K.A. Laity's Blog, page 141

BitchBuzz: NaNoWriMo

Lots of folks I know are knee-deep in NaNoWriMo; if you've ever thought about trying to write, it's a good boost with a lot of support and encouragement. If I'm not doing it, it's only because with me every month is NaNoWriMo at least in quantity although not always novel format (she says hastily trying to finish a short story to send off).




NaNoWriMo: Get Your Novel Going!

By K.A. Laity




It takes audacity to assume you've got a novel in you,
although more and more people lately seem to find that audacity
regularly -- pity they're mostly illiterate celebrities who pay someone
to do the paperwork. Regular women often have more difficulty taking up
the proverbial pen because they lack the chutzpah, but also because they
lack the time. It's all that unpaid labour that's not really on the
clock but somehow takes up an awful lot of hours.



I'm convinced the key to writing success is simply not cleaning anything and buying ready made meals.



If you've thought about the idea of writing but couldn't quite figure out how to get started, try joining NaNoWriMo --
National Novel Writing Month, or as their catchphrase puts it, "Thirty
days and nights of literary abandon!" That sounds a lot better than
"thousands of people hunched over computers around the world." Indeed
there's some magic in the idea of all these people engaged in the same
creative pursuit for a whole month. You can get a word count widget for
your blog or website, read pep talks from successful NaNoWriMoers, and
join a discussion forum for your region or genre..


Read the rest as always over at BBHQ.



Today I'm sailing off in the Pirate Pub to Scotland: doubtless I will have some lovely adventures to share and maybe a few pictures, too. Guy Fawkes Day on Saturday and there will be fireworks. More when I return. Or perhaps I will just recite some poetry.

Know-vember

Ah ha! I woke up with an idea this morning to do another round of interviews on the blog (inspired by Alan Partridge of course). I'm always taken aback when I realise how many of my friends don't know each other -- not surprising I suppose with my globe-trotting ways, but I always seem to assume that anyone who knows me knows everyone else I know.



Silly me!



So I've sent out the first round of invitations to people I thought might be cajoled into participating. It's meant to be fun, not onerous in any way! You don't even have to tell the truth. Just a way to share the wonderful people I know with each other -- and yes! Of course I will turn the tables on myself at the end of the month. You needn't wait for an invitation: feel free to email me and say you want to be part of Know-vember. Because you do!

Ghoulway

 There was a persistent magpie knocking at my balcony window and then at the kitchen window yesterday morning. Usually there's a pair. Maybe she was asking if I'd seen her mate.




[image error]
 Lame, but this was the full extent of my costuming! I didn't have any parties to go to, so I didn't feel obliged to come up with something fantastic. Yes, I am hanging my head in shame.




[image error]
But I did go out to dinner with Michael and Leslie at the Kings Head; while ambling down Quay Street afterward we saw this sign and it made us chuckle. There were lots of folks in costumes and a few kids out guising, but no one came to my door so I have oodles of chocolate left. Fortunately, I only bought candy I like...




[image error]
We stopped by the Salt Hill Pub down on the Claddagh side of the Corrib. As I'm off to Scotland on Thursday, I had a Brew Dog which was quite good.

Happy Halloween!

A gloriously spooky day to you all! I know I have been remiss in my Halloween cards for the last couple years; I have as an excuse the general madness of my life lately -- this year in particular. I suspect next year will either be incredibly dull and boring, or else more mad than ever.



I will not be taking bets on that. Let's not tempt fate, eh?



My sympathies for all my east coast friends who got a lot of snow dumped on them this weekend. I won't regale you with what a surprisingly warm day it was in Galway, how I walked out along the Claddagh and out the causeway to Mutton Island... oh, wait. I am doing that. Sorry! A freak October snowstorm. I'm sure it will be smooth sailing for the rest of the season...



All right, no more teasing. I remember well the painful jaws of the Great Grey Beast of February. Let this be the most snow you see until the thaws begin!





In lieu of an actual card, here's an old chestnut that I hope you're not tired of yet:






Devil's Night



It was called Devil's Night in the town where I lived

That veiled night before Halloween,

When goblins came out and devils ran wild

And some said that witches were seen.

We kids stayed inside, safe in our beds

And whispered of what there might be—

But one year we intended to see for ourselves,

My sister, my black cat and me.



The sun had long set and the darkness had come

To wrap all the houses in black,

When we crawled out the window and crept 'cross the lawn

And none of us even looked back.

Though the wind tapped our shoulders and played with our hair

And ran through the leaves with mad glee,

We were stalwart and true like the heroes we knew,

My sister, my black cat and me.



We had never quite said, but each knew in our heads

The goal of our late night foray;

There was only one house whose black shutters and spires

Cast long inky shadows by day.

The house of nightmares was the subject of dares

For children much older than we,

But we knew we must try to sneak in and spy,

My sister, my black cat and me.



As we walked on our own down the mist-shrouded lane

The goblin cries rang through the night.

My sister told me, with an air of disdain,

That I should not take any fright.

'It's only some kids wrapped in sheets that they hid,

That they took from their mothers laundry.'

And we continued along with much knocking of knees

By my sister, my black cat and me.



The house loomed ahead with its turrets like spikes

Aimed at a portentous sky

The old shutters rattled and the chimney howled doom

But the wind smelled like pumpkin pie.

'An old witch lives here and she eats little kids,'

My sister heard from Katie Lee

And we were likely to die if we drew too near by

My sister, my black cat and me.



'I'll go up on the porch and ring her doorbell

then run—like the wind—quick away.

You go 'round the back and give a sharp rat-a-tat,

Before she can come out this way.'

Her plans carefully laid, my sister then stayed

As I walked toward the back door slowly,

I'll admit I was scared and I felt ill- prepared,

No sister, just black cat and me.



As I prowled through the gloom I saw a bright room

And an old woman dressed all in black.

'It must be the witch,' I said to my cat

And shivered and shook in my tracks.

I wanted to run but I heard the doorbell

And I knew that my sister's safety

Was all in my hands, so we gathered our breaths,

Poor little black cat and me.



I made a small fist and raised up my arm

To deliver the thunderous tap

But I froze to the spot when I saw a dark shape

That opened the door with a snap.

'I know what you want!' I heard the witch say

But my feet would not move to flee

And she swept us inside the warm kitchen's light,

Poor little black cat and me.



My tears trickled down and I begged for my life

And the life of my little kitty.

The old witch just smiled and patted my head

And said to me, 'Don't be silly.

I've got oodles of pie and candy and fudge

And a gingerbread house so pretty,

And I wish you would share all the food I've prepared—

It's too much for my big cat and me!'



I looked all around and my fear dissipated

The kitchen was cheerful and clean

And the huge oaken table was filled 'til it groaned

With more treats than I'd ever seen—

Pies of all kinds and cookies with chips

And a big steaming pot of green tea,

And in front of the fire a great big cat yawned

At my ravenous black cat and me.



I said, 'Thank you ma'am!' and plopped down in a chair

And she set a blue plate before me

And I piled it up high with some warm pumpkin pie

And a big taste of each sweet dainty.

I was feeding my face and telling the witch of our chase

When my sister's gaze fell upon me.

But it took little time before we brought her inside

To eat with my black cat and me.



So when you see a witch and your knees start to shake

And you're tempted to run to the hills,

Just remember the night that we wandered quite late

Seeking out Devil's Night thrills.

Some witches are good, and some witches are bad

But they all make amazing candy!

If you're sweet and not rude, they might share their food

With your sister, your black cat and thee.



Happy Halloween! Samhain maith! Wear iron and don't talk to pookahs. Let us remember those who have gone and whom we miss and share the bright memories with those near us now. Be well.

Friday's Forgotten Books: The Best of Myles

After
the harrowing process of moving and desperately trying to unload many
of my books, I have sworn to buy no more books and to adapt
wholeheartedly to my gypsy life. Of course that lasted until I visited Charlie Byrne's Bookshop,
a Galway institution. I was there for a reading, but I couldn't quite
resist this book. So far, it's the only one I bought there. Let's hope I
can keep to that.



Most people will know Flann O'Brien [true name Brian O'Nolan] from At Swim-Two-Birds or The Third Policeman, acknowledged comic classics. The Best of Myles collects the "Cruiskeen Lawn" columns he wrote as Myles na gCopaleen in the Irish Times. Yes, a lot of pseudonyms, eh? No wonder I love him.



I
was reading this on the bus to Shannon airport last week and giggling
in my seat, doubtless disturbing the poor woman next to me who thought I
was some kind of lunatic. Ahem.



O'Brien maintains a
tone of daft reasonableness whether he's plotting to take over the Irish
Writers, Actors, Artists and Musicians Association (rebuffed in his
offer to take charge, he first finds fault with all they do, then
decides to form a rival splinter group), suggesting dialogue at the
Abbey Theatre be printed as banners and hung above the stage so audience
members can read ahead to catch their buses on time, or developing
get-rich-quick schemes like his Beard Food (accompanied with appropriate
sketches of the wonders it will provoke). He relates many adventures of
"the brother" -- a schemer of the first order who nonetheless seems to garner a grudging respect from many despite his high-handed ways.



He addresses "the Plain People of Ireland" often -- and
offers their suspicious views of his meanderings. No surprise as he
invents business schemes of dubious execution: artisans who will give
wealthy stupid people's books the impression of having been read, with
increasing fees depending on the amount of wear and the addition of
pithy ripostes or citations annotated on the pages, or ventriloquist
dates to accompany the not very bright and provide their half of the
sparkling conversations. The Plain people are inclined to interrupt with
corrections of his spelling or signs of impatience when his
self-glorifying goes on too long.



Among his vaunted skills are the accompanying drawings
illustrating various points. The drawings are wonderful as well,
offering valuable visual advice such as how to carry your drunken friend
who has collapsed or how to cross a river without getting your top hat
wet. Valuable advice indeed.



See the full list of books over at Patti Abbott's blog.



I
did go to the reading last night and read my new poem because Kevin was
soft-hearted enough to squeeze me in at the end. It seemed to go over
well. I tagged along to the pub afterward and it was great to have a
chance to get to know people a little more. Quite a community of writers
here.

BitchBuzz and Over the Edge

[image error]
I'm fighting off a cold that seemed to ride my coattails from London but if I'm feeling not too bad, I plan to head off to Over the Edge's reading tonight at the library (where I am now mayor :-) and perhaps try out a new piece at the open mic if there's room. A rather silly piece, but one I'm already fond of and having run it by a couple of people, I'd love to hear how it goes over with a crowd.



My column nearly didn't happen this week: I tried a couple of different things and nothing jelled (maybe it was coming down with this cold -- can't remember the last time I was sick!). So I emailed my editor to admit defeat and voilá! She had something for me to write up. Looks like a fun event:







Put the Kink in Your Ink at Eroticon 2012

By K. A. Laity










One of the undeniable effects of the ebook revolution is the
explosion of erotica and erotic romance particularly for female readers.
Freed from the dead giveaway of the saucy cover, women now fill up
their Kindles and mobile devices with a glorious variety of fun smut and
sexy takes. It's about time someone got some of the practitioners of
this writing genre together.



Eroticon 2012  will
be the UK's first sex bloggers and erotica writers conference and will
take place on March 3rd next year. Over 100 sex bloggers and erotica
writers will meet in Bristol for a unique conference.  Eroticon is
the UK's first conference aimed exclusively at sex bloggers and erotica
writers and has a schedule crammed full of great sessions and speakers.



The conference is the brainchild of erotic author Ruby Kiddell, who says:

"The
idea for Eroticon came about having attended the Cybermummy conference
where I was sponsored through my erotic writing site.  There were other
sex bloggers there and I knew that we held back in discussing the
content of our blogs in such a general atmosphere and so I conceived
Eroticon, a blogging conference exclusively for those writing about sex
online..."

Read the rest over at BBHQ![image error]

More Moore but Not Ruthlessly So

Saturday kicked off another trip to the Big Smoke with the aim of seeing Mr Moore and his compatriots re-imagine a journey through the English. Apropos, non? We took the train into Liverpool Street station and then stopped at Hamilton Hall for a pint and lunch with Ruth. I love burgers with slabs of real bacon on top! Even better to enjoy them in the opulence of an old hotel ballroom. Mr Murphy headed off for the finer establishments of Whitechapel, while Ruth and I headed toward the Tate Mod.



We stopped at St. Paul's on the way, to see how the Occupy London folks were doing. Wonderful to see so many exhortations to social justice and reminders that this was a peaceful protest (regardless of what the Oakland police might think). Glad to see the scaffolding around the church gone, but somehow wonderful to see all the tents and the people speaking from the steps with power and conviction. St. Paul's was built upon a temple of Diana, so no surprise the hunter goddess inspires the urge to fight back.



We had fun watching the Tacita Dean film piece in the turbine hall at the Tate Modern, even more so watching the people watch it. One kid tried to leap over the waves, another tried to capture the falling bubbles. We headed up to the Rothkos -- my weakness! Fortunately, Ruth is also fond of them. We sat for quite a time in that quiet place chatting. Ruth is a fascinating woman who's lived in France for some years though now based in London for a time. She repairs vintage fans -- what a rare skill! She's also designing scarves and does botanical painting. I'm always in awe of people who can do tangible things (like the rest of my family). I'm all thumbs.



We headed up to the Barbican in a cool clear London eve. I was really lucky with weather, bringing the sunshine with me, of course! Disappointing to find that there was a pre-concert talk we missed and that Shirley Collins was ill and wouldn't be performing, but the show made up for those minor sighs. Front row seats! How to describe it all?


You know what a sucker I am for percussion (Evelyn Glennie rocks!) but Einheit was a madman! Tapping and pounding on a big sheet of steel, later hammering and drilling on it too as well as throwing buckets of pebbles (I got hit by one :-) and then breaking cement blocks on it, too, with the hammer and then with the bits of block. Wonderful! He also played upon a huge steel coil. I loved it.  He also had great hair and an amazing profile. Magnificent show. Very pleased.



Sunday was more leisurely: up early to watch the All Blacks win the Rugby World Cup. Love the Haka! Watched the Bukowski doco, Born into This , then I was allowed to visit Murphy's local where Americans were rare. They seemed to think I was all right for a Yank. Later we watched The Guard which many people have recommended to me which was fun. The Monday morning flight was a bit too early, but that's the jet-setter life, eh?



Hard to believe it's nearly Halloween...[image error]

Tuesday's Overlooked A/V: Keeping it Peel

I am showing great restraint by not simply posting a bunch of clips of John Peel introducing The Fall. Are you proud of me? You should be. Here's a nice four part interview with Peel talking about the reality of punk music and its development in his usual straightforward way (further parts on this other site). Even if you've never heard of John Peel, if you like good music, you owe him a lot. Today's his remembrance day, a good reason for Keeping it Peel.
























Be sure to drop by Sweet Freedom to read the rest of the overlooked recommendations.[image error]

London with Four Essex Lads, Alan Moore, and Ruth

Because no one would want to travel ruthlessly, surely: I zipped off to London this weekend because I could. Is there any better reason? Well, I suppose fun and a couple of Alan Moore performances were also a good reason. I got in rather late, so Friday also got a late start but my pal Murphy and I kicked things off with a good English breakfast in Essex before meeting up with his mates in the pub, three of whom came to London with us to see the performance at the Horse Hospital.



It's a fascinating venue with an interesting history and provided a great space for an unusual performance. After a visit to the pub next door, The Friend at Hand, the guys were just happy there was a bar (although the ringing sound of empty bottles on concrete punctuated a few moments awkwardly). The opening act was the Scots singer MacGillivray. I'm not sure I'd envy anyone who had to share a bill with Moore, but it was a challenge to get into the mannered performance of overly earnest aggressively retro sensibilities. She announced after the first song it was for a wee child who died in 1842; while the Essex men may have led the giggles, they were not alone. It's the kind of thing that Dame Darcy and Rasputina do quite successfully with humour as well as a sense of the macabre. It probably didn't help that there were a number of rolling beer bottles as she sang about stoning mermaids, "wolf waters" and "steaming the eyes of hope."



Alan came out with his usual aplomb and fancy black & white spotted shoes. He introduced the reading by saying we seemed too nice a group to hear it cold, so he spoke a little about Jerusalem and its unbridled growth, now "bigger than the bible and, I hope, better" before turning to the chapter he would be reading from which had to do with angels, or as they were known in the novel, "builders" (a more neutral turn). In part his depiction of the archangel Michael came from the image of the archangel atop the Northampton church bearing his name, which Moore says carries a snooker cue. He introduced his ideas about the afterlife, dismissing the typical depiction of heaven. "All that marble," Moore said, cocking an eyebrow at the audience, "It's a bit middle class." Instead he posited the idea that our lives repeat without our knowledge, taking us back to our happinesses over and over, "So, hello again."



The reading held the audience spellbound, rushing from onomatopoeic whoomphs to the builders' ambivalence about their charges and the nature of the all-encompassing holy perspective. Good stuff: I can't wait to read the novel -- well, when he finally decides it's done. The audience responded with laughter and close attention and sent him off with enthusiastic applause. While coming out of the loo afterward, I heard my name and turned to find Ruth, a fellow member of the Kraken, the Russell Hoban gang. She had seen my post on Facebook about the event and decided it sounded fun. She recognised me from my picture :-) I asked her to join us, then peeked around the corner to see if I could chat with Alan. Fortunately he was still there, so we had a chat and I mentioned finally meeting Pádraig last weekend as well as the Marvelman-like curse on his Marvelman book: Alan joked that maybe he should write a book about Pádraig's book and create a kind of infinite repeating loop. I mentioned I'd be seeing him the next night at the Barbican. Yes, got a hug and a kiss, too.



Ruth joined us and we all headed out for a tasty Indian meal then dropped by the Bree Louise for a pint before they closed. Then we hopped the last train back to Harlow, another late night. I'll have to write up the second day a bit later as this has grown long: more Moore, Occupy London at St. Paul's (the photo above from the old UK phone so poor quality), Rothko and Ruth. Anon![image error]

BitchBuzz: Björk's Biophilia

I suppose it comes as no surprise that I love the new Björk album, but wow! What a wonderful little package. The vision of it amazes me: the mash-up of science and myth that makes both magical. I will not rest until I've seen one of the shows. Currently she's playing in Iceland, but I will keep a weather eye out for news that she's heading my way.


Music Review: Björk's 'Biophilia'

By K.A. Laity












"Best way to start a-new is to fail miserably…" - Björk, "Moon"



A new Björk album (can we still use that word, album?
Does it still convey the idea of a release even if it comes in digital
form as well as tangible?) always offers a chance to see what the
unpredictable Icelandic artist has in her brain pan lately. Her music
delights and her ambitions grow.



Biophilia, however, isn't just an album. As her press releases explained, it's "a studio album, apps, a new website,
custom-made musical instruments, live shows and educational workshops"
as well as a documentary film about the whole process. The apps will
give each song its own game, lyrics, animation and even academic essays
on the science behind each of them, too.



She debuted Biophilia at
the Manchester International Festival, stunning audiences with her wild
costumes and fascinatingly complex instruments like the pendulum harps
and a musical Tesla coil as well as a large Icelandic women's choir.
Björk intends to spend three years touring with an elaborate stage show
as well as an accompanying educational program, bringing music training
to local schools. Doubtless this will be a welcome gift to schools
who've made cuts in those essential programs...

Read the whole review over at BBHQ: I swoon quite shamelessly. Seems to be a thing with me lately. Bumping into things as well. Wonder what it could be. The lyrics for this  album are full of wonderfully quotable bon mots. I like the pull quote above because it reminds me of Beckett's "Fail again. Fail better," which is the sense of the song, too.



I'm off to London tonight. If I can manage it, I will try out the Android app for Blogger and sent a post or two while I'm on the road. Two Alan Moore performances! Don't curse me too much, Pádraig! Leaving behind picturesque Galway for the Big Smoke: it will be a change.






[image error]