K.A. Laity's Blog, page 134

SA4QE Tenth Anniversary

"Everything is real, Angelica. Reality is a house of many rooms, and sometimes we can enter more than one."


Angelica Lost and Found




RIP Russell Conwell Hoban

4 February 1925 - 13 December 2011




SA4QE: spreading the words 

The Kraken: sharing the dreams





UPDATE: in situ, James Hardiman Library, NUIG (nestled next to Chandler; no Hoban in the library's holdings! Such a sad miscarriage.)








 

Love and Theft

"I'm not quite as cool or forgiving as I sound..."




 "Floater" by Bob Dylan


I'll have some lovely photos from the trip to Connemara up soon, but there's something else I need to deal with first. This week has been a head shaking one in several ways that's ended up leaving me with a couple fewer publications than I had before.



However, before I get to that, a digression. Those of you who have experienced me teaching know my proclivity for doing that. I blame Beowulf: chock full of digressions. Like that great poem, however, my digressions have a point. Think of it as a parable and then a lesson if you like.



The other day on Facebook I shared Jim Jarmusch's quote that I love and have used before. It came in a nice graphic form, so I'll share it here, too.







I always say that becoming a medievalist saved me from the terror of "originality" -- because there's nothing like studying a thousand years of literature to show you without a doubt that every story has been told before. My creative writing students who find this revelation deflating I give the reassurance, "But no one has told your version." If I'd been paying more attention, I would have learned the lesson from Shakespeare. The bard's stories are not "original" -- looted from various sources from Ovid to histories to contemporary events. Yet no one told the tales as he did; that's why we still read him with such pleasure.



We need to recognize that we stand on the shoulders of giants; pretending that you have no influences is simply ignorance. The arrogance of believing that you can create anything without those myriad voices in your head, sights in your eyes, sounds in your ears, shapes in your hands is an illusion. The "stealing" Jarmusch refers to here is not a mindless copying of another's work but an appropriation of elements that resonate through your soul. Because once you've placed your stolen object in a new location, it transforms.



Bob Dylan is a master of this. Love and Theft offers a lot of "thefts" -- something Dylan's always been conscious of doing. His title comes from Eric Lott's book Love & Theft: Blackface Minstrelsy and the American Working Class. The album features what Greg Kot in the Chicago Tribune described as:



"The kind of twisted, instantly memorable characters one meets in John Ford's westerns, Jack Kerouac's road novels, but, most of all, in the blues and country songs of the 1920s, '30s and '40s. This is a tour of American music—jump blues, slow blues, rockabilly, Tin Pan Alley ballads, country swing—that evokes the sprawl, fatalism and subversive humor of Dylan's sacred text, Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music, the pre-rock voicings of Hank Williams, Charley Patton and Johnnie Ray, among others, and the ultradry humor of Groucho Marx."



A fine list of looted treasures. What makes his work a success is not who he steals from, but what he does with the stolen goods. In my own small way, I've stolen from Dylan, too. My story "Tangled Up in Some Sort of Cerulean Hue" took Dylan's "Tangled Up in Blue" and mashed it up with Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus and then just played around. My forthcoming novel Owl Stretching stole  its sadly funny tone from Kurt Vonnegut and stole as well as from William Blake (for all the quotes Ro gets wrong)  and The Descent of Inanna. I steal from everywhere; things collide in my head that would not collide the same way in anyone else's head. I run with those collisions and make something the original creators never intended and would not recognise. That's what Jarmusch means.



Witless theft, on the other hand, stealing without respect or transformation, is a crime not only in the legal sense, but to the spirit of creativity as well. Stealing someone else's work and passing it off as your own, you commit a shabby crime and a lazy one as well. In the digital realm, it's also easy to uncover. I've removed my two stories from Trestle Press for this kind of theft: cover art images, not words this time. I first got a tip off from Mr B and he has already found a new home for the Drunk on the Moon stories (well done!). I don't know what I'll do with "Mandrake and Magpies" yet. I'll think of something.



You can read other authors' (more timely) accounts of the revelations and fallout like Julia Madeleine's, Luca Veste's and BR Statetham's and they'll lead you to many more. I feel bad for the first time writers who received a painful lesson in the crazy world of publishing. After you've been through the folding magazine phenomenon and fly-by-night publishers you find it easier to shrug off the inevitable Dickensian Grubb Street betrayal. Swearing a lot helps at first, but then you just get back to writing -- it's what you need to do.

Out of Touch

Alas, no WiFi it seems in the hotel in Connemara. But what a view, eh? Regular service will resume soon.

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Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Delius

Another in the Ken Russell oeuvre: another composer too. Unlike the Elgar film, this is a fully embodied story and not just a biographical overview. Written with the assistance of Eric Fenby, Frederick Delius' amanuensis in his final years, it gives us a personal insight into the composer at a specific point in his life. I'll admit, I first knew of Delius (and as it happens, Fenby) from Kate Bush's song about Delius that captures the pivotal moment in the film [Kate based a lot of her songs on films -- "It's in the trees! It's coming!"] where Fenby first takes Delius' dictation for what would become "Song of Summer" and the young man's initial confusion and panic when he can't understand Delius' "Ta ta ta ta!" Her video nods to the images of Russell's film as well -- the wicker wheelchair! When I am old and need a chair, I want a wicker one.










Russell's film makes as much of their native Yorkshire as of the "exotic" location in Grez, although Fenby's fish-out-of-water feeling offers the viewer an entré into Delius and Jelka's world. The arrival of fellow composer Percy Grainger to the quietly obsessive menage breaks open the narrative delightfully. While not as visually arresting as the Elgar documentary, this short film showcases a lot of the visual acuity that sometimes gets overwhelming in later films. Russell had a very fine eye. You can watch this on YouTube if you don't have access to BBC4.










As always, see the round up of overlooked gems over at Sweet Freedom.[image error]

Whoosh, Whomp & Whoogah

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Photo by Eileen Smith

Okay, sue me -- I love alliteration. It's the Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse poetry what are to blame. Besides, these are words that are fun to say out loud. Go on, do it. I'll wait.



Okay? So the "whoosh" is because January is nearly done. Eeek! How has the first month of 2012 passed by so quickly? I suppose starting off the year with a fun visit from Miss Wendy and then beginning to teach a course has something to do with that. And I have been writing madly, too. Another whoosh must be the wings of the now-captured Clepington Owl, so alas, I will not get a chance to see her when I get back to Dundee shortly. I'm sure the cats are glad. Yes, more PR from the zeitgeist in advance of Owl Stretching. Hope to hear the release date soon!



I have a short story up at Short-Story.Me -- a little gruesome tale called "Yuletide Feast" that probably would have been a little more timely last month, but you know how it is. I actually wrote this years ago and recently discovered that it had not been published (how does that go, you may ask: well, scrolling through my Stories folder looking for something that I can't remember what title I gave >_< and seeing a title that I also don't remember... see why I need minions?!) and sent it off. Bingo. 



I have also received an award from the lovely Jeanne Andrew: The Versatile Blogger Award. The rules of this harmless bit of fun are: to thank those that nominated
you; to copy-and-paste the award logo in your own blog; to tell your
readers seven random facts about you; and to nominate further blogs
that you follow, and let them know.



Right, here goes: Thank you, Funny Girl Jeanne. You are a delight of my Twitter timeline :-)



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Seven random things about me:



1) My favourite thing on the new iPad: bongos! Seriously.

2) I watched Jaws for the umpteenth time last night and it never gets old.

3) I like to sing along with Dusty Springfield and make all her dramatic arm gestures.

4) I wish I could have met Peter Cook just once, to see those eyes and hear that laugh.

5) I want to write sparkling prose that will live forever; I get around the anxiety and paralysis this causes by telling myself, "Well, not today obviously."

6) There is an indestructible happiness inside me.

7) I don't know where the stories I write come from; I just try to be friends with my head, as the great Russell Hoban put it, and simply write down what it tells me. So far, that's been working out.



Right: so here are some blogs you ought to be checking out, i.e the award winners! Some of these will be to give a kick in the muse for the folks I point to, as they have been neglectful of their blogs [gives severe look]. I see Mr B has already received one recently, so I won't add him to the list, but you should always drop by his gaff for some laffs (yes, spelled that way).



Lochee has has not updated his blog since posting some fetching pictures of Karen Gillan. Tsk!



The fabulous QoE always has some wonderful new art up. Stop by and show her the love.



Miss Wendy will surely have some stories to share about her visit here soon.



The poet of Rome, Alessandra, always has lovely things to share. Her sweetie, John, always has some darkness to offer, too.



The lovely jubbly Chloë also has a blog! She will delight and amuse you.



Have you checked out the Apocalypse Girls? If not, why not! And while you're at it, be sure to drop by UnBound to catch up on all the latest. They will be covering Alt.Fiction, where I will be doing a one-on-one with Graham Joyce (gulp!) about the darkness of fairy tales, as well as another explaining why pretty much all Alan Moore adaptations suck -- and probably reading some flash fiction in the open mic.



The usual suspects: if you're reading my blog, chances are you already read Todd, Patti and Elena as well: if you don't I simply have to ask, Are you mad?! Hee. You have all been given the versatile blogger award: no speeches required, just take a moment to reflect on the work that you've done and pat yourself on the back.



Well, that should give the rest of you plenty to get started reading. Are you blogging? Do I know that? Should you be sending me a link? That's the thing: we're all busy people. I won't know you've written something unless you tell me (see how I trumpet every little thing here). Share your words -- that's why you write, isn't it? Whoogah![image error]

Six Sentence Sunday: It's a Curse

A simple concept: writers offer six sentences to pique your interest. Here's mine:





"And you're a beast among men, Roman Dalton." Marinova spoke softly but the
words hit like a blow anyway. I hunched my shoulders and walked on, the
zubrowka churning my guts yet. When I reached the lifts I punched the button
with a little more energy than it called for to summon one. The wolf arched in
my spine. His time drew closer. I hit the button again. I needed to finish up
this job.





You can buy It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7 and the other titles in Mr B's killer fun werewolf PI series along with a bunch of my fine colleagues at Trestle Press. You can also win a copy at Goodreads.



Drop by the Six Sentence Sunday blog to sample other writers. 









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Surprises and Melancholia (Bitch Buzz)

I meant to do a Friday Forgotten Book, but today took a few unexpected turns which involved a glorious day at the beach, a much overdue haircut and a shiny new iPad2 (thank you Fulbright Foundation) which is charging now. So I have added some lovely photos to the Ireland photo album, including a cute little Scottie dog (oddly enough, I'm working on a story that has one as a character). It's often difficult to get the corvids to sit still long enough -- or close enough -- to get a good picture, but rooks have been the best so far. Sitting in a tree on Claddagh Walk, one proved low enough to allow me to get a couple of shots that look all right. I keep trying to get the hooded crows and the magpies -- they're such fun to watch, but wisely wary of humans. Of course, in Galway there are always swans.



Low tide always has such interesting textures in the sand. I like the barnacles and seaweed exposed as the water recedes. Such a variety of textures. Makes for interesting pictures. And there's always my favourite spot. Sigh. It's so picturesque.



My column is up a bit later than usual: overdose on film coverage in the wake of the even more disappointing than usual choices. How the impact of a film like Melancholia could be overlooked seems a mystery. Oh wait, no it doesn't. It focuses on women and isn't a "chick flick" (horrid term).








Oscar Nomination Melancholia
As Bitch Magazine has already observed, the sky is blue, water is wet, and the Oscar nominations are a big feminist disappointment. This seems to be the year they officially become as irrelevant as the Grammys, an industry showcase that reflects no vision of reality outside the industrial boardrooms. In a year when awards can be offered for run-of-the-mill biopics that make horrid people "vulnerable" and "human" (one begins to suspect a subterranean right wing campaign funding both
the films and the awards). At least the National Society of Film Critics and the jury at Cannes  picked up on it.



In the seemingly ever smaller number of films that pass the Bechdel Test, one major film got completely overlooked for the major awards: Lars von Trier's Melancholia.
It's kind of stunning because it includes the sort of bravura acting
that usually gets awards—had it been men in the roles, perhaps the
statues would be lining up. Perhaps it was the uneasy accusations of misogyny leveled at von Trier particularly in the wake of Antichrist. But
here's the thing: every female character does not have to be a squeaky
clean role model or redeemed hooker. Male characters have the space to
be good, bad or better yet, complicated. Women remain largely relegated
to secondary roles in most films and to films dismissed as 'chick
flicks' when they star in them.



Melancholia is no chick flick. It is harrowing in so many ways—not least for the unflinching portrayal of real depression...



Read the rest at BBHQ as always. I have more to say about Melancholia, I think. I've really only scratched the surface here: I want to talk about visualising the end of the world -- and the music, too. Anon -- always too much to do!



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Writer Wednesday: Michel R. Vaillancourt

I'm kicking off a new feature today: Writer Wednesday. So many of my colleagues have been kind enough to feature me on their blogs, I'm well overdue for returning the favour. First up is my fellow Trestle Press author, Michel R. Vaillancourt.



Tell us a little bit about yourself, Michel.



In brief about me, I am forty-two years old, currently living in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada.  My day job is CEO & Alpha-Geek for a video conference hosting company.  I'm married, I have a son and I have been reading and writing for most of my life.  I have been involved in Steampunk for two years and a fan of adventure stories since I was twelve.



Q: What do you write on? Computer, pad o' paper, battered Underwood?



I'm a story teller, in terms of mindset.  So for me, the challenge is keeping myself "surrounded by the magic" that story telling brings me in front of a spoken-word audience.  Distractions that remind me that it's "just me here" are my bane.  So, I tend to write with most of the lights off, at my computer, using a full-screen won't-let-you-format-or-spell-check application called OmmWriter.




 The lights are out, because that "shrinks the world" the way that being on a stage or at a campfire does.  I can't see my audience, I just have to trust they are there.  I use a computer because my thoughts tumble out of my fingers, and I can't hand-write fast enough to keep up, and for some reason dictation never works for me.  OmmWriter gives me a visual and auditory ambiance that washes away the rest of the house noises, the sound of the five cats, four birds and a dog, etc, and allows me to emotionally drill into the scene I am trying to capture.



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



Absolutely, I do.  My listening music tends to be based on my mood.  Sometimes, I just want quiet, or I pick one of the ambiance sequences that is part of OmmWriter.  I either listen to Steampunk music from groups like Abney Park, Vernian Process and Vagabond Opera, or I listen to trance/ electronica from Tiesto or Armin Van Burren.  Other times, I listen to atmospherics like Brian Eno's "Music For Airports" or "Music for Films".




 A few times, I've used music to help me craft a scene...  for that I dig out movie sound tracks and find the right "feel" I am looking for.  Most of the time, though, the music is there to work as creative grease, not to actually be a direct influence.



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



I write when I have a story to tell.  I don't write because I "have" to because of an "external" influence, like a deadline or a screaming publisher.  I already have a job, so I have the luxury of writing my stories out because I feel like telling the next part of my story. How much I write at a session really depends on how much I have to say.  I write "until I'm done" and nothing more.  If that is 100 words, okay.  Some days it is 3200 words.  My wife knows that my story writing is a joy in my life, so when it is what I want to do, she encourages me and lets me go to it. That makes me very lucky on many fronts and I know that.



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




These days, it would Cherie M. Priest.  I'd love to have them publish a review of my work.  She's pretty much the benchmark for Steampunk writing these days, given the success of "Boneshaker".



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



Other way around for me.  On the days my IT business isn't going so well, I fantasize about doing well enough as an author to go full time pro with it.  I haven't had a "bad writing day" so far;  I'm fortunate that way.



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



Right now, not much.  I'm pretty busy, and I'm trying to stay focused on my own story world and my own story writing.  I'm a dreamer, so I get caught up really easily in other people's worlds.  So, until I get my second novel sealed and delivered, I'm keeping my reading pretty narrow.  Mostly period research and associated Steampunk-themed blogs.





Q: Where did the idea for The Sauder Diaries: By Any Other Name come from? Do you have a surefire way of sparking inspiration?



The full explanation is on my blog site with a complaint, an argument and two pretty girls. The short version is that I wanted to answer the question "who are the sort of people that live in a world where airship pirates are possible?"  That's why the main character, Hans Sauder, starts off into the world of airship piracy with as little knowledge as the reader at the beginning of the book.  It is an exploratory work.



 I added to that the idea that I wanted to write a really -strong- female character.  One that would really be very counter-culture to the Victorian ideals of womanhood.  One of the things that the Victorian Era served as was a kind of watershed for the Sufferage Movement.  To me, to be true to "Steampunk" as I see it, you pretty much need a female lead or supporting character to be ahead of the curve;  already be out there, doing the sort of things that women of the time rallying in the streets could only dream about.




 As far as sparking inspiration, one of my favorite comments about the nature of human discovery is that "... more great moments in science have been heralded with the words 'that's funny...' than 'eureka!'."  So, when I want to tell a compelling story, I start with a compelling question and then figure out how to make the answer feel like "that's funny...";  a sense of discovery or disbelief that grows into wonder.



 The Sauder Diaries: By Any Other Name



The Sauder Diaries take place in an alternate-history Earth, in the year 1888.  The Crimean War ended as a stalemate and Europe is divided along the Allied and Russian Imperial borders by the Scorchlands. Large sections of "civilized Europe" cannot be traveled due to bandits, renegade armies, and rogue mad science experiments.




 Hans Sauder is the son of a German industrialist, on his way to University to study airship engineering. His passenger airship is attacked by the legendary pirate ship the Bloody Rose.  Hans is taken prisoner and given the choice of joining the crew, or taking his chances with parachuting into the wilds of Europe.




 Thus begins the "diaries", detailing his travels — the reader is first treated to Hans' impressions of events and then gets to see what really happened.




 Hans and his new crewmates are hunted by the airship navies of Allied Europe, chased into hiding in Egypt, board merchant ships over Germany, and visit hidden black market trade centers.  Things really get rough when they are hired to undertake a dangerous mission in the skies of the Russian Empire.




 As the story unfolds, Hans' new life is further complicated by the romantic advances of the leader of the ship's gunner-marines, a ruthless and no-nonsense woman with a chip on her shoulder.  As well, Hans is perpetually dogged by a deep conflict between his sense of morals and duty to his family, and the challenges and adventure of this new life he has discovered.



     He had made remarkable friends, found an improbable love, fought, killed, saved lives, wept and laughed all over a half-a-mile in the sky for three remarkable months.  He knew what it was he had been missing his entire life.



     "But I cannot stay," he said quietly to himself.  



Michel can be found at his website, on Twitter and Facebook as well as Amazon and Goodreads. Look for him on the Steampunk Writers Ning, too.

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Tuesday's Overlooked Films: Ken Russell's Elgar

The BBC has been pulling out a bunch of Russell films from the vault in a grudging sort of admiration for the filmmaker's passing, including a doco on his life, A Bit of a Devil. So my DVR seems to be filling up with an assortment of things (which means I'll finally see The Boyfriend). I actually watched this in real time and plan to re-watch it soon. We're all used to thinking of Russell as the bad boy of excess (who, having seen it, can get the giant penis of Listomania out of their eyeballs?). Certainly a number of his films live up to that surreal excess.



But there is a range to his work -- even within his most excessive films (what would qualify for that? The Devils?) there are quiet enigmas. Elgar, a short film made for Monitor shows a restrained Russell at work but one who (as the doco tells us) delighted in dancing naked to extraordinary music. People tend to remember Elgar most for the song they hear at graduations, but there's so much more. Another one of those weird confluences of the zeitgeist: the events in Penda's Fen hinge on Elgar's Dream of Gerontius and the composer makes an appearance as the story takes place in the same location, the hills of Malvern.












I was talking about this on Twitter with a friend about how sensitive and deft the film was, how it put the music at the center. It tread the line between documentary and re-enactment without falling into the silliness that usually means. As Susie said, this was in sharp contrast to the slickness of current documentaries "and no silly camera work, no 'acting' Loved shot of Elgar walking into room of draped chairs to his draped billiard table." The film is full of striking images that encapsulate significant moments of Elgar's life (some of which reappear in Russell's work, but they're integrated into Elgar's story well). The music is the real star and Russell allows the audience to embrace the music full on, giving us space to really listen with visuals that compliment but never intrude on that experience. You can watch it in pieces on YouTube: not ideal, but worthwhile nonetheless. Excellent work.



See the roundup of recommendations over at Sweet Freedom.



Teaching tomorrow: eek. So much to do! Fortunately it seems as if the zeitgeist has taken the initiative to come up with a PR campaign for my forthcoming novel Owl Stretching, so that will save me some time.



Don't forget: enter to win a free copy of It's a Curse: Drunk on the Moon 7 over at Goodreads.[image error]

Haunted, Spies & a little Melancholia

Angela Carter: she's been a kind of spiritual mother to me since I first read The Bloody Chamber and knew I'd found a kindred soul. This week I finally started writing the novel that's been brewing in my head for some time now inspired by Carter and to some extent also by Kingsley Amis. Hard to imagine two writers more diametrically opposed, but there it is. They fit together in this project. So my head snapped back a little to see this story in the Guardian about Carter's postcards to her friend and literary executor Susannah Clapp. All kinds of resonance from the details in that story from her love of sending postcards to other coincidences that make me wonder just how much of Carter's life will intertwine with my story. Maybe it will only be at the start. Owl Stretching began the day I realised there would be no more sad, funny novels from Kurt Vonnegut, but his ghost only hung around now and then to remind me. He didn't really poke his nose into the proceedings much. Carter died far too soon (and about the age I am now). I feel a responsibility to write the kind of stories she might have written -- or at the very least, as fearlessly as she always sought to write. It's a goal. There's a slide show of the cards. Check it out.



I've got an interview up over at Ben Sobieck's blog, where he suggests I might really be a spy. It's funny how that theme keeps recurring: the first novel I ever wrote -- way back in high school -- followed the adventures of a wannabe spy. The title I'm sorry to say was Ace Spies Incorporated and the plot followed a similar path to just about every film from North by Northwest to The Man Who Knew Too Little with the innocent main character getting caught up with the real thing and quickly getting in over her head. The novel also featured thinly veiled versions of my teenage crushes, the Beatles (ah, that 70s resurgence of second wave Beatlemania). I don't think I have a copy of this anymore, although my old friend Carla might.



I finally saw Melancholia, but I'm not ready to write it up. Harrowing, I can say that much. Amazing, incredible visuals and powerful drama, yes -- but harrowing. And I start teaching Wednesday. Eek![image error]