, if they do chuck any money at all into the hat, tend to throw in two or three pence.

Friday morning however, a constant chesty cough sent me to the doctors who told me I'd got a secondary infection in my chest - I was still recovering from a throat infection and standing in the snow hyperventilating freezing air probably wasn't a good idea - so I ended up stuck in the house over Christmas, but I didn't mind that as it meant I had a legitimate excuse not to go visiting and could loaf about.

I'm sick of being sick now. Bored. Need start writing again.

update

2010-12-06T11:36:00.000-08:00

Most of the writing is on the new webite and I'm busy populating with images & photos; still got to purchase a good net address, and pay the rent on the site, so it'll be January when it's done.

Meanwhile FrontLip is still struggling with the dark god of IT nonesense.

And finally am almost ready to send the next section of Dealer No. 1 to Mis Klock and the students of Taft High - should be ready by the weekend.

Right, to bed now, to nurse my sore throat and get a good ten hours sleep.

If I Get Lucky I Might Get Well

2010-12-06T11:30:00.000-08:00

Arggh - throat infection number 4 of the year and each one follows about four or five days after a Thelonious Punk gig, during which I've been blowing my Bb sax like a mad thing.

Current T-Punk favourite tunes include Kraftwerk's The Model and Betty Davis' If I Get Lucky and the band is based around the concept of a fantastic groove, oddball cover-versions, and a double dollop of sax chaos on top (which said brief lets me get away with murder, to be honest).

But it's killing my throat. I'm blowing it raw and leaving myself open to all sorts of bugs. Currently alternating between penicillin and chewable Vit Cs, sleeping ten hours a day and generally feel like shite. So I might have to stop play sax.

Hang up my horn.
Retire.

Nooooooooo!!!

Bang!

2010-11-28T15:34:00.000-08:00

Sitting here writing and an explosion went off by my left ear. I mean a REALLY BLOODY LOUD BANG! The TV flashed red but was otherwise ok.

Went outside to see Charlie standing at the door in her PJs. She'd seen it too. People were coming to windows, front doors, and everyone seemed excited.

It was a flash of lightning. It must have went off about twenty feet above the house. I can't explain how shocking and impressively loud it was.

As there are about six inches of snow outside, and it's still falling, this seemed a peculiar, incongruous, thing to occur.

The weather is crazy.

post-script: the air still felt really charged after I wrote the above, and I was aware of the irony of my being blown up by a lightning blast while writing about it, so I went in the other room for a while to read. m back now, but think I'll log off.

The new website is coming on: just need to get some images sorted and buy a name for it.

Taft High #3

2010-11-28T11:02:00.000-08:00

Developing a good relationship with a teacher from Taft High in Chicago, and her class, and we're working together to develop a story.

Really looking forward to seeing how it works out. I'll put it up on my new website when it's completed.

new home

2010-11-28T10:59:00.000-08:00

Some days you have to put up the white flag.

I was going to go walking this weekend but chickened out because of the inclement weather. Instead I mooched about all weekend, alternating sleeping, reading and watching TV, mostly while wearing three sweaters, two pairs of socks, and long johns beneath my jeans to keep warm.

Finally pulled myself together about teatime today and began transferring some of my short stories from the jamesross102 blog onto a permanent website - I'll put up a link to that website when I get the url sorted out. It's going to be the final home for my stuff. Then I think I'll retire from writing or something.

analogue

2010-11-22T02:15:00.000-08:00

Been thinking about going old-school - producing quarterly pamphlets of short stories and simply sending them to regular readers.

In this age of Kindles, iPads and the like, I'm feeling quite contrary.

autumnal greetings

2010-11-09T11:00:00.000-08:00

I've wanted to say this for some time:

Hello Mountain View!

(send me a postcard)

tech-no-prisoners

2010-11-09T10:55:00.000-08:00

Technology. What's that all about?

Trying to work out how to use wordpress and associated website building programmes and I just haven't got a clue. I'm reduced to the usual excuse my of blaming my left-handedness for my inability to follow sequential instructions in any sort of productive way, but that really isn't very helpful.

Thing is, I can't afford to pay some website builder to do it for me, but I can't keep on putting it off. It needs to get done.

I'm probably going to have to ask a favour of Charlie. She'll do it for me.

She's kind.
But she's kind of grumpy too.

windswept

2010-10-30T13:08:00.000-07:00

Got back from Scotland late on Wednesday afternoon, and then set off for a couple of day's walk along the coast on Thursday, stopping over at a pub and getting home Friday teatime.

Bit tired now.

Have got some photographs, but they're the usual mix of long shots of windswept beaches and close-ups of coffee cups in small cafes, so might not bother posting them up. They're becoming such cliches.

Apart from that, some new (and old) stories here

Enjoy.

West Highland Way

2010-10-30T13:00:00.000-07:00

Riding up the Devil's Staircase is pretty much impossible. What you do is push your bike up, which is sort of like walking, but with the added bonus of having to push 35lb trolley. Then you go down the other side like a screaming banshee, holding on for dear life. Or, like me, you bottle it, get off, and walk down the rest of the way.

Rannoch Moor was bleak. That's the only good thing I can say about it.

All together though, the three days in Scotland was great. We rode from Fort William down to Loch Lomond, stopping over at Bridge of Orchy. Didn't do the full trip, the last 35 miles or so into Glasgow, but maybe next year we'll do the lot.

The Ferry from Tarbet to Rowardennan was a hoot, and on the return there was so much scotch mist that visibility across the loch was zero.

Great.

man of wax

2010-10-23T01:32:00.000-07:00

I'm off to cycle the West Highland Way and will be getting home Tuesday or Wednesday, and then going back out Thursday-Friday to do a bit of walking up the coast.

By next weekend I'll either be:

a) made of steel
b) in traction
c) sleeping for the following week.

If I'm honest it'll probably be a combination of b and c.

Photographs to follow but if you want to see bits of the route, go on Youtube and look for The Devils Staircase to give you an idea of the terrain.

on biographies

2010-10-18T07:06:00.000-07:00

One of the reasons I want a website is so that I can point people to a 'biography' page when they ask about me. When they ask me about my life. The topic came up again a couple of days ago when I was contacted by a teacher from Israel called Monica and, as usual, I didn't really know what to say.

I love being in contact with readers, and I'm hoping that I can set up a dialogue with Monica's class but I'm such a practised storyteller, such a liar, if you like, that when it comes to talking about the real facts of my life, which are fairly mundane, I'm at a bit of a loss.

Thing is, while I think I very much enjoy my life, it's a pretty ordinary one. I'm ordinary: I was born in the North, I went to a state school and failed all my exams, and now I live in a satellite town near the coast working just enough to pay the bills. Until recently I had a cat, but she left me to live with some Polish builders who, I guess, feed her better than me. I might buy a dog at some time in the future.

Probably need to think of something more exciting...

in-camera

2010-10-18T06:46:00.000-07:00

Apologies for being a bit quiet lately, I'm building a new website.

The way things usually work for me is that probably nine-tenths of my stories, ideas and projects fail, but the ten per cent that work, work well. My new website won't follow the 90/10 rule though; it will work. It's necessary for me to have a proper platform to display my work so I'll make sure it happens.

Got so much stuff lying around on various discs and websites, and it's getting all messy. Need to tidy it up.

I've asked Pistol Pete to work his magc with some photographs for the site. I used to just take low-pixel shots, often at night, and they usually looked ok, sort of all grainy and moody, but the camera I have now is just too good for that kind of stuff.

The Windy City

2010-10-10T13:41:00.000-07:00

Just been invited to Chicago to speak to a group of students from Taft High School about my work, in particular a short story they've been studying. It's a brilliant offer, never been to the USA before and the chance to talk to students face to face is always good; they'll probably have a better grasp of the stories I write than I have.

I suggested that it would be an interesting idea to collaborate with the students while writing my next story. I don't know if or even how that would happen, but if it did come off, it would be something quite unique.

As for the proposed trip, I need to work out when and if I can get time off the day job to go there.

questions and their answers

2010-10-04T09:54:00.000-07:00

I was contacted by an English teacher called Carin Klock from Taft High School in Chicago a couple of weeks ago and asked to do a sort of email interview about one of my short stories, Zippo, that she studies with her class. I answered the questions as best I could, but in these situations I'm never sure if I've said the right thing, or given enough information.

The story is quite dark too, so I hope my answers didn't put her off.

Anyway, I always wanted to do this .....Hello Chicago!!

busy...

2010-10-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

Phew! Had no time to blog the last couple of weeks as, ironically, I've been writing loads.

Been working alongside Lishman, trying to pull FrontLip together; there's some content on already but a lot more to upload plus artwork and stuff before we're ready to launch. I've been working on two or three short stories, plus developing something longer, and thinking about a proper website too.

So lots done over the last couple of weeks but nothing yet to show for it. Give it another month or so and things might start to gel.

weather vane

2010-09-21T13:17:00.000-07:00

When my website went belly-up about ten months ago, I lost a lot of stuff. Short stories mainly, and some ideas ready for development. And then my Dell crashed, literally, to the floor, when I tripped over the cable, and I lost some other stories too.

But it's been liberating.

The stuff I managed to salvage, I put online, and I wrote some new stuff too. All of it, the good, the mediocre and the unfinished, is available to read via the links to the right.

I feel like I've mined that seam of fractured, unresolved stories 'til there was nothing left but the glittering dust of tiny fragments. So I think I'll move on, open a new chapter, try and develop something different.

Whether or not the stuff I've written has been successful, I can't say for sure, but I think, yes, probably. I could maybe fill a slim volume with the best of my short stories, like one of my heroes, Saki, or Katherine Mansfield.

Via East of the Web and other sites, I've gained an audience that approached the low five figures, dotted all over the globe, I've been contacted by schools, been the subject of PhD level language analysis, had at least four short movies made of my stories, and made friends with other writers.

Hell, I'm even studied at the university of El Paso.

It's gratifying. But I think I'll step back, drop it into neutral, and consider what I'm going to do next. Start with a big sheet of blank paper. Or maybe some little leather-bound notebook.

Give myself permission to think.

short fiction

2010-09-13T04:15:00.000-07:00

I like extremely short novels, getting into novella territory, and I'm a big fan of economy and inference, though I've got a soft spot for pulp fiction, in which nothing much is left to the imagination.

I think the perfect book is 105 pages long and has about 5 chapters. I just haven't written it yet.

More Passport

2010-09-12T12:36:00.000-07:00

Just dumped Murton Passport onto it's own page here. The structure is loose, sloppy even, but that's deliberate and is sort of what I'm aiming for. Hopefully the story is worth reading.

I think that deconstructed structure is partly due to the way my mind works, but also because that's the way I like it.

Holly

2010-09-10T13:03:00.000-07:00

My favourite short novel, or at least the one that moved me most when I read it, was Breakfast at Tiffany's. The story is wonderful, and partly it was the contrast with the movie, which is a lot lighter and unlike the book, which ends unresolved, features a happy ending.

When I read the book, and for reasons I can't quite explain, I thought that Holly was based on a real person, or was based on a sketch of a real person that the author might have known; Holly was drawn with love and tenderness and the sort of accuracy that only comes from some sort of reality. Then again, I think maybe all fictional characters are drawn from reality.

At the end of the movie, Holly and Paul, the narrator, find Holly's cat, Cat, in the rainy streets of New York and everything ends happily. In the novel, Holly leaves forever and the (unnamed) narrator never finds Cat, though he thinks he might have seen it in a window of some brownstone apartment.

Truman Capote was homosexual and I always thought that the character of Holly was probably based on a boy or a young man he might have known. It doesn't make the story better or worse for thinking that, but it does leave me with a real feeling of a shadow story going on in the background.

Whatever. Both endings make me cry. Every time.

Murton Passport

2010-09-10T09:37:00.000-07:00

Someone once said that all stories are about redemption, or the abyss.

Going to post a short novel, Murton Passport, over the weekend and it's about one of those two themes (haven't quite decided which one yet). It's a sort of post-gangster novel, and based very loosely on someone I used to know and what he did, or might have done. I'll put a link to it when I get it sorted.

I'd appreciate it if you email me with any thoughts you might have.

haven't had the time to choose a way to lose

2010-09-02T14:04:00.000-07:00

Nick Drake on repeat, enveloped in a warm sadness that borders on grief, moments of elation and making connections I normally wouldn't make, then sleeping lots, with vivid dreams. This must be what the blues feels like.

That or post-viral fatigue.

Zzzzzzz

2010-09-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

Think I've got sleeping sickness. Spent most of the last fortnight in bed or just lying around on the chair. This afternoon I took a deckchair over to the park and fell asleep beneath the branches of sun-dappled tree. I know, I make that sound really quite nice, and it was, but it was accompanied by the most overpowering fatigue.

Don't think I've had a proper 'drink' since I went to see Tony Smith playing at Pizza Express (or somewhere like that, a couple of weeks ago anyway), since then I've had maybe two drinks at most. Just can't be bothered.

Managed to drag myself to play with Thelonious Punk last night, but slept late this morning and after a brief trip to the post office, I went back to bed and lay dreaming 'til it got dark.

Don't want to sleep. Want to wake up!

Plus, I think Starlight has adopted a Polish builder down the road.
The hussy.

Suburban Underbelly

2010-08-27T10:48:00.000-07:00

Recieved an email from an American writer called Sean Daly.

I've spoken with Sean before but not for a while, and he's writing on a site called Suburban Underbelly that you can link to from here. He works with an artist - Rick Monzon - to produce illustrated narrative fragments that, I suspect, are part of some meta-narrative.

Really like his work and there's a link to his site on the sidebar.

Arky-tect

2010-08-26T14:15:00.000-07:00

If there was no web, I'd be publishing pamphlets of short stories and secreting them in cafes and on the shelves of bookshops and libraries.*

But there is a web and so I get to sit at my old wooden table listening to random musical acts from YouTube and write stories that get read by people as far away as the Phillipines and Mountain View, California. I've got two pieces ready to complete, plus a short story that just needs posting here and a request for a bespoke one-off short story, which I'm thinking over right now.

Waiting for my techie to deal with the problem with my Word programme though, which has stalled my productivity. That and the throat infection ('cillin) and the back muscle that has gove into some sort of heinous spasm which the codeine is barely touching. And Starlight is still missing, though the lady at the newsagent said she might have seen her on Tuesday night.

Thing is, might as well endure all the negativity at once. Get it all over and done by next week and then plough on with the stuff that needs completing.

I love it. This life.

* went to the V&A last week to see The Ark, a spiral bookcase they've installed. Love the concept, but was disappointed at the reality - "designed and constructed by architects" it says in a Guardian article, but for me it looked like it was designed from memory by someone who once shopped at Ikea, and built by someone who didn't serve their time as a joiner.

Of course, I speak with the jaundiced eye of someone who grew up in a block of flats 'designed and constructed' from reinforced concrete that, I'm sure, looked great on the original architect's drawings too.

But, before I start again on my rant about the flaccid, smug, expensive irrelevence that is state-sponsored culture...

...I'll stop.

overcast

2010-08-25T06:29:00.000-07:00

Urrghh.

Thoat infection, again. It's rained all weekend. Cat is missing.

The Word programme on my new laptop has stalled, and is asking me to shove some more coins into the slot, but I can't find the slot.

Wish I could just curl up beneath a quilt with a book, and some paracetomol washed down with a cup of tea. And a nice girl.

I do have something ready to put online, ready to jettison from the hard-drive in my brain (and then delete from my mental waste-bin so as to thoroughly expunge it from my mind forever) though it'll probably be after the weekend before I can even look at it, and in the meantime I'm just sitting waiting for my IT techie to come and fix everything.

That picture of traffic (above), in grey, rainswept England, is how my head feels right now but, never mind, as the songs goes, "the sun will come out ..." etc.

Manifesto

2010-08-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

I’m going to write fast.
Short.
Clean.

My stories will be pared, impressionist, first-person narratives (where possible) and reading them will be like opening a door onto a parallel world, knowing that that world will continue, even when the door closes again.

I love the characters that I write about. I'll take responsibility for them.

I've had a breakthrough in how I approach writing.
It begins now.

Low Tide

2010-08-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

Was going to do my annual coastal-walk this week but it went totally pear-shaped for a number of reasons, which was a shame. Threw me right off key.

Might try and do it next week instead; walk in the other direction though, to make the beaches and the cliffs seem a bit different.

Jazz Club

2010-08-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

Played a gig with Thelonious Punk last night.

Went down really well, and the consensus seemed to be that we'd played better than ever, which is insane, 'cos we're so loose it's unbelieveable; songs just morph into other songs, and we've only ever rehearsed about 8 numbers in total, which we normally spread over two sets, though we often end up playing stuff we've never practised or played before. No one really knows what they're doing, we just busk it.

I try to invoke Dexter Gordon, if he was white, and crap, but I usually fail even at that. But last night Special K, our new drummer, even asked me if I'd been practising, which I took as a huge compliment 'cos he's the best musician in the band, able to play drums, sax, trumpet, keyboards and other stuff. And he reads music too!

We only did one set this time, cos there was a rock band on after us, but I'm pleased to say that only T-Punk got free beer, and £50, too.

Niiiice.

WHW?

2010-08-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

My neighbour Alfy suggested we nip up to Scotland and cycle the West Highland Way. Two days of mud, grit and pedals. In Scotland. In October.

Great, I said. let's do it. At least there'll be no midges, that late in the year.

Then I googled it, youtubed it, and generally checked it out. And I began to panic. Well, a lot, actually. So tonight I went round to his and we had a chat and agreed that perhaps three days would be more do-able. He'd had the same idea.

So I'll be living on my bike for the next few weeks to try and get some bike-fitness into my system. I've been doing an hour a day of cycling this last week, getting up early to put in 10-15 miles, and am going to inject some longer rides.

The Devil's Staircase looks like fun. Gotta practice my bunny-hop. And my judo-rolls for when I come off the bike, which will happen, no doubt.

Proof

2010-08-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

Margot, whose website Joyfully Retired printed one of my stories a couple of months ago, has kindly published a new story of mine The Flower Seller.

It displays all my usual usual traits - a little cryptic, with an open-ended narrative - but that's how I like it, and I think I'm getting to closer to where I want to be, technically.

I try and write my stories as though the reader has opened the door onto someone's life: they get to observe the events and hear the conversations for a while, and then the door closes again, but with the clear implication that the characters in the stories are still out there somewhere, living their lives. I believe they are.

People are what fascinate me; how people live, how they act, how they relate to each other.

I find it slightly disconcerting when I watch people and I realise that their lives carry on quite happily when I'm gone. They don't cease to exist just because they've left my conscious mind. I know that sounds a bit childish but it's true. That's why I like people-watching though, it's proof. Proof of life.

Grendel

2010-08-08T12:53:00.000-07:00

Beginning work on Grendel again after a hiatus of about three months. I know the story, know what needs to follow, know how it ends too, but couldn't work out, couldn't decide, how to tell the next bit the way I wanted to tell it.

Now I do. Change of perspective.

Going to spend a few days planning it first though: I have the broad brush strokes worked out, and some of the fine detail is ready to load, just need to slot it together now.

It's all good; will have the draft completed as planned by the end of the year.

foster-child of silence

2010-08-08T12:19:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid I did some bad things. Nothing really terrible, but I acted badly, treat people badly. I was a liar, a cheat, I was violent. Got known for it too, and some people thought I was cool, girls thought I was cool, but I never did. I just felt guilty. Felt bad.

I took up writing partly as a way to get beyond all that, and now I try not to act in a bad way, try not to treat people poorly. I endeavour to tell the truth, keep my word, act honourably.

But sometimes I fail, and when I do, guilt consumes me.

Truth is beauty, Keats said, but where does that leave me, a storyteller?

Runway Latte

2010-08-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

‘Have you come far?’
The question came from a man standing behind me in the queue.
‘Ignore him,’ the woman behind the counter told me.
‘Give me a latte with four shots,’ he told her, grinning at me.
She frowned, ‘What will you have?’
'Serve him first,’ I said, ‘I'm in no rush.’
‘He came off shift about ten minutes ago,' she explained, 'and now he’s back for free coffee.’
'I get free coffee,' he admitted.
‘Serve the man,’ I said, ‘He looks tired. Just worked a full shift.’
He grinned at me, sleepy-eyed, nodded confirmation. 'You come far?' he repeated.
'Just came over from the coast to pick up a friend,' I said.
'Is it nice on the coast?' he asked, watching the girl pour a quadruple-power latte into a mug the size of a bucket.
'Yes.' I said, 'It's wonderful,' stepping aside to let him pick up his giant coffee mug.

The café at the airport where I met Lishman is staffed by Poles; at least the two people behind the counter were Polish, and the tired off-duty guy who struck up a conversation with me was Polish too. I can't speak about other times of the day or night, but at almost midnight it was like mini-Cracow. I felt like a tourist. But they were friendly, garrulous, and seemed to enjoy being there. It made me enjoy being there too. There was some sort of social thing going on.

I always enjoy cafés.

I enjoy waiting in cafés; I can happily wait for hours, spend the whole evening. Drinking coffee in an airport in the middle of the night is a wonderful thing. Airports are the most peaceful places on earth. I'll collect anyone from an airport, no matter how early or late; I don’t mind if they're late, or even if they don't arrive - I'll just sit and read, jot down notes, drink coffee, watch people.

Anyhow, Jay Lishman did arrive, coming over from Barce for a long weekend of planning for our online magazine, FrontLip, and we got a lot of done. We have the ideas and the contributors. It’s all about content now.

FrontLip

2010-08-02T01:57:00.000-07:00

Lishman arrives from the hills beyond Barce tomorrow, so we'll be working on FrontLip this week.

GinKatie is going to write a sex therapy column, R-Abyss is writing a movie column and I finally managed to contact The Fox about writing an anarcho-sports column, the Lifestyle Curator has already started writing stuff. Things are moving forward nicely.

Jackson suggested a weekly cartoon The Bully - it'll be a series of suggestions, diagrams, advice and guidance on how to become a consumate office bully. I'm hoping it'll be humourous, 'cos otherwise it'll just end up nasty. Anyhow, we're looking for an artist for that, so if you know one, let me know.

Right, off for my walk.

Writing Monday

2010-08-02T01:50:00.000-07:00

Today is my first writing Monday.

I finally managed to negotiate a 4-day-week, and am now enjoying a three-day weekend, of which I've set aside Mondays for writing. This will have a double benefit, I reckon; I'll have more time to write and, writing more, I'll be able to think about it less when I'm doing other stuff.

Got off to a flying start over the weekend by creating a short story for Margot Peck's blog - you should be able to read it here at some time in the near future. I came across Margot's blog by chance and thought I'd like to write something for her; this ended up being a short story called The Flower Seller.

Like a lot of my stuff, it doesn't have an 'ending' as such. That could be seen as a stylistic thing or just a bad habit. In my defence, it's exactly how I want it to be; I try to write my stories as though the reader has opened the door on someone's life - they get to watch for a bit, before the door closes again.

Anyhow, off for a clifftop walk now, then going to come back, feed the cat, start writing.

8 legged freaks

2010-07-28T13:32:00.000-07:00

With my shiny new laptop all switched on and powered up I've started transferring a few short stories onto my short story website - here - feel free to read them and comment.

After the slow decline and final shocking fall of my Dell (it literally fell off my desk), I'm feeling all excited at being able to write online again, kind of like how you might feel while watching a scary movie. In fact, I'm watching a scary movie on channel 700 or something as I type, so I'm doubly excited.

Promised to write a couple of stories, plus I'm going to do the Same Day Collection.

That's 6 short stories to write, then I'm going to spend the rest of the year completing Grendel which has had over a month to marinate and let me work out what happens next.

Across the Big Pond

2010-07-27T04:59:00.000-07:00

Oh, and a big "hello" to my regular readers in America.

You know who you are.

Same Day Collection

2010-07-27T04:56:00.000-07:00

Planning to write 4 short stories in 24 hours. Going to call it Same Day Collection. Start with a blank screen and just start writing and see what happens.

When I complete them, I'll put them onto this web page James Ross Short Stories

I'm just waiting for my new laptop and my summer-holidays to coincide, then it's a 24 hour frenzy of writing and Pro-plus.

almost online

2010-07-27T04:52:00.000-07:00

Just bought myself a new laptop.

It's not a top-of-the-range mac or anything, just a generic 3 gig sort of thing that I got cheap.

Just as well really, because Charlie, who owns the Macbook I'm using right now, is getting annoyed at me using it. Gav the IT guy is going to come down and set it up properly for me so I should be back in the game by the weekend.

Real writing!!

Yaay.

Everyone's a critic

2010-07-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

Here are three readers' comments about The Card - taken from East of the Web:

"I absolutely loved this story. it just amazes me how
you can use this light almost innocent tone and hide
behind it such a great amount of misery. i guess that a
lot of the people who left negative comments about
your style didn't get that it ought to be that way,
owing to the fact that your narrator most probably
comes from a poor country. i didn't know that "In
Country" is written by you too. you just amaze me."

with love from Egypt, Maha
------------------------------
"It was a not bad story... Maybe you need to re write it a little and fix the grammer."
-----------------------------
"More brooding, depressing writing... This crap isn't good, so stop saying it is. There's no intrigue, not thought, just a negative way of looking at things."
----------------------------

haha - it's all good.

An Englishman's Home

2010-07-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

Jacob Klimaszewski's version of my short story The Card is available on YouTube here: An Englishman's Home

I'm always interested in how a film-maker interprets a short story, and I loved this, really did. He's altered it a little, added dialogue, switched things round a bit, but that's fine, as the most important thing was it worked as a movie in itself, not simply as a filmed version of a story. In fact, it made me want to see what happened next.

Hmm. Maybe I'd better write the rest of it...

Booze Brother

2010-07-17T16:39:00.000-07:00

Just got home after playing a set with The Booze Brothers at some village fete in the middle of nowhere. Someone had given them a grant to hold a street party. Don't know what the occasion was. We arrived about half six, in time for a barbecue, but I don't usually eat meat so I had a coke and watched everyone else gorge themselves 'til about nine, when we set up and sound-checked.

We went on at ten, and came off at half eleven. Good fun. People were dancing. We went down well, I played well. Not great, but not bad. My lips feel like they're falling off.

I was stood stage right, well actually by the door to the kitchen in the Village Hall, but it was right by one of the PA speakers, just close enough to ask the bass player 'what key is this in?' before each song, but also close enough to get sightly deafened, and my ears are still ringing.

Think I earned enough to buy a new light fitting in the hall though. Sick of tripping over the cat in the dark.

Sectioned

2010-07-14T14:46:00.000-07:00

Went for a walk along the cliff tops in the blinding rain tonight; got all wrapped up and still arrived back home forty minutes later, soaked to the skin. Feeling unaccountably mellow and happy though, which is probably due to the endorphins kicking in, or the meditation.

Or the cheap Australian wine.

Whatever it is, things are loosening up. Got asked to play in the brass section of The Booze Brothers on Saturday too, and the fifty quid I'll get for that will be very welcome.

Plus it's free night out.

Open to persuasion

2010-07-11T12:30:00.000-07:00

One final thing before I submerge for a couple of weeks again: I'm really into the idea of taking on one or two new writing commissions. I enjoy the discipline of writing to a brief.

So if you think you might want me to write a short story for you, email me, and I'll be happy to discuss ideas with you. I'm really up for something new. This uninvited IT interregnum has got me all fired up to write more.

(Thought: I'd better go give back the Mac before I open the wine.)

Platform

2010-07-11T12:22:00.000-07:00

Some excellent news on the horizon though: my day job agreed to give me a four-day week. This is probably more to do with the fact they're over-staffed than anything else but, well, that's still absolutely fine by me. It means I get more time to write.

In fact it changes the whole balance of my life; I'm not ambitious, have no desire for promotion or anything, and while I'm fairly good at what I do, I only do it to pay the rent, so getting a three day weekend, every weekend, is shifting my world toward the positive end of the scale.

Plus my holidays are arriving soon.

Andwith the new pc/mac/whatever I buy next week, I should be able to launch FrontLip by August. Get on and complete Grendel. Complete some new short stories

So, apart from being even more broke than I am now, it's all good.

I'm off to open the wine. Yaay!!

Crashed

2010-07-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

Finishing off the pamphlet work for my Cuz this afternoon, and I'd plugged my laptop into the socket by the door, and the printer into a socket by the window.

Standing up to fetch paper for the printer I tripped over the laptop cable (the one borrowed from Danny James as my own is broken, and the laptop won't work from the battery anymore) and sent it crashing onto the floor.

Result 1: No final draft of pamphlet. But my cuz did bring me a bottle of fine Australian wine.

Result 2: I'm writing this entry from a borrowed Macbook.

In some alternative universe I'm writing up a storm. Here on Planet Earth I'm having to cadge access to the information superhighway. Not good.

Gonna ring Mac-Girl tomorrow and buy a new one. Have to.

Result 3: Going to drink the wine, all of it, in about ten minutes.

Crusoe

2010-07-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

The picture (left) is a memento of a trip up the coast. For reasons out of my control, my trip was cut short, which was a shame as it was quite lovely up there.

message in a bottle

2010-07-10T10:28:00.000-07:00

My current laptop gives me about ten minutes before it crashes, and shortly after that, the battery dies. So I'm buying a new PC next weekend, and then I'll be writing online again.

Going to complete the first draft of Grendel by the end of the summer, and then rewrite it by the end of the year. I really want to find out what happens.

correction

2010-06-11T12:56:00.000-07:00

An email from Jonathan asking me about In Country which his teacher had read aloud to the class and, apparently made an error about the characters.

He wrote: "I really need you to confirm that this is a first person story and that they don't mention Danny's fathers name in the story." Yes. You're right. And you're right that Derek is the removal man, not the father.

Jonathan finished by saying "When I tried to explain aloud to the class she laughed and everyone thought I was crazy. I really need you to respond and prove on of us right. Thanks."

I was quite impressed that he'd gone right to the source for confirmation of his theory; pretty decent research that, I reckon. Maybe we'll see your name appearing as creative director or primary researcher on some HBO documentary in the near-mid future, Jonathan. Who knows?

But having said that, everyone knows that English teachers are a bit random, and in literature two plus two doesn't always equal four (even Shakespeare never spelled his name the same way twice) so cut The Miss some slack on this one, Jonny.

Hey, she read you one of my stories, so she's got my vote!

down in the mouth

2010-06-09T12:54:00.000-07:00

Having no regular computer access at the moment, I'm all backed up with stories and words and stuff, and it's making me sad.

My dreams are off the scale too.

It's probably going to be two or three weeks 'til I get a new pc/mac/whatever and in the meantime I'll just jot things down in a real notebook. Got two or three nice little moleskines and a big old black page-per-day diary. But they don't upload so easy.

Anyhow, that's my mouth, up on the right, looking all moody and unshaven and down and stuff.

haha

Pedro

2010-06-09T12:47:00.000-07:00

Got an email from New York, from Pedro Baron in fact, re his proposed movie of The Card. It's still at the planning stage but I'm hoping he can get the time and funding to make it.

(Plus, isn't Pedro Baron a really cool name.)

cash flow

2010-06-09T12:43:00.000-07:00

Apologies for the lack of blogs lately - I'm having to run next door and borrow Danny-James' power cable just to plug in my laptop (the one with the dead battery and the broken mains cable). And as he's mostly using it, my access is minimal.
Seriously, I have to buy a new computer.

ps - just realised, I'm at war with technology at the moment! Rapunzel hung me out to dry, and now my laptop is falling apart. Maybe I should just print out little booklets of my stories and sell them on eBay.

rescue

2010-05-25T12:12:00.000-07:00

Salvaging my short stories from the old website has begun; I'm digging up some gems. See the link on the sidebar to the right.

But the longer stuff, like Murton Passport and the gods, will have to wait. I'l complete Grendel this year, then go back to the others.

Solid Air

2010-05-25T12:10:00.000-07:00

What do you do for your friends, when they need help?

They don't ask (they never ask); I've never met anyone who hauled up a flag and yelled Help! Usually they just retire from view. Some disappear altogether. But then maybe they don't want a shoulder to cry on, or a shared coffee table on which to set the world to rights.

Maybe they want someone to go to for a chat, about other stuff, ordinary things. A bit of light relief. I dunno, but I worry that sometimes it's not enough to just watch.

all is vanity

2010-05-25T11:59:00.000-07:00

My old Dell is dying hard.

I've super-glued back the Y and D keys, but have totally lost the O key. The battery doesn't work so I have to run it off the mains.

And today the mains cable has broken, so I'm using a borrowed one.

I'm really torn. Heart or mind. Macbook or netbook. One is expensive, difficult to use, but really really lovely, and the other is small, cheap (a third of the price) anonymous and functional.

Actually, think I'll go with the netbook.
No, the Mac.

Hold on ...

fiction is reality

2010-05-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

Began the process of salvaging the stories from my now-defunct website (don't bother searching for it, it fell down the cold stone steps of Rapunzel's tower and disappeared into the abyss).

They're currently living on my short stories page here Short Stories
Feel free to comment.

coffee, wafers and a good read

2010-05-22T12:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I meet people who are just better human beings than me. They're kinder, wiser, more forgiving. Gentler.

When I meet these people, I realise that I'm not in the top division when it comes to being good. Not even close.

Sometimes I'm humbled. The world is full of good people and I'm not one of them. And this writing business is no substitute.

free jazz

2010-05-22T06:13:00.000-07:00

Played another gig with Thelonious Punk last week, third instrument, and the third time I've had to learn the set, in as many gigs; I was on tenor sax this time and I told Ralphy I'm sticking with it; he's such a brilliant mercurial soloist that I need to be on top of my game just to keep him in sight, and I can't keep switching. It spreads me too thin.

So Bb* tenor saxophone it is.

The good news is the management of The Experience, where we have our fortnightly residency, has offered us an all-nighter on the bank holiday, plus free beer.

Are they insane??

Phew! What a scorcher!

2010-05-22T05:35:00.000-07:00

As they say in the tabloids.

Me, I like the winter, for reasons I've explained earlier, the sort of fresh sunshine you get on cold December mornings. But it is pretty. Starlight has taken up a position in the shade, lying on a wall at the back of the house, and probably won't move for the rest of the day.

I'm on my ninth migraine in as many weeks; and the little yellow pills, on top of a squally head cold, have left me feeling a tad groggy; last night, for the first time in memory I fell asleep fully clothed on the bed, and didn't wake til morning.

Wonderful dreams though.

This all means that I haven't been writing most of the last week, on top of nothing much at all for the previous month. But I'm making the effort to get out of the house this afternoon, and go find a cafe somewhere for an hour or two.

(one of those windows is mine).

"but the hangman isn't hanging, so they throw you on the street"

2010-05-19T12:36:00.000-07:00

Things are quite surreal right now. Some really good things are going on; some really not-so-good stuff too.

And in equal measures too, like some sort of ancient Greek torture myth.

Trick is, just to hang on 'til the storm's blown out.

That's my migraine, by the way. Eighth one in about six weeks.

footprint

2010-05-16T05:49:00.000-07:00

Stopped writing for a month.
Walked every evening along the cliffs, an hour, two hours a night. It was lovely.

Still is.
This is the coastal path near where I live.

Sat in the garden most evenings, reading novels and drinking red wine.
Meditated, within my limited gift for calm and introspection.
Silk dreams of flying and glittering eyes.
Starlight.

Didn't meet friends for coffee.

Don't know why.
Maybe I just needed to breathe.

28 days later

2010-05-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

Purdah's nearly over.
Yaay!

lost chords

2010-04-19T12:04:00.000-07:00

The other thing that has stopped me writing the last week or two is that I've been playing some gigs with a local band, Thelonious Punk, who sort of do exactly what it says on the tin.

I play a number of musical instruments, fairly badly, but with lots of enthusiasm, and the last time I jammed with these guys, I was playing soprano saxophone. But that's on loan to Emo-san and he's living somewhere down in Clerkenwell, and I forget where; anyway they asked me to play guitar this time.

Ralph, the alto player, suggested I play tenor sax in future, but in the absence of a keyboard player or until we find another guitarist, it's me doing the chords. Although I'm left-handed, I play orthodox, and it's all back to front.

It kills me, playing guitar orthodox, it gives me migraines, but it's the way I learned.

So anyway, over the last fortnight I did two or three fairly chaotic performances with T-Punk, playing an oddball selection of jazz standards, heavy metal covers, and movie themes, and I have one more set to do on Wednesday.

Then it's back to writing.

missing keys

2010-04-19T11:52:00.000-07:00

My laptop is three years old; ancient. I got Gav the IT guy to build it for me with the money I got from a Guardian article (£1200 plus £900 every time it got optioned - which was, erm, once) and it's served me faithfully.

But the battery has failed completely, the track pad is wearing away, and there are bits of peanuts jammed beneath the keys, from where I'd try and write while drinking, and snacking.

Plus the 'O' key has disappeared, leaving me with a residual soft rubber nib that I have to push in quite a deliberate way to make it work. Totally throws me off my rhythm, hence my lack of blog entries in the last fornight.

So I have to buy a new computer. Been putting off for months, I know what I want, and how much it is going to cost - all I have to do is visit the Mac shop and open my wallet.

Hmm.

spring forward

2010-04-04T15:59:00.000-07:00

Back in October I hung a few bags of nuts and things in my back garden, for the birds that winter around and about. But they were still there, virtually untouched, when the clocks sprung forward last week.

I guessed that the birds were wary of landing in my garden when Starlight was on the prowl. Still, I thought, it was strange that the birdseed was uneaten.

Then today I saw a bluetit hanging from one of the seed-bags, eating its fill. And another joined it. A pair, a couple even; nesting. I watched them from my kitchen window as they ate their fill; a lovely sight. A joy to watch.

Then I went back to the front living room and back to my writing, which has been going fine the last couple of weeks.

coming up for air

2010-03-26T14:03:00.000-07:00

Just wrote another couple of chapters of Grendel.

Picked up my Citroen today too. It's huge. And blue. Sort of miss my little VW though.

sabbatical

2010-03-14T11:23:00.000-07:00

Going to take a couple of weeks off blogging in order to spend some time doing actual writing, rather than just writing about writing.

I'll probably be back online round about Easter.

lament

2010-03-13T14:24:00.000-08:00

She slept now, breast rising and falling, even and slow, eyes flickering beneath their lids. He whispered her name, but she didn't stir.

Brushing strands of hair from her eyes, he kissed her soft cheek and then rose quietly from their bed. He pulled on his dressing gown. Barefoot he left the room and walked across the hall to the room where his pen and paper lay on his table, waiting for him. He closed the door behind him, found the lamp, switched it on, pulled out the chair and sat down.

He picked up the pen and wrote:

Me waes Deor noma

footpad

2010-03-13T13:50:00.000-08:00

Was expecting a few emails tonight but they didn't materialise so, instead, I'm going out for a half hour's walk. Did three miles this afternoon too.

If I'm to walk a hundred peaks with Wilson, I need to be in training.

Thing is, I've decided that everything that happens to me is good.
And that's the truth of it.

booklets

2010-03-13T13:46:00.000-08:00

At my little table, working on the NHS job, while watching a documentary about dogs, and it's all good. Starlight has left the room in feline disgust.

This NHS thing, it seems that most of what I'm doing is layout. That's fine though because I know nothing about the business of health, so I can only use what they give me on that score. I'm not adding anything. All I have to do is set it out in a colour-coded sequence, add some blurry images of 'blues n twos' and maybe the odd shot of someone in scrubs or a smiling biddy being pushed in a wheelchair, and then give it back for an initial viewing.

I've got so much stuff on at the moment, but I don't really mind.

It's ironic really, me doing all this stuff, because when I was at school, they wouldn't let me take art or any of the design subjects, and my English teacher wouldn't even put me in for the exam because he reckoned I'd embarrass him.

I didn't go to uni either. Not at first. Not until some years after leaving school, when I decided to learn some stuff, and enrolled myself on a couple of part time courses. Ended up with a Masters Degree.

So here I am designing booklets for government departments, and answering emails from readers of my short stories as far apart as Germany, America, Australia and Singapore.

Educational failure?

Yeah.
Right.

May the Fourth Be With You

2010-03-13T02:20:00.000-08:00

Was reading an article this morning on the new series of Doctor Who, and I saw that the new Doctor has an all-new new Sonic Screwdriver, and I thought, they'll probably get them in the model shop down at the mall soon, so I'll keep a lookout and buy one for Ernie, cos he's mad for Doctor Who and it's his birthday in May, which is only a few weeks away.

Then I thought, No, I can't buy him one. He's gone.

Sometimes, things sneak up on me, a stitch frays, and I forget for a moment.

coffee

2010-03-12T11:16:00.000-08:00

Every weekend, I go to the same cafe, at about the same time, drink a couple of lattes, read a book, write in my diary, write lists, watch people.

Friends turn up to chat

I like it that way.

keeping the faith

2010-03-12T11:00:00.000-08:00

Oh, and as well as being an optimist, I'm patient. I can wait forever.

In truth, I expect nothing.

But I've got faith.
Don't know why.
Just do.

However, on a different note, the weekend is approaching, I have no work to do over the weekend, and a bottle or two of red wine is heading my way.

(And I aint waiting for that.)

damaged

2010-03-12T10:54:00.000-08:00

Haven't added to Grendel yet, 'cos I keep thinking about Babe Walker. I want to say 'what's your problem?'

I know what happened in his life, I know the damage that was done, but I'm not sure why it hurt him so badly, or why it caused him to do such bad things. I keep thinking, many people have suffered far worse than you, Babe, so why did you got so far wrong?

Until I know the answer, I can't continue. But the answer is coming, I know.

free will

2010-03-12T10:48:00.000-08:00

I was born optimistic, and it's something I've had to fight against ever since.

I don't mind it, really, having a positive outlook on life, but it totally screws up my relationship with the world - my operating system is at odds with most people's and they get defensive, and a bit suspicious of my generally positive attitude.

Some people think I'm cocky, but I'm just hopeful.

The other thing is, I don't really ever want to influence other people; I'm happy letting them do whatever they want. I don't want to leave my footprint in the wet cement of anyone's life. I'm very much of a live-and-let-live sort of person, to the point that I don't mind, don't really care, what people choose to do.

They're grown-ups, they can choose for themselves, and if by some chance I disagree with their behaviour, I'll act accordingly.

But I'm not going to try and stop them.

Conversely, I don't want other people influencing me, or persuading me, or forcing their values on me, or trying to make me behave in a way that doesn't work for me.

But the bastards do, at every turn.

Healthy

2010-03-07T07:57:00.000-08:00

Met the man Wilson for coffee and, as these things go, we're now planning a trip up to the Lake District at the end of May. Going to walk 100 peaks in 4 days, apparently. I'd better start training now.

Apart from that, I've been asked to write/develop a publication for the Occupational Health department at the local ambulance service, so I'll be spending the next couple of weeks on that.

Not much money in it, but it might lead to more work.

factotum

2010-03-06T12:09:00.000-08:00

I write because I'm addicted to writing. Otherwise I wouldn't waste my time doing it; I doubt if it's good for me. But I'm going to have to be more ruthless with life because Saturday nights aren't enough to give me a proper fix.

Bukowski said that all he owned was a typewriter and a radio; he rented a room, drank wine, listened to classical music, earned enough to pay the rent.

No baggage.
It allowed him to write.

But me, I've got too much going on.
Stuff has to go.

I dunno. I'm just working this out as I do it. There's no plan. No system.

when we should be diving for pearls.

2010-03-06T11:56:00.000-08:00

Life gets in the way.

It should be written on my gravestone. I've got too much on, and not enough time, which means that at the moment I can only write on a Satruday night.

Now, in fact.

Virginia said that all you need to be a writer is a private income and a room of your own. Well, I've got a room, but I have to earn the money to pay for it, and that eats into my writing time somewhat.

And I have a life too, and friends, which soaks up a lot of what's left.

Then again, Virginia owned a publishing company, while I only aspire to a new Macbook, and I'm tempted to suggest that I've got more readers than her right now, and while that thought makes me smile, it's probably not true. It's a moot point: there are only 168 hours in a week, and as much as I adore her, and as much as she annoys me, she can't change that.

So I'm going to get on with Grendel, which has been bubbling away at the back of my mind for a few weeks. There are questions I need to answer.
But right now, I don't know what they are.

square space

2010-02-28T10:12:00.000-08:00

Began work on the online magazine website - FrontLip.

Lishman had got us some space, but the free trial period had elapsed, so I had to email the company, who then sent a new password to the gmail account, only Lishman hadn't forwarded me the password for that particular account.

So I'm waiting for Lishman to read his emails, check the gmail account, get the email with the new password, email me the details, and then I'll log onto the site.

So in reality, I've only begun work on getting a password to access the site. The real work will have to wait.

Wha?

ouch!

2010-02-21T03:53:00.000-08:00

As promised, Jackson did an hour's training with me this morning. He had me skipping, hitting the bags, doing combinations on the pads ("keep your elbows in!") and other fairly violent activities.

When it got to the point when I could barely breathe, and couldn't stand up straight, he let me rest for a minute - then he showed me some grappling technques. Which was fun. Then he had me punching again, which was not fun.

By the end he was laughing at my lack of anaerobic fitness ("Come on, give me eight more! Eight more!") - I can walk comfortably for hours, but I'm out of practice with this fast, explosive sort of activity.

Anyway, it was fun, and I'm now back at home, sitting listening to Sky News talking about the BAFTAs, feeling very sore but satisfied with myself for getting out of bed early on a Sunday morning to train. My target for next week's session is to simply last the hour without collapsing in a heap and crying like a baby.

Need to go and stretch now - if I don't I'm going to wake up tomorrow with muscles that feel like hessian bags filled with broken glass. I can feel the pain approaching.

more Zippo

2010-02-19T11:04:00.000-08:00

I've always thought that a film based on a story shouldn't attempt to be a facsimile. A film-maker shouldn't attempt to copy the words written on the page. That'd be a waste of his or her gifts, it'd be a severe limitation on the medium, and it would fail to employ all the lovely technology that's available.

One of the joys of writing, and reading too, is getting inside the characters' heads, listening to their inner voice, and you can't do that with a film unless unless you resort to voice-overs, which can be a little tiresome.

On the other hand, film-makers do things that writers can't - pulling the focus from one character or event to another, for example, doesn't have the literary equivalent. The speed of cutting can affect how we interpret events. Sound effects. Casting. It all comes together to create something that wouldn't exist on a page. Even when something has an equivalent, like framing a shot, I'd be hard-pushed to explain how I frame a scene in words, though I do.

I was email-chatting with Arthur Zwidsinski, who made a version of Zippo (see the sidebar for a link) and it struck me how little I know about film-making. Sure, I know the nuts and bolts, I can tell a long shot from a track-and-zoom, and there are certain creative rules and signposts that all storytellers employ, but I don't really know how film-makers make their films 'speak' to the audience.

I couldn't do it. Working with other people kills me anyway, but I believe in a total hands-off approach to adaptations. My rule is, let them get on with it - my charge is always 1 muffin or 1% of gross, whichever is the greater amount.

And so far, I've made about four muffins.

Oh, yeah, there's another version of Zippo available online, on the DailyMotion website. I don't know much about the film-makers, but feel free to follow the link and have a look. Maybe tell them what you think of it. It's all good. There are now at least three versions of this story on film, and it's extremely interesting to compare the different interpretations of a single, very short narrative.

write drunk; edit sober

2010-02-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

One of Hemingway's rules of writing is to write in the positive, rather than the negative - describe what happens, not what doesn't. But then again, Hemingway put the business end of a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, so his judgement wasn't always sound.

Nevertheless, the Old Man is one of my absolute literary heroes. And his posthumous novel, The Garden of Eden, is one of my favourite books of all time, despite its allegedly being subject to 'minor interpolation' by whoever compiled it from his notes and drafts.

Still, I love it. I love the narrative, I love the relationships. I don't mind if it is imperfect. Plus, as a writer, there are some gems in there. Real Hemingway 'how-to-write' moments.

Here's some advice on the business of writing simple, clear prose: "But do not start to think so damned simply. Know how complicated it is and then state it simply."

Oh, I love Hemingway more every time I read him. He just gets better. In fact, stop reading this, go and read some Hemingway. And if you haven't got any of his books, log onto any online bookstore and order some.

Any of them.

A4

2010-02-16T07:37:00.000-08:00

A good holiday is days out walking, or days spent sitting in the garden reading and drinking wine, or mornings in bed sleeping, or making love, or hours spent sitting doing nothing.

Two visits to the dentist in two days isn't a good holiday. Trashing around garages trying to buy a replacement for my little VW isn't a good holiday. Especially when my mouth is still numb from the novocaine.

And in spite of having a couple of days annual leave, this place is still a mess. There's paper, electronic gadgets, books, old DVDs, empty biscuit packets and walking gear littering every flat surface, as far as the eye can see.

Plus Starlight isn't speaking to me as I made a fuss of Alfee, Jamie T's pug, when they came to visit yesterday.

On the up side, Jackson has agreed to be my personal trainer. Not sure how much fun that will be, but it should get me fit. Or in traction.

Right. Off to the garage to negotiate. Then to Smiths for a big notebook. Not a good holiday.

The Card

2010-02-14T13:47:00.000-08:00

Getting a lot of interest in The Card.

One or two people are talking about turning it into a movie.

Though it works fine as a short story, The Card is actually the opening chapter of a novel called Dealer No.1 which describes how the narrator, Mickey Hall, an unhappy but fairly ordinary fifteen year-old, is forced by circumstance to become a drug-dealer.

Mickey becomes a dealer in order to protect his dysfunctional family, but in doing so he comes across the father he's never met. And his father is a real criminal, unlike Mickey who's basically an inspired and fairly desperate amateur.

It all gets a bit Greek at that point.

In the meantime, I'm working on Part 2 of Grendel.