The Swipe Volume 1 Chapter 34
This time last week I was stressing hard over a social event—specifically Reading Writers’ Novelist’s Day. It’s one of the group’s weekend events, where writers get to meet for a full day of discussion, critique and chat. Why was I stressed? Because I had, completely against my nature, agreed to host it at our house. Normally Casa Conojito is a refuge, a place TLC and I retreat to after the world is done with us. We don’t normally invite people we don’t know into the gaff. Let’s put it this way—party animals we ain’t.
However, the day went well. I think. I hope. It all flew past in a bit of a blur. But the five novelists and I were able to show our work, chat about the particular challenges inherent in writing a long-form project. There was even room for pastries and sausage rolls, so I’m calling it. A victory. I know I’m making a big deal out of a comparatively simple thing—Rob hosted a soirée, big whoop, hardly the Royal court at Versailles, is it?—but I felt proud and happy to have done something nice for my peers, share the garden I’m always banging on about and ultimately, spend time with people who get me. That really is worth shouting about.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The Red Scholar’s Wake by Aliette de Bodard. Vasty widescreen space opera set in a beautifully drawn Asian-influenced universe. Brutal and romantic, the tale of prisoner-turned-pirate Xich Si and her consort, the mindship Rice Fish, is compelling, propulsive and fiercely told. A solid recommend from me.
Rob is watching…
Can’t seem to embed this 1961 film on the art and craft of the American bookbinder, so you’ll have to trust me that it’s worth the extra click through to the Internet Archive. Worth it for the voiceover alone.
Rob is listening…
The preview image says it all.
Rob is eating…
Finally, finally TLC and I made it out to Clay’s Kitchen and Bar this week, a place I have championed loudly in the newsletter. The experience was worth the wait. The big bright yellow-orange room filled up as we ate, understandably so given the quality of the food and the warmth of the welcome. It was great to meet chef Nandana in person and check out the plaque with my name (OK, along with several hundred Kickstarter supporters) on it by the kitchen. It’s a neighbourhood joint with food good enough to get the attention of food writers from across the national newspaper divide. If you ever make it to Caversham, you have to visit Clay’s. Try the biryanis. Tell em Rob set ya.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Fictional computers. Clearly reading too much Iain M. Banks.
Given I have a family connection to a visually-impaired person, it was fascinating to read this piece on the problems VI folk face when it comes to a simple meal out. Key takeaways—kindness, patience and empathy go a long way. But then, those are my general watchwords for life…
I have no problem grabbing a pint or a bite on my own. I view it as a bit of a treat, to be honest. I love eating out with TLC, family and friends, but a quiet hour alone with my thoughts and a good burger is time I value. I will usually be writing too, so there’s a purpose to it. Nice to see many people share my bliss.
We are still bullying Janis Joplin, decades after her death. Rolling Stone founder Janan Werner was rightfully excoriated for his comments on female artists a few weeks back, but sadly one of the greatest voices of the 60s has always been an easy target for sneering rock critics of his ilk. She deserved better.
Before the internet, there were libraries. Which, as this discovery from the archives of the New York Public Library show, was used by folk in much the same way as they’d yell at Google today. Some brilliant, borderline deranged queries in this post which ask more questions than they answer.
What Was The Origin Of Bedsheets?
Santiago Borja is a pilot who takes snaps from the flight deck of his 767. You will never look at weather photography in the same way again. I’m saying no more, go get into it.
I love a good pen and a nice notebook, even though I spend 90% of my writing life behind a keyboard. I took great pleasure in this extensive breakdown of the right pen for the write occasion.
I still haven’t made it to my local cinema to enjoy Gareth Edward’s The Creator, a film which has gathered a narrative not about it’s story, characters or acting, but in the way it flipped the traditional methodology towards building an SF blockbuster. A lot of Gareth’s ideas make perfect sense. If he can pull off something that looks this good on a fraction of the usual budget, we need to pay attention.
Mr. Brightside is 20 years old. It’s still in the charts. My ears still perk up whenever I hear that opening chimy guitar line. You know it’s going to fill the floor at weddings up and down the country this weekend, as it does every weekend. A modern classic.
I will preface this dig into the non-TV years in which Doctor Who became essentially a fan-powered proposition by noting the elephant in the room—the 60th Anniversary specials screening next month were based, in part, on a strip published in Marvel UK’s Doctor Who Weekly in 1980. Somehow tat doesn’t get mentioned. Just redressing the balance with my usual rallying call—comics do it best.
Doctor Who: The Wilderness Years
Lastly, a fascinating look into the power a simple brick of ramen can have in a challenging environment.
This week’s low-key musical obsession are Haunt The Woods, a proggy, folky, rocky bunch who are not afraid to stretch out and play it long and loud. Their new album Equilibrium leans hard into the kind of tunes I love. The Waterboys called it The Big Music. The sort of sound which rolls out as you fling your arms wide at the top of a mountain while the sun rises. Play the song. You’ll get the idea.
See you in seven, true believers.
