Back from a grand night at the Dentdale Beer & Music Festival, unpacked with a mild hangover, wrote a new short story about a lion tamer and completely rewrote an old story about a boy who climbs lampposts, then cut both stories into my flash fiction collection ‘Marrow’… which leaves me just about ready for a bruising week of marking, course planning, meetings, filming, editing and building a fence. See you on the other side. Hopefully.
I haven’t been writing very much lately. I’ve been too busy with real life, scrapping my way through end-of-year marking for my film students and working on videos for Kendal College and Cumbria Wildlife Trust. I’ve still some way to go, and there’s plenty more to do – my Dad’s popping up to help me build a fence, and I need to build a log store. But hopefully the end is in sight. Most important, I should be getting Jane‘s notes for Riptide in the next few weeks, and then I need to work my way through that final draft.
For a bit of a change, I’ve been using the odd evening to (slowly) teach myself the basics of InDesign, trying to put together a booklet of my flash fiction. It’s no big deal – twenty-five stories between 50 and 500 words, provisionally entitled ‘Marrow’. I’ve also booked in my next two readings – first for the Spotlight open mic in Lancaster in July, and then as a support slot for Dreamfired in Brigsteer in October. And in the background, I’m reading and researching towards my next novel; quietly brewing on the story, blocking out the plot. I still have some narrative strands to tidy up, though I know where the book will finish emotionally.
For the moment: research. I wrote about rediscovering P.V. Glob’s The Bog People a few months ago, and I’ve finally had a chance to actually read the thing. For a 1970s archaeological review – even one designed for jumblies – it’s surprisingly well-written. Some of the bog bodies have held astonishing secrets in their graves. One poor woman was staked down with crooks and buried alive. A man was stabbed through the heart, smashed on the head and strangled. It’s all great stuff for the novel, generating context and building ideas. By happy coincidence, one of the jobs I’m doing for Cumbria Wildlife Trust is on wetland restoration, so I’ve been spending some time ankle deep in peatland. I need some more books, and I’d like to take trips to fen country at some point.
It’s a thrilling stage, all the researching and blocking and plotting, preparing the ground before the hard work starts. I learned a lot from writing Riptide, and I’m excited to start work on a new book. Just need to clear away the hundred other things on my To Do list, first.
It hasn’t been all work. Friends Steve and Clare took us to Chester Zoo yesterday. We went straight to the orangutans, and spent a gloriously peaceful 20 minutes with them before a dozen school trips caught us up. Dora especially loved the bat enclosure, a vast warehouse where the bats swoop and skitter in artificial night. This morning we’re off to Dentdale Music & Beer festival, too. I’m going to take my story dice and drink ale.
Here’s a gallery of photos showing a derelict Jacobean house – and while it hasn’t quite the scope of previous galleries I’ve posted, like the abandoned edgelands and Chernobyl, it still sings out as one of those threshold spaces I’m so drawn too. Patterns in the dust, ghosts in the rafters…
While in Grasmere, we made the mistake of going into Sam Read‘s bookstore. This was a mistake because I wanted to buy everything. Sam Read is one of those achingly wonderful bookshops with books packed into every corner, stuffed into racks and alcoves, and stacked loose above the rows on the shelves. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have strayed beyond the fiction section in any bookstore, but my daughter Dora loves books (current favourite: Six Dinner Sid) and being read to, so I’ve started looking at the children’s section as well. And oh, my; children’s books are simply sumptuous. The quality of illustration and storytelling is just stunning – browsing those shelves was like a treasure chest of my own childhood, a feast of imagination, all dragons and goblins and tunnels and talking dogs. I could have stayed all day to drink in the artwork alone.
I buy almost all my books from charity shops, because I can rarely afford them new. A well-made, well-written book is a real treat for me. I want to hug them close and read them carefully and show them to friends. The one which really stole my heart was A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, based on an idea by Siobhan Dowd. I’ve only discovered Patrick Ness quite recently, having been blown away by The Knife Of Never Letting Go (I’ll race through the rest of the Chaos Walking trilogy once I’ve tracked down the second part – the third book already sits on my shelves, waiting…). I love his writing – and he quoted on the jacket of Ali Shaw‘s Girl With Glass Feet, so he knows what he’s talking about.
The illustrated version of A Monster Calls is heart-stoppingly beautiful. Just look at this work by Jim Kay:
I covet this book more than I’ve coveted any book for years – but I didn’t buy it. I bought Cumbrian Folk Tales by Grasmere legend and master storyteller Taffy Thomas. I could only afford one book, and Taffy’s was the reason we’d gone into Sam Read’s in the first place. I’m truly delighted I bought Cumbrian Folk Tales, and I’m looking forward to immersing myself in Taffy’s take on local mythology, but I walked away from A Monster Calls with unbearable reluctance. Still – it’s my birthday in July. Fingers crossed.
Bookstores should carry warnings: may cause heartache…
This lovely article explores the names (and stories behind the names) of Medieval pets. In their own way, many of them are as tame as Spot or Fluffy – but there’s a real charm in how archaic they seem now. I love the idea of a dog called Nosewise…..
I’m not big on classic literature. I usually find the language – whether in prose or verse – too staid. There are exceptions – I love Shakespeare, I love Bronte’s Villette – but for the most part, my interest in writing starts with the First World War poets, and steps up a notch during the 1960s and beyond – decidedly modern literature, really. I’m always slightly embarrassed I haven’t read more of the classics, but those I’ve persevered with – and I have tried, believe me – simply don’t do anything for me: reading Middlemarch was like pulling teeth.
With that confession out of the way, here’s the Lancrigg Hotel. It’s a great vegetarian hotel and restaurant, half a mile outside of Grasmere in the Lake District. Monica and I went to stay a night to celebrate our five-year anniversary. While walking in the grounds, we discovered that William Wordsworth had been instrumental in renovating the house for a friend of his – that he’d often dined and slept there – and so had Charles Dickens, a generation later. Robert Burns stayed at the house and taught one of the subsequent owners, too. I can’t pretend the place felt haunted by the ghosts of these literary giants, but I liked the idea of Bill Wordsworth rolling up his sleeves to strip out rotten plaster, of Dickens playing pranks on his pals, and of Rabbie Burns warming his feet by the fire. That tickled me.
The woods around Lancrigg feel quiet and ancient. Sprouting from cracks in the limestone and carpeted in deep green moss, the trees could be Tolkein’s ents, hibernating through the decades. There’s a profound, tangible stillness beneath the canopy, and the light is filtered dark and green, drawing you into the forest.
After tea, we walked into town for a drink. I’ve had my differences with Grasmere in the past – during the summer, it’s infested with tourists, most of whom wear very expensive, very clean walking gear – but the town was fairly quiet. The heat of the day, freshened by a late shower, left the meadows heady with scent. The smells were intoxicating – the Lakes felt almost Mediterranean. We stood beside Wordsworth’s grave and watched bats skitter above the river, and walked back to Lancrigg in a deep blue midsummer gloaming. It was a long overdue break after months of hard work.
Teaching has finished for the summer, though I still have a fortnight of marking and admin to finish. Then there’s a fence to build, some films to edit, a holiday to go on (glory be) and what should be the final draft of Riptide. Around all this, I’d really like to start work on writing my next novel. I’m already reading and researching and starting to block out the plot; the issue, as ever, is time to write.
I like this. I like this very much. Here’s an assembly of 20 quotes about writing from horror maestro Stephen King. I like the way he blends a wonder at the world with the coal face, roll your sleeves up, nuts and bolts of writing.
I read most of King’s work when I was 13 or 14, taking them three at a time from the mobile library that did the rounds outside Inverness. Cujo, Carrie, It and The Stand have all stuck in my mind; I recently found a copy of The Stand in a charity shop, and I’m looking forward to rereading it this summer. I’m not sure I could handle another bout of It.
Friends Iona and Ali Shaw stayed with us this week. Ali and I studied English at Lancaster University, many moons ago, long before I started writing and when Ali was already laying the groundwork for his career. He’s a brilliant author, with novels The Girl With Glass Feet and The Man Who Rained winning awards and translations all over the place. I was privileged enough to read an early draft of Glass Feet, and Ali kindly took the time to read through my first draft of Riptide. His subsequent advice, notes and hour-long phonecalls were extremely helpful in shaping my third and final draft. Over the last few months, I’ve leaned heavily on Ali’s experience of being published, and his knowledge has helped me work out some of what I’m doing with the good people at Quercus Books.
Mon and I don’t get to see Ali and Iona very often, so it was fantastic to have a long overdue catch-up. We mostly nattered about babies, but we also discussed our current projects (his new book sounds AMAZING) and some wider publishing news. Ali recommended two things: firstly, that I try Scrivener. It’s a writing program dedicated towards managing large documents, with all kinds of bells and whistles for organising plots, characters, locations and notes. The various features sound extremely useful, and it’s available on a free 30-day trial, so I’ll definitely give it a go.
The second recommendation was for Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing. I was describing my own new work, which is set in a maze of bogs and marshes, and Ali (who reads more graphic novels than me), thought Swamp Thing might be good for inspiration and ideas; another book on my birthday wishlist, then. I enjoy graphic novels, and own several of the real classics (Maus, Watchmen, From Hell, Ghost World, etc.) but seldom know where to begin with trying something new. Good stuff.
Mon pointed this excellent photo out to me – it’s Kyle McBurnie’s winning picture from the University of Miami’s Underwater Photography competition.
This seal seems to be floating in air, rather than water, and I love the way the strands of kelp drift like ghosts. This remarkable picture also strikes a chord for me as it brings a scene from Riptide to life…
Caught up with the first episode of The Returned (Les Revanants) last night – and loved it. In exploring the impact of the dead returning to a small Alpine town, it oozes the same surreal menace as Twin Peaks or Lost – but already feels more cohesive than those stunning, albeit deeply flawed, masterpieces. The story was thrilling and compelling without being sensationalist, the human reactions were as convincing as The Killing, and the cinematography, direction and editing combined into a breathtaking aesthetic. I’m really excited about the next few episodes.
Even better, the show is gloriously soundtracked by one of my favourite bands, Mogwai. (This trailer actually features the Raveonettes, who are also great, but they’re no Mogwai.) Follow this link for an E.P. of the soundtrack; I’ll definitely be tracking down the full album for writing music.