Loki

Well, that’s my first Dreamfired done and dusted. It was a really good night – more people need to know about the Storynights.

First up was banjo virtuoso Bill Lloyd. He’s a legend in Cumbria and the north, and he didn’t disappoint, starting with a haunting ‘Wayfaring Stranger’, and segueing into a range of folk songs from America and Ireland. My storyteller uncle Rich Sylvester had the next slot, relating an anecdote about exploring the London Olympic equestrian venue at midnight with a bellyful of Russian beer. It was very funny. Rich is an extremely affable raconteur, and his stories are always engaging – I haven’t seen his work for a few years, and it was great to be part of the audience.

I was on after Rich. I’d decided to get into the traditional spirit by performing without notes. In the minutes before going onstage, my nerves were worse than ever, but I settled fairly quickly.  I read two stories I’ve been practising lately – Circle Stone and The Lion Tamer’s Daughter.  I stumbled once in Lion Tamer, and for a moment I thought I would go entirely blank – but I recovered, found my place and delivered the rest without a hitch. Circle Stone is an extremely quick flash piece of only 75 words, and it’s surreal enough to counter the darkness of Lion Tamer. The two work well in combination, but I’m going to semi-retire them now. They’re both destined for my flash fiction collection Marrow, and I’ll try and get them published elsewhere first, but I’ve read them a lot recently, and it’s time for some new material. On reflection, though, the reading went well. I don’t think I’ll make a habit of performing without notes, but Dreamfired was a perfect place to give it a whirl.

After me came a poet, whose name I didn’t catch, who read some playfully nostalgic pieces; and then a story about a 21st century Grim Reaper. Bill Lloyd returned to round off the first part of the night with another couple of songs – his cover of Frankie’s Gun, which I absolutely love – it was Bill who introduced me to the music of The Felice Brothers – and one of his own compositions, a haunting Armenian lament.

This is what Frankie’s Gun looks like:

After the interval came Emily Parrish, aka Scandalmongers. She walked onto the stage singing and beating a drum, and launched without preamble into the Norse creation myth. Her show explores the role of Loki, the trickster god, and all his jealousies and cruelty and fun. What made the show all the more remarkable was the way she entwined Norse mythology with her own childhood. The transitions between the Cotswolds and Asgard were frankly astonishing – from the top of a perfect climbing tree to the horrors whispered into Baldr’s troubled brain. It was lyrical, visceral and intense, and it left the audience stunned.

emily-loki

Loki comes highly recommended from me – catch it if you can.

Thanks, too, to Kat Quatermass, who organises and hosts Dreamfired. Lovely to meet her after months of email contact. I’m definitely going back in November to catch Peter Chand performing Grimm’s Sheesha.

What’s next for me, then? I’ve been thinking about my novel edits for a week or so – a process I refer to as ‘brewing’ – and I’m almost ready to start work. I mentioned in a previous post the structural changes I need to make, and my uncertainty about how to make some of those changes. That has passed. I now know where that character is going to enter the story. Although it means a lot of work, I feel secure in the knowledge of how to do it, so a lot of that worry has eased.

My next booked reading is at the Brewery’s Spoken Word night in February, though I’ll try and land a few more open mic spots before then. Stay tuned. And go to Dreamfired.

Dreamfired

Loki-norse-mythology-loki-30846883-570-732

On Friday 11th October, Dreamfired takes over Brigsteer village hall for a night of traditional music and storytelling. I’ve managed to land one of the support slots for headliner Emily Parrish, aka Scandalmongers. She’s retelling the classic Norse myth of Loki, the trickster and troublemaker at Odin’s court. Her show has received amazing reviews, and I’m really excited about seeing her perform live.

I’ll be reading two short pieces I’ve been practising live – Circle Stone and The Lion Tamer’s Daughter. I wanted to get into the spirit of the night by performing from memory: no notes, no paper. Reading them at Spotlight and Spoken Word has been good for practising their delivery. I already know Circle Stone by heart, and I’m four-fifths of the way there with Lion Tamer. The prospect of reading live is not yet as scary as it will be on Friday afternoon.

By dumb chance, my storytelling uncle Rich Sylvester is up in the Lakes for a workshop that weekend, so he’s coming along too – and I’ve just discovered that legendary Cumbrian singer, songwriter and banjo maestro Bill Lloyd is playing as well. It’s a blinding line-up, and I feel a little overawed to be reading at such a great event. I’m looking forward to sharing my stories, then sitting back with a beer to enjoy a great night of tall tales and folk music…

 

Spotlight take two

IMG_2903

I performed four stories at the 200th Spotlight Club in Lancaster last night, and it was great. I’ve talked before about how nervous I get before a reading, and yesterday was no exception; I spent the whole day oscillating between calm and stomach-churning tension. It’s always terrifying to put my work before another person: the fear that they’ll hate it never goes away. I get worried whenever I show a new story to Monica, who is always my first reader, and I’m just as nervous when I send it on to Sue and writer friends like Iain Maloney and Steven John Malcolm. Any happiness at having a story published is matched by the anxiety that people will realise I’m making it up as I go along.

Performing live takes those concerns to a different place altogether. My heart thrums in my solar plexus, and my throat goes tight. Last night was the biggest audience I’d ever read to, of fifty or sixty or seventy people, and I was scheduled quite late on the bill. As the night rolled on, more and more people joined the crowd – and the more nervous I became – not least as the bar was set extremely high right from the first performance.

Big Charlie Poet (a.k.a. Simon Hart) kicked off the open mic with an extremely brave, extremely good poem about bullying. I really like Simon’s work and I’ll definitely try to catch him again. I also really enjoyed Ros Ballinger’s poems – tight, witty work about one-night stands and more.

After the open mic came musician Kriss Foster & Friend. All I knew of this act was that Kriss wore a homemade leopard onesie – it turns out they are Lancaster’s equivalent of Flight of the Conchords. They combined a great stage show with three songs about our wee corner of the north-west, and had the audience in stitches. Their first song was from the point of view of a taxidermied seabird in Kendal Museum:

Then came the tragedy of a blind date gone wrong in Rivington motorway services, before they finished with a love song to Morecambe. Brilliant.

They would have been a hard act to follow, so I’m glad there was an interlude before the next slot. The first performer after the break was Italian poet Carla Scarano. Her poems about portraits married intricacy to power – and the last two, about Francis of Assisi and Beowulf, were simply magnificent.

Carla

Then it was my turn. On Mon’s suggestion, I started with the Lion Tamer’s Daughter, and I’m pleased to say it went down quite well – I followed with The Black And The White Of It, then Hutch, and finished with new flash piece Circle Stone. I had twelve minutes, which is probably the longest slot I’ve had to work with. About halfway through I was surprised to realise that the nerves had gone. The good reaction from the audience helped, without a doubt, and gave me greater confidence in my stories. That in turn helped me relax and enjoy the reading, and I think that improved my performance. I don’t know if there’s some secret to starting a reading with that attitude – I suspect it needs to be earned at each new event. Anyway – I loved it. It was my best reading by a mile. If anything, it made me want to write more flash fiction for live events.

I was followed by performance poet Miss P, who managed to combine memory and incisive observation with humour and relentless energy. It seemed to be a bittersweet show for her – she’s moving to Oxford, and this was her last gig in Lancaster. Large sections of the audience had come to support her, and the reaction to her work was explosive and good-humoured.

Paddy Garrigan finished the night with half-a-dozen of his excellent songs. I really like Paddy’s stuff, and it was so good to see him live for the first time. My favourite song was loosely about cathedrals – or, more accurately, our notions of what makes something important. I can’t find it online to share, unfortunately, but it was sumptuous. If I can track it down, I’ll update the post; for now, here’s another of his gigs, playing ‘Where Do The Dead Go When They Die’ with his full band:

Thanks go to compere Simon Baker, too. He was a generous and very funny host. There was a great atmosphere around the occasion of Spotlight’s 200th event, a real sense of community and history. I’m always impressed at how eclectic the performers are, and it’s an honour to be part of something so embracing. It reaffirmed to me how important it is to share my work with others – to validate what I do away from a computer screen.

I signed up to compete at their annual Slam next month, so I’ll be back to Spotlight in October. I haven’t done a slam event before. Hopefully I won’t disintegrate. Each of twenty contestants has a three-minute slot. It’s not a lot of time, but I already have a few ideas brewing away about how I can make best use of it…

Spotlight turns 200

Now then, humans. I’m off to Lancaster tonight for the 200th Spotlight Club at the Storey Institute. I’m really excited to be reading again at such a great event – I have four flash stories lined up for my 10 minute slot, and the other performers look a brilliant crew. Please come if you can – all the details are right here.

Curiously, I’m not terrified yet. That will probably kick in about 4 or 5 in the afternoon, when the stories I’ve worked on for weeks and weeks spontaneously turn into this:

house-falling-apart

The horizon

What a couple of weeks. The start of college has been a bit rough, but we’re getting there. I’m spread fairly thin at the moment, and it doesn’t feel like I’m getting much done… but in the background I’ve completely redrafted my flash fiction collection Marrow, so that’s ready for typesetting when I find the time to get to grips with InDesign. Paragraph Planet published a 75-word story from that collection last week, too, which is pretty cool. I’ve also redrafted the longer short story I talked about in my last post, and started blocking out my new novel in the excellent Scrivener.

Even more exciting, Riptide is beginning to gather pace. I’m expecting notes from my editor this week, so I can start work on what should be the final draft, and I’ve just had a sneak peek at a rough of the cover art, which is scintillating. While I’ve been so busy drowning in real life, just trying to stay afloat, seeing the cover has been a timely reminder of what I’m working towards. The artwork is simply perfect, but I’ll wait for a final version before I share it.

paddy

The 200th Spotlight Club in Lancaster is looming on the horizon. It feels like only last week I was reading at their open mic night. I’m excited about performing there again, and hopefully catching up with old friends Rich Turner, Dan Haywood and Paddy Garrigan (pictured above) – Paddy’s playing out the night, which should be a blast. I have two or three new pieces lined up. I’m going to start with a short story about guinea pigs, and finish with a very short 75-word piece about avocados. I think there’s probably time for another story in between, but I haven’t decided what just yet.

After Spotlight comes the Brewery open mic, if I can get a spot, and then Dreamfired in October. By happy coincidence, my storytelling uncle Rich Sylvester is up from London that night. I don’t get to see Rich very often, so if we’re organised enough, I’ll try and knock up a quick video of one of his stories.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The Black And The White Of It

black and white

I’m very pleased to have a story published with 1000 Words today. It’s about an out-of-tune piano, amongst other things. I’d be delighted if you wanted to share it or leave a comment. All feedback gratefully received.

The story links with the picture above, taken from the 1000 Words Pinterest boards. I’ve only recently started using Pinterest, but I’m finding it’s a great place to store ideas. Here’s my board, in case you’d like to have a look at some of my story/place/character inspirations.

Who likes short shorts?

I’m between novels – making notes for the second while working on edits for the first – and as a result of this fairly disjointed workflow, I’ve also been writing a lot of flash fiction. I write flash fiction for three reasons. In order of importance, these are:

1. To keep my writing and imagination ticking over.
2. As a depository for the ideas I haven’t time to develop.
3. To create short sharp stories for readings.

However you feel about flash fiction – and there are a lot of people who deem it totally irrelevant – these reasons are good enough for me. Number one, in particular, is very important to me when I’m so busy. I can’t work on a novel if I have a spare hour – I need more space in my head – but I can write flash. For me, flash fiction is a fun and constructive way to write more often (notwithstanding J. Robert Lennon’s excellent ‘ass-in-the-chair canard’, of course).

Like most writers, I suppose, I started learning my craft with short stories. In the first two years, almost all of them fell between 1,500 and 2,500 words. This wasn’t deliberate – I was simply writing stories that told themselves in that sort of space. As my writing developed, the scope of my ambition widened; I wrote Meat (mentioned briefly here), abandoned a subsequent novel at 50,000 words, and started work on my extremely long-running novella The Year of The Whale, which I had almost finished when Riptide exploded in my life. Over the following year, Riptide was pretty much the only thing I worked on. By this point, my longer pieces had absorbed any time for short story writing, with flash fiction increasingly fitting into the small hours between proper writing sessions.

In essence, then, I’d stopped writing short stories. But I’ve had an idea nagging me for a while, and it clearly wanted to be a short story. I decided to make it a little more considered than my older shorts, and spend more time letting the character paint the world around her. I finally settled down to work on it last week, and I finished a first draft last night. In my head, I expected it to be about 5,000 words, which is easily double the length of my next-longest short story. It has been a very strange space to work in, especially after so long away from the form.

Some flash fiction packs a conventional narrative into a smaller space, and some flash fiction snatches at a single moment, a single voice – a heartbeat – and gives the reader just enough to fill in the blanks themselves. The short story expands on those themes (obviously), giving them greater room to grow, but for the form to have an inherent function, it needs to achieve more than simply stretching out those moments – more than filling in some of those blanks.

I seem to recall a quote – possibly by Chekhov, though I can’t find a source – declaring that all short stories are the end of longer stories. I think there’s something in that, and I like the abstraction inherent to the form. My best short stories – the ones I personally consider most successful – are the ones where I’ve managed to hardwire some sense of trajectory. I want my writing to have momentum. I aspire to a ferocity, a certainty of narrative. I don’t know how well I achieve that, but it’s what I’m working towards.

I have now finished this new piece, and I think it’s come the closest yet to what I’m trying to create. It’s abstract and a little dangerous, but I think I’ve generated the emotional whirlpool I strive for, with discontiguous strands of story focused to a single point. After so much time away from the medium, I found it quite difficult to write. Although I knew my character’s voice right away, and I knew what I wanted to achieve in the story, it took me a long time to untangle the threads and find my way. I’ve been plodding through it, whisky in hand, on odd nights for a couple of weeks. Last night I finally had the breakthrough, which involved redrafting the whole thing from present into past tense, cutting a couple of sections and writing a new scene. I’m now going to take a day or two away from it, and see if a little distance helps with the redraft. Happily, the first draft came to 5,220 words.

I’m now waiting for feedback from a couple of readers, but I wanted to write this post before talking to anyone about the story; I needed to get my own thoughts in order. At some point I’m going to write more about my ultra-flash fiction on Twitter, but I wanted to use my first short story in a year to have a think about why I don’t write them any more.

R.I.P. Elmore Leonard

leonard

American crime maestro Elmore Leonard has passed away at the age of 87.

I’ll remember him best for ‘The Tonto Woman and other stories‘, his excellent collection of Western short stories, including the classic ‘Three-ten to Yuma’.

Leonard’s prose became increasingly minimalistic as his work developed, stripping away everything but story. This led to very stark, albeit engrossing, reading. Here are his famous rules for writers. I’m partially guilty of breaking some of these… even though I agree with most of them.

#StoryShop

For the last three years, I’ve kept my brain ticking over by writing ultra-flash fiction – also known as nanofiction and twiction, amongst other names – on Twitter. It keeps my imagination in good shape, and has also been useful in my wider work, as writing with the concision demanded by a 140-character limit has fed back into my longer stories. I try to write a new story at least once a day, and I’ve now written more than 1,300 of them…

I’ve been meaning to write a proper post about nanofiction, and flash fiction, for a while now – but that’s for another time; right now, the Edinburgh International Book Festival is in full swing. Over the last few years, the festival has curated a range of Twitter-based writing challenges, and this year is no exception. There is a daily prompt from the official festival using the #StoryShop tag, and associated companies like Jura Whisky are setting challenges too.

I like writing to themes – the tighter the better. Trying to deliver stories – journeys – inside 140 characters has taught me that necessity is the mother of invention; working to a theme often boosts that drive for invention. The best thing about these tags, though, is the sense of community they foster. I love seeing how other people have interpreted the same theme, and sharing and discussing their responses. There have been some belters at this year’s festival: here are my responses to ‘The Missing Duck’…

Screen Shot 2013-08-20 at 17.05.05

…’The Return’…

Screen Shot 2013-08-20 at 17.05.36

…and ‘The Undiscovered Map’…

Screen Shot 2013-08-20 at 17.05.51

If you fancy giving it a go, check out #ThePush for story prompts outside the festival, and look for the #vss tag – very short story. Which, ultimately, is what it’s all about.

Valve and Hound

newlogo

170 unread emails greeted my return from holiday, and this almost passed me by in a whirl of administration – but while I was in France, I received the great news that Valve have accepted two of my short stories for the third edition of their excellent journal.

The first story is ‘When The Bough Breaks’. It’s a brutish, experimental piece about a life-term prisoner trying to deal with horticulture in his halfway house.

The second story is called ‘Hound’. I consider ‘Hound’ to be my only true story, so much as any story can be true; I wrote it when I lived in Manchester, back in 2009, and it’s about a stray dog that haunted the streets of Withington. For a month, or maybe six weeks, I saw him again and again, scavenging in the alleys and lanes around our flat. Mon and I would often stop to talk to him, though he became increasingly scared of people. When he finally vanished, as I think I’d always known he would, I looked for him; and when I couldn’t find him nearby, I searched for him on the city’s animal rescue websites. I never discovered what happened to him, but I’ll always feel guilty that I didn’t do more when I had the chance. We left about a month after the dog had gone.

Dog-by-Giacomo-Brunelli-001

Manchester was a strange time in my life. Three days a week I worked on my first book, a novel-length prose-poem called ‘Meat’, and three days a week, I worked in a bespoke veneer workshop in Stockport. I lost my job when the owner died suddenly from complications of swine flu. On Monday he was there, and on Tuesday he was dead. We finished the last order, then the workshop closed. Desperate for work, I applied for about a hundred jobs in a month: in delis, cafes, factories, shops, offices. I received two rejections and approximately ninety-eight silences. We packed everything we owned into a hired van and drove to Kendal twice in a day. On the second trip, dumb with tiredness, I had to do an emergency stop on the M6 near Preston. There were swans waddling across the motorway. Goddamn swans.

Each of my stories means something to me, but ‘Hound’ is special. Unlike the majority of my work, it is mostly true, and it records a turning point in my life. I had finished ‘Meat’, which took me to some extremely dark and upsetting places, but exorcised a lot of the poison I’d carried through my twenties. I received some good feedback on the manuscript from friends, writers, indie publishers and agents, but the consensus was that it was too dark for a first novel. I think this is probably fair. My reading and writing began to evolve again after Manchester, and ‘Hound’ marks the start of this change in my work: becoming more constructive, more concise and more direct. After ‘Hound’, I became interested in writing as a vehicle for immersive storytelling, rather than writing for the brutality of raw emotion.

As well as being one of my favourites, ‘Hound’ is also the most rejected of all my short stories. I don’t interpret rejection as a validation of the quality of a story, but I’ve been a little dismayed that no-one wanted to take it. I really wanted ‘Hound’ to go to the right home, and I’m humbled and delighted that Valve have taken it on.

I didn’t mean to write so much about this, or to get quite so personal. We only lived in Manchester for eleven months, but when I pull it apart, I feel surprisingly emotional about this point in my life. It marked a step change in who I was and who I am, and ‘Hound’ is a measure of that change. And this perhaps is mostly why I write: to interpret and record my world and myself.