How much of what we write in novels is dictated by the unconscious? I’m not one to write an outline of a book. When I begin I know how it opens and how it will end. Beyond that I’m simply writing down the movie in my head as it unfolds. Sometimes I know what will happen 30 pages ahead, but usually no more than a page or two, sometimes not even that.
It’s akin to walking in the country. At times you can see far into the distance, but all too often your view is limited. With writing, however, the paths are of your own devising and sometimes the ones you create take unexpected turns.
I’m currently revising my new book. Today I was working on the scene with the villain and his girlfriend, who never appeared before, although he name has been mentioned. In an insidious way she’s proving to be more evil than the villain. That opens up interesting possibilities, and as yet I’m not sure how it will all develop. But that, really, is part of the fun of this vocation (can’t call it anything else, really). Time will tell. And you’ll have the chance to find out more next year.
Monday, 9 August 2010
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Something for the Weekend
So Leeds lose the first game of the new season. Some fair football played and it’s a pretty new team. We need better striking options, but other than that I’m going to be quite sanguine about things.
The weekend is a time for enjoyment. You could argue the case that every day should be that way, of course, but work being what it is…For us, it was a trip to Twycross Zoo in the afternoon. Highly entertained by an ape that has discovered that an endless series of forward rolls is a great way to charm people, and the grace of the leopards, snow and otherwise.
In the evening a visit to Nottingham Riverside Festival. For my partner, who’s lived here most of her life, this is old hat. For me (and my son) it’s new, and ostensibly to hear a couple of bands. But it’s more feast – in the Leeds sense – that festival. Endless rides by the path along the river, an orgy of noise and lights that becomes an assault on the senses. I went to Woodhouse feat a couple of times as a teenager but it was never my taste, and most of this wasn’t either.
The chance to see Shooglenifty again was good, and overall they didn’t disappoint. They can play beautifully, but the mix let electric guitar overpower everything, not a good idea. The Ghanaian music of Atongo Zimba was as lulling as when I saw and interviewed him five years ago, but Penny wasn’t convinced. Should be stay for the fireworks? In the end the answer was no. Both of us felt overwhelmed by all the noise and the people. Still, I’ve never done crowds that well. So it was home to bed…
The weekend is a time for enjoyment. You could argue the case that every day should be that way, of course, but work being what it is…For us, it was a trip to Twycross Zoo in the afternoon. Highly entertained by an ape that has discovered that an endless series of forward rolls is a great way to charm people, and the grace of the leopards, snow and otherwise.
In the evening a visit to Nottingham Riverside Festival. For my partner, who’s lived here most of her life, this is old hat. For me (and my son) it’s new, and ostensibly to hear a couple of bands. But it’s more feast – in the Leeds sense – that festival. Endless rides by the path along the river, an orgy of noise and lights that becomes an assault on the senses. I went to Woodhouse feat a couple of times as a teenager but it was never my taste, and most of this wasn’t either.
The chance to see Shooglenifty again was good, and overall they didn’t disappoint. They can play beautifully, but the mix let electric guitar overpower everything, not a good idea. The Ghanaian music of Atongo Zimba was as lulling as when I saw and interviewed him five years ago, but Penny wasn’t convinced. Should be stay for the fireworks? In the end the answer was no. Both of us felt overwhelmed by all the noise and the people. Still, I’ve never done crowds that well. So it was home to bed…
Friday, 6 August 2010
Leeds Un ited and the Upcoming Season
So the season begins. Derby tomorrow, Forest next weekend. That one’s going to raise problems as my partner’s a Forest supporter. It’s good to see Leeds in the Championship, heading back towards the place they belong, according to many pundits.
However, wonderful as the victory over ManU was, it’s putting ridiculous expectations on any team to say they belong in the Premier, as if it stood as a God-given right. All things being equal, Leeds should finish mid-table this coming season – as long as they gel properly as a squad and tighten up the defence. Expecting more than that would be ridiculous, and very dangerous.
Say the completely unexpected happens and Leeds end up winning promotion again. Much jubilation and drinking of alcohol to celebrate. But once the hangovers have passed comes the knowledge that Leeds don’t have the men, or the money, to compete. While money might be a source of much grumbling and grunting among Leeds fans, possibly with reason, it’s simply a fact. Go up to the Premier in the next two years and we’ll be straight back down again – and it’ll be a bumpy, humiliating ride.
This next season should be one of regrouping of starting out a small fishes in a bigger pool and growing. Mid-table this season? Great? Close to the playoffs the season after? Very good. Then, and only then might Leeds be ready for something bigger and better. But it’s not our due. Like all the others, we have to earn it. It the financial bubble bursts around those teams that are global brands, which is quite possible, things will improve, and the playing field will become more level. Hope for that to happen, because it will become a real sport. Until then, I’ll have satisfied with Leeds in the Championship, which looks like the most competitive and equal league, anyway.
However, wonderful as the victory over ManU was, it’s putting ridiculous expectations on any team to say they belong in the Premier, as if it stood as a God-given right. All things being equal, Leeds should finish mid-table this coming season – as long as they gel properly as a squad and tighten up the defence. Expecting more than that would be ridiculous, and very dangerous.
Say the completely unexpected happens and Leeds end up winning promotion again. Much jubilation and drinking of alcohol to celebrate. But once the hangovers have passed comes the knowledge that Leeds don’t have the men, or the money, to compete. While money might be a source of much grumbling and grunting among Leeds fans, possibly with reason, it’s simply a fact. Go up to the Premier in the next two years and we’ll be straight back down again – and it’ll be a bumpy, humiliating ride.
This next season should be one of regrouping of starting out a small fishes in a bigger pool and growing. Mid-table this season? Great? Close to the playoffs the season after? Very good. Then, and only then might Leeds be ready for something bigger and better. But it’s not our due. Like all the others, we have to earn it. It the financial bubble bursts around those teams that are global brands, which is quite possible, things will improve, and the playing field will become more level. Hope for that to happen, because it will become a real sport. Until then, I’ll have satisfied with Leeds in the Championship, which looks like the most competitive and equal league, anyway.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Old Acquaintances
Meetings with old acquaintances aren’t always a good thing. Too much time might have gone, paths diverged too far. Luckily, last night wasn’t that way.
It began disappointingly as the pub where we were meeting wasn’t serving food due to a gig – the gig being the reason he was there, even if he wasn’t playing himself. But settling down over a drink, and knowing that we’d both changed in the 12 years since we’d last met, it all worked very easily.
He’s a writer, I’m a writer. Music had been our common ground (he was my editor at a music magazine in Seattle, and started me writing music reviews for Amazon when they began selling CDs). It’s not so much that way any more, as both of us have broader interests, but it made a good starting point. And then there was Seattle.
He still lives there, and he and my soon could briefly discuss that and I could dredge up memories, although only five years have passed since it was my home. But now I’m in Nottingham, happy with my partner, happy here and part of it all felt, rightly, like another life.
We talked for an hour, pleasant, easy chat about many things including books. I gave him a copy of The Broken Token. He’s working on a book. I’ll catch up with him again next month when his partner has a Nottingham gig. But for all I wondered how it would go, with some trepidation, it was fine. As easy as breathing, as easy as living…
It began disappointingly as the pub where we were meeting wasn’t serving food due to a gig – the gig being the reason he was there, even if he wasn’t playing himself. But settling down over a drink, and knowing that we’d both changed in the 12 years since we’d last met, it all worked very easily.
He’s a writer, I’m a writer. Music had been our common ground (he was my editor at a music magazine in Seattle, and started me writing music reviews for Amazon when they began selling CDs). It’s not so much that way any more, as both of us have broader interests, but it made a good starting point. And then there was Seattle.
He still lives there, and he and my soon could briefly discuss that and I could dredge up memories, although only five years have passed since it was my home. But now I’m in Nottingham, happy with my partner, happy here and part of it all felt, rightly, like another life.
We talked for an hour, pleasant, easy chat about many things including books. I gave him a copy of The Broken Token. He’s working on a book. I’ll catch up with him again next month when his partner has a Nottingham gig. But for all I wondered how it would go, with some trepidation, it was fine. As easy as breathing, as easy as living…
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Revising A Book
Revising a book has to be one of the most joyous and most frustrating things in existence. It’s a chance to understand how bad (or good) your first draft was – and it’s certainly never perfect.
It’s back to square one, tearing down what you’d lovingly constructed and rebuilding in, hopefully to make it a better, much more solid and beautiful structure. The joy comes when you look at something you’ve reworked and realise that it’s much closer to your original intentions.
But it’s not solely about structure. It’s about character mood, the rhythm of sentences, the pace of the book, having dialogue that seems real. It’s like a Soviet exercise in self-criticism, except you’re the only person who has to make the criticisms as well as take them and you have to have the courage to be completely honest with yourself. That’s the only way to produce a book that’s halfway decent.
As anyone can tell I’m halfway through the revisions on my second novel, Drive the Cruel Winter Away. I believe it works, or that it well when I’ve finished with this. I’ll revise, then revise again, then send it off to the friend who tells me the truth about what I’ve written and listen closely to his remarks. Then I’ll make more changes.
With a little luck it should be finished by the end of November, about a year after it was begun.
And then it’ll be time to begin the next novel. Of course.
It’s back to square one, tearing down what you’d lovingly constructed and rebuilding in, hopefully to make it a better, much more solid and beautiful structure. The joy comes when you look at something you’ve reworked and realise that it’s much closer to your original intentions.
But it’s not solely about structure. It’s about character mood, the rhythm of sentences, the pace of the book, having dialogue that seems real. It’s like a Soviet exercise in self-criticism, except you’re the only person who has to make the criticisms as well as take them and you have to have the courage to be completely honest with yourself. That’s the only way to produce a book that’s halfway decent.
As anyone can tell I’m halfway through the revisions on my second novel, Drive the Cruel Winter Away. I believe it works, or that it well when I’ve finished with this. I’ll revise, then revise again, then send it off to the friend who tells me the truth about what I’ve written and listen closely to his remarks. Then I’ll make more changes.
With a little luck it should be finished by the end of November, about a year after it was begun.
And then it’ll be time to begin the next novel. Of course.
Monday, 2 August 2010
From Drive the Cruel Winter Away
There was one final area to walk, taking the path along the river by the tenting fields, where cloth was pegged out to stretch, then cutting along by New Mill to Mill Garth and through to Boar Lane, past Holy Trinity Chruch and back to the jail. And finally home.
He loved this short stretch of his rounds, no more than a few hundred yards from the city but as peaceful as the country. Even the occasional floating corpse in the river couldn’t spoil it for him.
He’d almost reached the track at New Mill when he noticed something from the corner of his eye, a low, pale shape that didn’t look quite right among the trees. Stopping, he cocked his head and squinted for a better look. It was probably nothing, but he’d better check; it was what he was paid to do.
The hard, frozen grass sawed against his threadbare stockings as he moved through the undergrowth. But it wasn’t until he was three yards away that he was able to make everything out fully.
“Fuck,” he said softly. “Fuck.”
It was a man, lying on his back, eyes blank and wide, staring endlessly into the face of death. One arm was thrown carelessly across his breast, the other outstretched as if reaching for something. The strangest thing was that he was bare-chested. The deep red cut across his neck showed how he’d died.
“Fuck,” Sedgwick said again. He sighed. He wasn’t going to be home anytime soon.
He loved this short stretch of his rounds, no more than a few hundred yards from the city but as peaceful as the country. Even the occasional floating corpse in the river couldn’t spoil it for him.
He’d almost reached the track at New Mill when he noticed something from the corner of his eye, a low, pale shape that didn’t look quite right among the trees. Stopping, he cocked his head and squinted for a better look. It was probably nothing, but he’d better check; it was what he was paid to do.
The hard, frozen grass sawed against his threadbare stockings as he moved through the undergrowth. But it wasn’t until he was three yards away that he was able to make everything out fully.
“Fuck,” he said softly. “Fuck.”
It was a man, lying on his back, eyes blank and wide, staring endlessly into the face of death. One arm was thrown carelessly across his breast, the other outstretched as if reaching for something. The strangest thing was that he was bare-chested. The deep red cut across his neck showed how he’d died.
“Fuck,” Sedgwick said again. He sighed. He wasn’t going to be home anytime soon.
Politics Lite and Music
In Britain we moan about the decline in seriousness of our political figures, and perhaps rightly. We seem to have slipped into politics lite, everything slipping very swiftly towards the centre, so that it can be hard to tell one part from another without a scorecard. Whither Old Labour?
However, we have it good when compared to the US, where the hottest candidate for 2012 seems unable to even discuss policy. A Huffington Post article pointed out the people accept Sarah Palin because of her celebrity and because she inadvertently drags up deeply symbolic icons, like the Mama Grizzly (a reference that wouldn’t work as well in the UK). Palin via Jung, a scary thought.
The dumbing down on politics is universal – witness Regan. It’s interesting to note, however, that Reagan’s star was high when Madonna came on the scene, another victory of style over substance. As was pointed out in a recent New York Times article, Madonna did at least sometimes sneak in references to religion and politics in her music, however lightweight they might be.
Now we have Palin. Her followers are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it any more. They want to burn it down (“For God’s sake burn it down probably never rang truer, Dexys) even if they don’t have a clue what they’ll replace it with. There’s even more style and even less substance. Being against something is fine, but you have to be for something.
So is it any surprise that Lady Gaga is in the ascendancy? Her lyrics Make Madonna seem like Auden. Being vacuous, both musically and lyrically, has become a real style. Maybe there’s an analogue between music and politics in the US (and possibly globally here). You don’t even need to give the people what they want, because they don’t really know what they want. Lady Gaga’s music has been aptly described as a “distraction.” It’s simply there, presented in flashy colour with lots of daring costumes. The emperor’s New Clothes. And politics in the US is headed that way. The problem is that, where America leads…
However, we have it good when compared to the US, where the hottest candidate for 2012 seems unable to even discuss policy. A Huffington Post article pointed out the people accept Sarah Palin because of her celebrity and because she inadvertently drags up deeply symbolic icons, like the Mama Grizzly (a reference that wouldn’t work as well in the UK). Palin via Jung, a scary thought.
The dumbing down on politics is universal – witness Regan. It’s interesting to note, however, that Reagan’s star was high when Madonna came on the scene, another victory of style over substance. As was pointed out in a recent New York Times article, Madonna did at least sometimes sneak in references to religion and politics in her music, however lightweight they might be.
Now we have Palin. Her followers are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it any more. They want to burn it down (“For God’s sake burn it down probably never rang truer, Dexys) even if they don’t have a clue what they’ll replace it with. There’s even more style and even less substance. Being against something is fine, but you have to be for something.
So is it any surprise that Lady Gaga is in the ascendancy? Her lyrics Make Madonna seem like Auden. Being vacuous, both musically and lyrically, has become a real style. Maybe there’s an analogue between music and politics in the US (and possibly globally here). You don’t even need to give the people what they want, because they don’t really know what they want. Lady Gaga’s music has been aptly described as a “distraction.” It’s simply there, presented in flashy colour with lots of daring costumes. The emperor’s New Clothes. And politics in the US is headed that way. The problem is that, where America leads…
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