K.A. Laity's Blog, page 126

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: A Gun for George

A Gun for George offers the new Walter Mitty for a 21st century.



Terry Finch is a frustrated pulp fiction author and eternal loner looking for brutal revenge on the mean streets of East Kent.



This short film offers a fascinating (and funny!) look at a few tropes that are instantly recognisable to any film fan. It has a vintage look, but takes place now(ish), deliberately mashing up past and present to embody those colliding impulses.



Hard-bitten, gritty, pulpy crime narratives: British television used to rule on this front, as Mr B has written about a few times here and there. It's a trend that's exploding again lately: tough, he-man grit, but it's often one that can seemingly only happen
in fantasy -- either hedged around with nostalgia or set in an unquestioned past.



The appeal rests on the idea that average men, who once had the unquestioned assumption of male power and privilege, find that has been taken away or at least become complicated. Some blame the usual targets (women and minorities rather than patriarchy and capitalism), but these films and similar books show a world that many long for --  one with uncomplicated interactions where good triumphs over evil even if it has to bend the rules to do so (think Dirty Harry and Charles Bronson films). It's not purely a male fantasy.

 

However it has often been a genre without women, except as easily-discarded sex partners, dames to be rescued or mirrors for their manliness, and as well as one where the Other can be easily distinguished by visible markers (i.e. race or ethnicity). It's a genre I'm writing in a lot lately, so I'm intrigued by all this backward splashing of nostalgia and modernity. Sometimes it is deliberately set in the past (like my story "Chickens") but other times it's happening right now ("Bill is Dead"). It's about world building in either case: that's what a lot of mimetic fiction writers don't always get -- it's all about world building.* 



[Need I add that most of the writers I've met working in the genre are not like Terry Finch, fine gentlemen and ladies who play nice and prove generally kind and inclusive to everyone? Naah, you know that.]



Let me get back to the film (instead of writing what will probably be my next PCA presentation on gender and nostalgia in noir fiction judging by this >_<).  Yes, the film examines the place of the displaced 70s man of action. It's also hilarious! It's pure Dunning-Kruger in action (oh dear, another paper that wants to be written) because Terry Finch thinks he's really an awesome tough-guy writer and everything we see demonstrates that he is not.



East Kent Grit: what a lovely concept.



Best laugh perhaps comes when a doctor cautions him, "If you must write, do it away from the sick and the vulnerable." And his caravan! HAHAHAHA!



See the site for The Reprisalizer, Terry Fincher's pulp star ("Real Name: Bob Shuter"). While it's a bit neglected of late, it provides dead on, awesomely realistic creations of vintage pulpy goodness. The whole created world of Terry Finch shows such care and attention to detail. Wonderful!



See Todd's blog for the round-up of overlooked gems.







*One of the reasons I have to spend so much time getting my students to visualise the medieval world; without a lot of explanation, my students tend to see history as just now with a hat on (a funny medieval hat in that instance). A lot of mimetic fiction neglects world building and often readers assume they know the world in which a story takes place only to be brought up short when they stumble across something that doesn't fit their own experience.[image error]

Postcards, Bridges, a Knife and a Quill

I model the latest SL Johnson design with lighting by Garbo

I have got so far as narrowing down the entries in the First Annual Postcard Fiction Contest to a pool of final contenders (yes, Ale! Your card arrived). Agonizing to make the final choice! I may need a glass of wine for this. Alas, I have none. I suppose that could be remedied, but I have so much to do today.



I will force myself to make a choice by Wednesday and keep rereading them in the meantime. A huge thank you to everyone who entered. I may indeed make this an annual event. It was about this time last year that I got the call saying I was going to Ireland. It has to have been the fastest year on record, whew.



Not that it felt like it when I was packing and clearing out my old flat. The horror, the horror. But wherever I may be, I will stop around this time and think of the adventure about to unfold and feel very happy:

“If it could only be like this always – always summer, always alone, the fruit always ripe and Aloysius in a good temper...”


―
Evelyn Waugh,

Brideshead Revisited 

 No time to spare for wistful thoughts: much too busy! One of the latest projects: a book trailer for Burning Bridges: A Renegade Anthology . Yes, if you're reading this you likely already know the story -- and that you have no excuse for not getting it! Free on Smashwords, 99¢ on Amazon and all that going to literacy. Don't make me come over there! No, really -- because I'm staying over here. The trailer tells the story of the assembly of our renegade band. Check it out and give it a like and get the book already!










One more important bit of news: I'm writing reviews over at A Knife and A Quill , a site for dark fiction, as you might guess from the name. Lots of horror and crime fiction covered over there. So if you have an interest, drop by and read some reviews, interviews and features. If you're an author think about submitting something for review by the team. Yes, this is in addition to writing for The Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse and the occasional piece for Un:Bound. Why do you think I'm so busy? My quill is always scratching away.



Writers, who can resist a quill? I remember comparing quill tattoos with Sarah Pinborough at P-Con. Writing: it's in the blood, it's in the flesh.




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Six Sentence Sunday: Grotesque

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Another Sunday has rolled around, giving you the opportunity to spot new writers you might like with the Six Sentence Sunday crew. A great, simple concept that seems to be very effective. My six this week come from a short that's been under submission for a bit now; I've become so good at the "submit & forget" that until a chance bump to the memory regurgitated it, I had forgotten the story existed and also where I had sent it, so I had to dig around to find it. Some detective work, eh? All I knew: it was named after a Fall reference.



Yeah, that narrows it down.



So here's a bit from "Grotesque" which is out there trying its luck (and now I know where). I picked a few lines describing the pub where most of the story takes place. Loosely based on a pub I know, but made much much worse, naturally; that's what fiction's all about. The scene begins with an explanation why no women have ever crossed its threshold:



Perhaps that could be blamed on the décor, which ranged from brown to more brown. Or the ambience that derived from unwashed and mostly middle aged men just off shift. The young lads all went to the shiny new sports pubs with their cacophonous screens and drinks with asinine names that they swilled back like candy. 



We had two kinds of lager here and one of ale, with Guinness on the side for the old men from the isle. In the summer you could also get cans of Budweiser to take out into the 'beer garden': a picnic table on a concrete square between the rubbish tip and the gray wall of the car park. The chief appeal seemed to be you were allowed to spit out there.



I'll let you know if/when something comes of it. I'm sure it will eventually.









 

 

 

 
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Friday's Forgotten Books: Jean Craighead George

I was saddened to hear of the death of Jean Craighead George yesterday. I think Liz Hand first published a link on Facebook, but loads of others shared the news with the same feeling of loss for her absence and joy for her vivid adventures of the outdoors. One of my former students said she gives a copy of My Side of the Mountain to all the children she knows on their eleventh birthday. What a wonderful habit!



It's no hyperbole to say that book changed my life. A born pagan, I spent months afterward trying to live in the wilds of our back yard (>_<), constructing a "home" in the grapevines dividing my grandparents' house from the Tabors' next door, forming ambitious plans for the giant maple at the corner of our yard in the elbow of the L-shaped fields belonging to St. Gerard's, and attempting to mash acorns into some kind of pancakes -- producing bitter results, which I think Bertie can attest to as well (what are brothers for, but to experiment upon?).



I still long for a falcon.



She has an immense list of publications, which she admits to find intimidating:

This alphabetical list of books is enough to scare off even me. Some of the books listed below are no longer available in print. If you're interested, you probably can find them in the library. The list is not really long when you consider that there are almost 250 million beautiful plants and animals on this earth that I could have written about. 

Generous with herself she posted her email for people to write to her and gave children advice on how to write:

Most of us need a prod to get ideas swirling in our heads. Once that happens it is easy to write. Here are a few prods for writing a story. Perhaps you can use them, perhaps you will say "ugh" and come up with your own original way to write a book. No matter which - write - and write out of the love of words.

Drop by and see some videos with this lovely author and celebrate her life.



See the roundup of FFBs over at Todd's this week.




✍ And a proper announcement later, but check out the new dark fiction site, A Knife and a Quill , for whom I'll be writing reviews; they've kicked off with an interview with me. ☠











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Shhhh, reading!

In case you missed it yesterday, I have some lovely postcards to read in order to choose a winner. Looking forward to that.



And hey! My photo of the Howff appeared in the Dundee Evening Telegraph last night. Thanks for taking a picture of my picture, sweetie :-)




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Writer Wednesday: Flash!

Because everything's more exciting with an exclamation mark at the end (sledgehammer! verrucas! antidisestablishmentarianism!), yes -- it's National Flash Fiction Day! All right, so only in the UK, officially -- but since I live in Ireland I don't have to listen to what the Queen says anyway, so she can't tell me not to write about flash fiction.



Jubilee, my arse!



Sorry, channeling Jim Royle for a moment (how apropos!). I like writing flash: when a long project gets stuck, often the best way to get unstuck is to write something short but complete. Clears the brain.



So here's my flash fiction you can read on line right now, hastily copied and pasted from the bibliography. All are a thousand words or less, so plenty of time to read one even in your busy schedule. How else would you celebrate? If you feel so moved, why not write a flash story in the comments or paste a link to one you've got up somewhere. Share the wealth -- even if it's only a bite. Some also come in easy listening audio form and some are -- gasp -- poetry. Others may contain language unsafe for gentle ears. You have been warned:







“Biscuits.” Flash fiction. Short Humour, May 2012. Also available at Postcard Shorts, May 2012.



“Bill is Dead.” Flash fiction. Pulp Metal Magazine, Spring 2012.



“Words.” Flash fiction/podcast. Dogcast 5: March 2012.



“Mandrake Anthrax.” Short story. A Twist of Noir , 14 Dec 2011.



“Soap Opera Digest.” Humour. Dragnet Magazine 2 (Jul 2011): 40-42.



“There was a Professor of English.” Poem. Asinine Poetry (Apr 2011). Also an AudioBoo.



“A Charming Situation.” Short story. Written for the Sherlocking fan site: now free on Scribd (Nov 2010).



 “The Last Ant.” Humour. Wild Violet 9.2 (2010).



“Rothko Red.” Audio version available at Soundcloud, also included in Dogcast 12.



“Wixey.” Flash fiction. Wild Violet 8.1 (2009).



“The Princess and Her Pig.” Poem. New Fairy Tales 1 (Oct 2008): 18-19.



“Diva Soup." Soundcloud. 2008.



 “Corrections to the Rules of Fimble Fowl (for 3 players or 4).” Humor. Wild Violet 6.2 (2007).



When Little Joe the Krampus Met . Chapbook with The Joey Zone (Dec 2003). Soundcloud.



“The Eleventh Commandment.” Rictus 9 (Apr 1997).



And of course my very first publication, the one Clive Barker called, "full of fluent style and poetic dialogue" (swoon):



“Revelation.” The Official Clive Barker Page, www.clivebarker.com. Winner, MGM/United Artists/Clive Barker’s Lord of Illusions Short Story Contest, November 1995.



Now I have some postcards to read!
















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Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: The Third Man

Phone pics off the screen



Hold on there, cookie! The Third Man , that classic Orson Welles film -- overlooked?! Well, yeah, I dare to say it. I say it on the basis of so many people who are not film geeks who've either never heard of it  or those who maybe know Welles from advertisements only or are geeks and have been meaning to see it for years (o_O) hmmm?







This time around I saw it differently, too, because it marked the first time I consciously watched it as noir (and for the cats). So many things I have in the back of my head about noir, it's good to make a conscious effort to consider the building of scenes and the building of the story in Greene's script (I have to read the novella!). Cotton's stumbling 'pulp' writer [in scare quotes because Todd will tell me he's not pulp at all but I don't know exactly what is textbook pulp and what is not because it seems a handy designation for a vast range of writers who wrote for cheap paperbacks in the early 20C and if it only turns out to be people who wrote for specific publishers who printed on PULP™brand paper during the odd months of the year 1935, I'll never remember that, so -- scare quotes] gradually uncovers a mystery when he thought he was just coming to a funeral and then things get weird as he finds out his good friend is nothing like the man he thought him to be.



(Somehow this relates today's thoughts on Dunning-Kruger, too -- not sure how).







This film has such amazing and utterly gorgeous shots, not as distinct frames like so many current films that scream "Look at this shot!" but as an organic whole that tells a story. A compelling story: how to deal with competing views of a man you've trusted? How to deal with a woman you love who's still in love with your best friend? And a very Greenean quandary about making moral choices when the options are not the black and white ones you were taught to distinguish between.



I ended up paying much more attention to the look of the film but the narrative kept pulling me back in. It remains a classic not just because it is a superbly directed film, but also because it tells a compelling story. And while it makes you despise the smug Harry Lime (whether or not he was right about cuckoo clocks and Borgias), you can see how he represents a very common type -- the ones who looted their way through half the economies of the world with every belief in their right to do so.







Could you walk away from such temptation?



See the round-up of overlooked A/V over at Sweet Freedom.














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The Secret to Life, the Universe and Everything

Well, it sounded better than "Just another manic Monday." But that's what it is and already afternoon here. I have the excuse of going very late to bed -- mostly due to the nice weather which means Club Karma has their "garden" seating now (can it be a "garden" if it's just tables in the alley?) so thumping bass wafts out along with drunken hooting and hollering conversations that get funneled up to the cul de sac outside my bedroom window and into my Ballardian dwelling.



So I go to bed late.



A few quick things: if you haven't checked out the photos from last week's trip to Brigit's Garden with the lovely Maura, do! It was a grand day out.



My flash story "Biscuits" now appears at the wonderful Postcard Shorts site. Drop by and give it a like or a share and get a chuckle out of it. I've been writing a lot of flash fiction lately because it's a nice break in between longer works. So much of writing and publishing is scraping away day in and day out with no visible results. Nice to write a story, send it out, have it appear sometimes within a very short space of time.



Who knew there was an official Flash Fiction Day ? I'll have to assemble links to all mine.



If you need some entertaining, read Anne Billson's hilarious free "My Day by Jones" AKA Alien as told by the cat onboard the ship. Read my write up over at the Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse.



I've got a short piece on writers' colonies over at the blog for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop; drop by and leave a comment or share it with your friends.



So in addition to keeping busy, pursuing the life you want for yourself, replacing fear with hope and living fully in the now, the secret to life, the universe and everything of course remains 42.

Six Sentence Sunday: The Claddagh Icon

Another Sunday has rolled around; in the States it's Mother's Day, so happy Mother's Day to my mother and all the other mothers out there. It's also Six Sentence Sunday, so I've selected another story to tease you with. It's definitely a tease, because while I've sent the story off to my publisher in Italy, I don't know exactly when it's coming out or even if it will be available in English (I think so). It will be part of a series of sexy noirish tales set in different cities around the world -- yes, another publication venue that Mr B pointed me toward.



The story is named after a local landmark, this sculpture that appears on the Claddagh side of the bay, which is doubtless hardly surprising. Across Grattan Road there's another statue which really does look as I describe it in these opening lines. I enjoyed finding the voice of this character. As you might expect, I've spent a lot of my time here listening to the ways people talk:



I first saw her standing by the icon. I was saying hello to Father Burke's statue as he raised a glass to the offie across the street and thinking about indulging myself, it being a grey sort of day that calls for a smoky glass of the gold nectar. Under the halo of the icon, her golden hair glowed. The cormorant rose above her as if to proclaim her beauty to the world. I'm not sure what the boat represented: maybe it was my hopes sailing away...



This story won't be for everyone: steamy! And noirish, so not everything's going to go well for everyone. I'm enjoying the crime groove. My head's full of interesting ideas.



Don't forget -- you can sample a bunch of writers' sixes at the official site.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Complete Nonsense

Tomorrow is the 200th anniversary of Edward Lear's birth. There's a terrific blog that keeps track of all the events and and another that prints pages from Lear's diary. In a wonderful piece in the Independent David Quantick wrote winningly about Lear and the appeal of nonsense. I have to say, I was convinced before I ever read it that, "A little bit of nonsense is the secret of a sane life." Lear is one of those touchstones to which I always return.










You can't really go wrong where ever you start, but you may find you don't want to end. And there's all kinds of places to read on the web, if you don't have the money to spend. But The Complete Verse and Other Nonsense of course will give you much intercourse with rhymes that will soon become friends.



I wrote a poem and passed it off as one of Lear's. I had it published in Asinine Poetry. And then I made this recording. More nonsense, please.










listen to ‘There Was a Professor of English’ on Audioboo













Drop by Patti Abbott's blog Todd's blog this week and next for the full roundup. Mr Lear is part of a mighty triumvirate celebrating birthdays tomorrow, including Tony Hancock and the delightful Mr B. Happy birthday, boys!