Pissing it down

I’m a little proud of myself tonight.  After my last session at BritMilFit I signed up for regular classes.  They told us after the session that we might ache for a day or two.  It took me three days to get back to normal.

Despite that I decided to try going twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays.  When I arrived home tonight it started raining.  In the past I’ve not gone running on damp days but decided to go out anyway – if I only train on dry days it will take me longer to get fit.  I took my umbrella and set off for the park.

I didn’t mind training in the rain as much as I thought I would.  It was pissing it down and within minutes I was as wet as I could get.  And the rain cooled things down, which may well make it more pleasant than training in the height of summer. 

I avoided exercise for years and to find myself doing press-ups in the pouring rain is quite a change. 
The only drag was having to walk home afterwards, but at least I had my umbrella.  I came home, ate an apple in a hot shower, then cooked the green soup I prepared last night.  Right now, life feels pretty good.

Literary Adventures

One of the great things about creative writing is that it doesn’t cost very much.  Anyone can grab a pen and some paper and write a poem or story.  You can publish on a blog, print off some pieces at work, or read at an open mic night.

Or you can spend money on it.  Creative writing courses are springing up everywhere.  There are workshops in scenic locations where successful writers pass on their experience and techniques.  And now there are literary adventures – creative writing workshops in exotic locations.

Many writers make more money from providing
advice and services to aspiring writers than from their books: creative
writing is a pyramid scheme.  I find it troubling that publishing success is the implied or stated aim of many courses (for example, CCE’s Agents and Publishers Day) when it might be more useful to have modules on how to teach creative writing.

A weekend in Brighton

I’m having a fantastic weekend in Brighton so far. I arrived about 6 last night and dropped my stuff off before heading to dpash‘s party. I’d forgotten to post his card and allowed him to gain the impression I’d come to Brighton just to set that right.

After dropping off the card I headed to Brighton marina for a meal with an old friend. We only gossipped a little about the old days, concentrating instead on what we’re doing now, which is more interesting. The restaurant was good, if a little… over enthusiastic. The staff were grinning too much, a little too concerned how out meal was. When we arrived we were offered the choice of two tables – one in the main part of the room or a ‘quiet table’. I suggested the quiet table and then wondered if this was a euphemism. Was the quiet table meant for dates rather than old friends catching up?

Being away from Brighton had made me enjoy it more – bumping into friends on the street, apples from Taj, Cybercandy, Pen to Paper, and the wonderful fashions people wear. Last night I encountered the Critical Mass bike ride and, on the way to Hove, just before midnight, a passing cyclist asked if I knew flying fish don’t actually fly: they glide. My morning run along the promenade was fantastic, beautiful weather and much better scenery than Coventry.

I’m now taking a pause at Beanies before (eventually) heading to a fancy dress party in the house where I used to live. It’s good to be back in Brighton.

One-line autobiography

On the train back to Brighton and I’ve just received an email asking to publish my story riddled.  Which is lovely, apart from the request for a one-line bio.  It shouldn’t be a big deal.  Whenever writers give one line biographies they sound nonchalant and clever rather than something they’ve thought about (Neil Gaiman being the master of this).  The problem is it’s hard to sound that nonchalant and flip.  I’ve never provided a self-description I liked.

They used to tell me in CCE to think of my audience.  But I doubt anyone cares all that much about this, which actually makes it a little harder.

Thing is, I don’t really want to talk about myself.  I’d rather make up a story, otherwise I’d be writing autobiography instead of short stories.   Maybe I’ll steal another writer’s life and sum that up in a sentence.

A sad dream

Last night I dreamt I cooked a meal for my sister and Fraser Lewry, who I worked with many years back.  After pudding my cat, Sooty, entered the room.  I said hello and explained to him Fraser was the inventor of cats in sinks and kittenwars, with which I think he was suitably impressed.  Liz and I both noticed Sooty had grey hairs on his neck, probably a  sign of growing old.

Since selling the house my Mum and Dad have been living in a caravan on my sister’s in-law’s yard.  The house in Blackpool was sold a few months back.  As I woke up I panicked, wondering where they were keeping Sooty, since they didn’t have a house right now.  It took me a while to remember my cat died some years back.  It’s set me in a weird mood – how did something like that slip my mind while I was half awake?

We need a montage

Following a suggestion from Mr Spratt, I went to a BritMilFit class in Coventry tonight.  I didn’t have much idea what to expect, but I figured it had to be better than my time in the Cadet Corps.  These days I can do press-ups, run a little and, you know, I’m not Josie Grossie any more.

It was a very good evening – hard work, but a friendly atmosphere, and worked me a lot harder than the running.  I’ve decided to sign up and will be going back on Thursday. 

What books are for

Via boingboing, an article from the Telegraph’s property section entitled ‘Rooms that lose none of their shelf life‘.  Apparently more people want libraries in their homes than home cinemas, gyms or music studios.   Prompted by a survey frm Legal and General, we learn from the article that "as well as furnishing a room, books confer a certain elegant ambience on a property".  And, according to a spokesperson from the Bookseller, "Books are the original insulator. A shelf of books along an outside
wall works well to prevent heat escaping.  If all
the books were removed from the homes in Britain, our energy bills
would rocket."

All those workshops learning how to write prose when what I should have been doing was focussing on what books are really for: interior design and energy conservation. 

Beat: the movie

On Saturday I watched a very curious movie, 2000’s Beat. The film tells the story of Joan Vollmer (played by Courtney Love) and William Burroughs (played by Kiefer Sutherland). The film collides two obsessions of mine, Burrough and Cobain (the two actually met once – Burroughs apparently said of Cobain “There’s something wrong with that boy; he frowns for no good reason“) and it’s strange to watch Love playing Vollmer.

The back of the box doesn’t raise your hopes, promising “As the story unfolds we see that behind every great man or woman there (sic) lives are far from simple“. The film suffers from a poor budget, the New York scenes filmed on very simple sets, all far cleaner than I imagine Vollmer’s real life appartment would have been. The film also features the worst flashback ever (violins! a knife! slow motion!). On the other hand, Sutherland does a fantastic Burroughs impression and the final sequences are heart-wrenching. I’m not sure how much the film relies on knowing the details of the story, though.

All-in-all, it’s one of the better films I’ve bought for a pound, and far superior to Urban Menace.

The big blue slaughterhouse

I’ve spent a quiet weekend in Coventry, sorting out the flat and doing a little writing.  While making soup on Friday I listened to a recording of Matt Webb‘s talk at dConstruct 2007 (MP3, slides and transcript).  Despite Matt Webb’s misgivings about how well the talk worked, I found it fascinating.  The presentation was alphabetical, a different point for each letter, the idea being that the ‘point’ of the talk would emerge for the listener – one of the points referenced was Grice’s conversational maxims and the idea of conversational implicature.  The structure was impressive and a significant departure from the rule of ‘Say what you’re going to say, say it, then say what you’ve said‘.  One of the things I’ve been thinking about this weekend is how the issues and structure of this presentation might apply to a work of fiction.

I found myself thinking of the talk yesterday afternoon on a trip round Ikea Coventry.  The store is in a massive six-storey building in the city center.  You start your shopping on the sixth floor and work your way down to the ground, which reminded me of a description of a modern slaughterhouse I read recently, where the animals enter at the top and are processed floor by floor.

Matt Webb’s talk referred to different types of game, including photoshop and soap operas.  So much of Ikea seemed like a game: the arrows on the floor, the maps of each level (with ‘short cuts’ for experienced players), the elevators between levels, the signs showing you when you’d entered a new sub-level.  We took almost 3 hours to play, although we did spend a long time on the cafe minigame at the end of the first level.

The overall experience was strange.  Everything felt so neat and disposable, some goods so cheap you felt compelled to buy.  Some of the shoppers we saw seemed lost and disorientated and the whole time I felt like a character in a Ballard novel, as if I was doing the most modern thing I could possibly do.

Still, the day had a happy ending as I bought my new desk.  Now all I need in space in the study to erect it.