K.A. Laity's Blog, page 129

Publications: Bill is Dead & Chickens

Just a quick word on a couple of things. My sweary sweary story "Bill is Dead" appears in the latest issue of Pulp Metal Magazine. Yes, of course it's another Fall reference. Also my story "Chickens" will appear in Matt Hilton's ACTION anthology in May.



I seem to have turned to crime. May it serve me well.



In Leicester for Alt.Fiction; more anon. If you're on Facebook check out the pix which I can't seem to copy the link to at present.

Writer Wednesday: Postcard Fiction Contest

An inspiration I had: a contest to celebrate brevity in fiction. Write a story that fits on a postcard! Send it to me. I'll choose my favourite and give it a prize -- let's say $25. Entries open now until 15th May, 2012. All postcards I have received through that date will be in the running -- yes, from anyone anywhere in the world. My choice will be entirely capricious and not at all fair as it will be based on my own tastes. Yes, I'm sure the postcard itself could figure into my decision, so choose wisely. Stories remain your copyright, though you must allow me to post them here if I'm of a mind to do so (I will certainly post the winner). Winner to be announced within five days of the end of the contest. Failure to respond to my email indicating you are the winner within five days will lead to me choosing another winner. Anything else I need to clarify? Let me know.



How to do it:



1. Get a postcard.



2. Write a story on it.



3. Include your email address if you want a chance to win.



4. Send your postcard with sufficient stampage to:



Kate Laity c/o

Moore Institute/Institiúid de Móra

NUIG

University Road

Galway

Ireland



Please share the contest with all your writer and would-be-writer friends. Yes, I'm sure it will figure in my research somehow :-)




*This contest funded in part (though not authorised by) the Fulbright Foundation.

London Bound

Tate Britain


I'm writing this on Sunday to post Monday as I'll likely be in transit about this time; if all goes according to plan I ought to be on the Piccadilly Line heading to Russell Square and my swanky hotel. Hurrah for internet deals! Plans include seeing as many friends as I can, visiting my namesake at the Butterfly World Project on Tuesday, seeing Kaurismäki's new film Le Havre and the new Moomin Shop in Covent Garden, maybe catching the Hirst exhibit at the Tate Mod and definitely seeing the Wednesday matinee of The Ladykillers -- very excited about that.



News as I have time and wifi to pass it along: check Twitter. Alt-Fiction this weekend!



If you need entertaining, go listen to Elaine Stritch sing a very appropriate Noel Coward song.

Six Sentence Sunday: It's a Curse

Howling out of Dark Valentine Press later this month, "It's a Curse" is one of the Roman Dalton stories in Drunk on the Moon , tales of the werewolf detective created by Paul D. Brazill. Mr B has lured me into the crime world much like a stranger with candy. I may be some time.



This is another story I can blame on The Fall, forsooth, by gad, verily! The opening owes as much also to Kingsley Amis, who set the bar high for hangover scenes in his classic of academic ambivalence, Lucky Jim . What can I say? I'm competitive.



I could feel my eyeballs roll in their sockets before I opened my lids: never a good sign. I steeled myself for the brutal fact of daylight, but the dawn was as grey as if it hadn't yet decided to get dressed. I reached for the crumpled pack of gaspers lying next to the bed. The object my groping fingers found puzzled me.




I opened one eye warily. It was a handkerchief, floral and trimmed in lace...



Poor Roman: things are going to get worse before they get better. Oh, wait -- no, they're just going to get worse. Hee.

Friday's Forgotten Books: Many Happy Returns

I am doing my taxes today which leaves little time for writing at present. I am somewhat abashed to find I spent over $6300 on travel last year. As luxuries go, that's one of the best.



I have Many Happy Returns: An Unofficial Guide to Your Income Tax Problems by Groucho Marx. I believe my brother Bertie bought it for me (either that or the lovely edition of Beds or quite possibly both). Alas, it's in storage in New York (having seen what it's going for, I hope it is in the good storage and not the outdoor place), so I won't be able to quote directly. Trust me, it's fun. As the man said,"Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana," so we can all say,"From the moment I picked your book up until I laid it down I was convulsed with laughter. Someday I intend reading it."







  As always, see the round-up of recommendations at Patti's blog. [image error]

Thursday Tune: Revolution

Because I am fed up with the war against women and this sort of thing, this is my mood.

Writer Wednesday: Alessandra Bava

A couple bits of news before we get to La Bava: the fabulous Dana Fredsti will be stopping by the Girl's Guide to Surviving the Apocalypse on the 19th of this month with prizes (as if she wasn't a gift herself). Also I managed to miss the release of Dogcast #5 which features my piece "Words" right at the start of the podcast.





I'm delighted to welcome my friend, Alessandra Bava, poet and translator (who just revealed that she will be translating for Tom Stoppard next week, leaving me pea green with envy!). Alessandra was born in Rome in "the year of the barricades." She holds an MA in American Literature and manages her own translation agency. In 2010 she had a cathartic encounter with SF poet laureate Jack Hirschman and she is currently writing his biography. Over 50 of her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in several journals and anthologies. Her first bilingual poetry chapbook, Guerrilla Blues , has just been published by Edizioni Ensemble. We appear side by side in the Occupy Wall Street Poetry Anthology (which is looking to publish in print, you can help).



Q: What do you write on? Computer, pad o' paper, battered Underwood? Give us a vivid picture.



I write on anything. From pieces of paper to pads to my laptop. I always carry pen and pad on me, but I have also learnt to use my cell phone in case of "emergency." Muses can be frivolous! I do not have a writing desk, since I write wherever and whenever, even at work occasionally. Managing a translation agency is a great job because it is a great linguistic exercise. Translating from one language into another is a very creative process, as it forces you to recreate a text in your own language. It's both frustrating and rewarding. It's both heaven and hell, very much like writing at times.



Q: Do you listen to music while you write? Does it influence what you write?



Music inspires me in many different ways, but I seldom listen to music when I write. I hammer words and make enough interior noise as to require my listening abilities to be fully available. I follow my inner rhythm: writing to me is like singing – so I must concentrate on my own voice.




Q: Do you write in short bursts or carve out long periods of time to work? Is it a habit or a vice?



Poems usually come to me unasked, whether short or long. A word or a sentence pops into my head and usually turns into a poem, often as it is meant to be. I do very little editing. I so wish writing could be a habit, but I can't afford to be a professional writer and devote 8 hours per day to writing. I am a vicious amateur.



Q: What writer would you most want to read your work? What would you want to hear them say?



I feel lucky for having had poets Jack Hirschman and Agneta Falk read my poems and appreciating them. Jack even wrote the introduction to Guerrilla Blues. What he said and wrote makes me happy in ways I find hard to express in words. I honestly look forward to receiving some critical feedback now. Too much praise won't do me much good as a writer.



Q: On the days where the writing doesn't go so well, what other art or career do you fantasize about pursuing instead?



I so wish I could draw or paint or even play an instrument, but I can't. If I lived in the 19th century I would be considered a very unaccomplished lady, I fear.




Q: What do you read? What do you re-read?



I have read and re-read an impressive number of poetry collections in the course of the last 2 years, but I'm attacking fiction again. I'm currently reading DeLillo's Cosmopolis and George Sand's Letters.



Q: Where did the idea for Guerilla Blues come from? Do you have a surefire way of sparking inspiration?



I was looking for a publisher for an Anthology of Rome's Revolutionary Poets Brigade (a group of 10 poets living or aspiring to live permanently in Rome inspired by Jack Hirschman's RPB in San Francisco that include the undersigned and John Claude Smith as well). And, when I met Matteo (the publisher of Edizioni Ensemble) to talk to him about the project last December, I gave him some of my poems to read. He loved them and decided to make a real book out of them. This is how Guerrilla Blues was born. In other words, it was a collection of poems that I believed worked well together triggered by my idea of poetry as a means of "disobedience" to awaken consciences in our too often "sleeping" world.



 










SONS OF DISOBEDIENCE




Like Thoreau

      I believe that things

           
don't change, but that

              
we can and must




change. With superb fury,

      we fight liminally,

         
peripherally,

              
deliberately.




The Armed Voice

     inspires us,

        unites us,

           
re-unites us.




                 
We garrison arsenals

                 
of poetry and we fear

                 
not to be taken to the

                 
stocks: words, naked




                 
craving flesh,

           
bones, dripping

        lines, teeth sunk in

 
bowels of sense

         

                    
and dissent.

             
Hands and hips

   drowned in truth's

blood




                   
ready to give birth

            
to several leaves—ready

       to give birth to several

 
sons—of DISOBEDIENCE.


Find Alessandra at her blog as well as on Facebook and Twitter. And get yourself a copy of Guerilla Blues: it's simply incendiary as the best poetry always is. Grazie!

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Beckett's Film

Beckett is funny: people seem to often overlook that fact. Productions of Waiting for Godot that get that fact tend to be much better than those with dour seriousness. You put his craggy mug up there and suddenly it's art with a capital Arrrr! Slapstick is a fundamental element of his work however, so no surprise that he worshipped Buster Keaton. Yes, Keaton by 1965 suffered the effects of his dissolution, but it suits the haggard bemusement of his character in this short film. Beckett himself referred to Film as "an interesting failure"; considering how many dull successes fill the theatres at present, that seems infinitely preferable.







Even newly anointed big-stuff-with-a-show-at-the-Tate-Mod Damien Hirst has done Beckett.



As always, check Sweet Freedom for the round up of other gems. If you watch this on t'Tube you'll see a bunch of other videos featuring both Beckett and Keaton; indulge yourself. Another great resource for arty indulgences, if you don't already know about it, is UbuWeb.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Zoo Story

Patti Abbott has challenged folks again on the topic of the zoo: here's mine with apologies to Edward Albee and William Shakespeare and Bruce Robinson as well. So there.

 










Zoo Story




"So, this is the place."




"This? Why?"




"I thought it would be dramatic."




"Dramatic? Why? Wolf howls make it
dramatic?"




"Not exactly. That scene was filmed
here."




"What scene?"




"From the movie, you know the
one."




"No. You mean…no. Which one?"




"The funny one, with those two guys
and the drinking and—it's very funny. You liked it."




"It's not coming to mind."




"But there's that scene where he
quotes from Shakespeare."




"Who does?"




"Whatsisname…Grant."




"Cary Grant?"




"No, not Cary Grant. The other
one."




"Hugh Grant?"




"No, whatsit—Richard! Richard A.
Grant."




"Don't know him."




"You do! He was in that movie and in
lots of other ones. Tall bloke, gaunt looking, theatrical. He was in the Spice
Girls movie."




"What did he play?"




"I don't remember. Anyway that's not
the point."




"What is the point?"




"He was giving that speech from
Shakespeare, right here, by the wolves."




"What speech?"




"Oh, you know the one."




"Obviously I don't. 'Wherefore art
thou, Romeo?'"




"No, not that one. The one with 'quintessence
of dirt' in it. Oh, you know, it's a famous one. Macbeth maybe."




"No, not ringing any bells."




"About the nature of man…"




"All the world's a stage?"




"No, not that. Oh, you know it—I can't
remember now. It was raining down and he was reciting it to the wolves."




"Why to the wolves?"




"Because they were there. His friend
had gone."




"What was his friend's name? Maybe
that will remind me."




"I can't remember his name. I'm not
sure the friend ever gets named."




"In the whole movie? No one ever says,
'Hey whatsyername, answer that phone' or something like that?"




"No. I mean, I'm pretty sure. The
film's from his point of view. They go see the uncle and he gives them the
cottage and they go on holiday."




"Oh, yeah, I kind of remember that
one."




"Anyway he has that speech—"




"He does? Or the other one?"




"The other one, all right. But he
gives that speech at the end of the movie and his only audience is the wolves
and it's very significant."




"Why?"




"Well, because he goes on to be a
great actor and you can see it in that moment. It's the beginning of better
things."




"Oh."




"So I thought it would be
appropriate—"




"What's the speech again?"




"It's about man's place in the world,
the sky above, the ground below and how grand it all is. Quintessence of
dirt."




"What does that mean anyway?"




"Like the epitome of dirt, I
guess."




"Wouldn't that be a bad thing
though?"




"No, not really—I think you're missing
the point. It's poetry like."




"But it must mean something. If you're
the epitome of dirt, you're still dirt."




"But don't you see—I mean, it's
Shakespeare. Poetry."




"Ironic, you mean?"




"Well, not necessarily ironic but poetic. What's the word? Metaphor."




"Metaphor? That's when you compare
things?"




"Sort of."




"So, what? The wolves respond to
metaphor? Oi, wolves! Metaphorse for me."




"You're thinking metamorphoses. That's
changing."




"Evolving. What would wolves evolve
into?"




"Don't change the subject."




"What was the subject? This stupid
movie?"




"It's not the movie, it's the
speech."




"What about it anyway? You can't even
remember what Shakespeare it's from."




"The play isn't important."




"The play's the thing—isn't that
Shakespeare too?"




"Probably. But what I was
saying—"




"Every famous quote comes from
Shakespeare, doesn't it? Why is that?"




"I don't know. But the speech—"




"All the world's a stage, the play's
the thing, the face that launched a thousand ships…"




"Yeah, but what I wanted to say—"




"Are they all from Hamlet? No some must be from comedies. Wait, Hamlet—that's the one. It comes from there."




"What does?"




"Your speech."




"Right, that's it. I'm sure it is. And
the reason I—"




"Lots of good ones come from that
play—isn't it bad luck to say the name? 'Bare bodkin': we always had a giggle
at that one in school."




"Look, I wanted to say—"




"And there's a joke about privates,
too. Miss, we'd say, could you read that part again, we didn't understand it.
Hilarious!"




"Never mind that. I was talking
about—"




"Do you suppose writers do that on
purpose? Put in jokes like that?"




"I don't know. I don't care."




"What was that?"




"What?"




"That little box you threw into the
pen."




"Nothing."




"Look, that wolf is trying to eat it.
What is it?"




"Nothing. Never mind. Let's go have a
drink."




"You're funny today."




"Yeah. Maybe Shakespeare wrote
me."




"Ha, that's funny. So what was that
box?"




"Nothing. Nothing at all."

Six Sentence Sunday: Revelation

Today's six come from pivotal story in my life: not for its quality (though I find some things to enjoy even now) or because it was my first "official" publication (though it was) but because it brought me kind words from Clive Barker. His Lord of Illusions short story contest inspired me to write this story of a child preacher and the apocalypse that begins at Disneyland. I think Clive had been on some talk show mentioning how much the ride horrified him (as it does all right thinking people) and suddenly the idea was there.



I won the contest, which was cool; even better were the kind words in the letter he wrote me to tell me my story was full of "fluent style and poetic dialogue" and the big hug I got when I first met him and told him that I wrote that story. Clive is a swell guy: every time I see him, he seems to remember me (considering how most people seldom remember me, that's a lot). I have seen him greet the last fan in a very long line with the same enthusiasm he had for the first. It's a good life being an imagineer.



This story appears in full at the official American Clive Barker site.



Michael snapped open his folding-table by the exit of "It's
A Small World," one of his favorite spots, despite the risk.
The scissoring legs telescoped toward the pavement and locked with
a pleasing thwack. Other children, some younger, eyed
him surreptitiously, waiting for the show to begin before committing
to the spectacle.



In a single practiced motion, he slipped the
heavy book from the crook of his elbow to the slanted table-top where it
opened at will. Not by my will, but by Thy will, Michael repeated
silently with satisfaction. He shaded his eyes to scan the well-tanned pages.



Stop by the Six Sentence Sunday blog to discover new writers!