Started reading it last night and have found it really hard to put down – to, you know, go to work, do stuff etc.

If you’re into music at all, a poor obsessive muso like me even, I can definitely recommend it.

That’s all really to be honest. I’m gearing up for a blog post of some sort of merit, but just don’t quite have it in me today…

We’ve also finally got our new writing group up and running. That’s the logo I came up with. And I’ve spent some time getting our website worked out. That can be found here: http://www.written-inc.co.uk. Putting the site together was easy enough, migrating it from a test server onto its own hosted site – now that was a painful experience. Partially because I’m a moron, admittedly, but also because the hosting service I picked was not the easiest to use. In any case, it’s done. All I need to do now is add the profiles for other members (those that want to be profiled that is) and wait for the Google bots to pick it up.

Just out of interest though, we want to list on there any literary events we know about in and around Liverpool, or the North West in general really. If anyone knows of any, let me know and I’ll stick the details up.

When I was an undergraduate, I had to buy a lot of books. If they didn’t have them in the university book shop I had to wander about Liverpool and try every second hand bookseller I could find. I had to try all the libraries. It was a bit of a pain in the arse. I was also trying to be a writer back then and I bought a second hand typewriter. Every time I screwed up, or changed my mind, I had to retype a whole page. Or I had to use those little tipex rectangles to blot out a word and then retype over it with the letters usually misaligned. It was, to be quite honest, a bit of a pain in the arse.

By the time I came to do my first MA, we had Amazon. As long as I was quite organised I could get all my books, delivered to my door, well in advance of needing them. I also had a word processor. It was a big, ugly, grey thing that you could use as an electric typewriter or as a rudimentary computer – typing onto a six inch screen, saving the file to a floppy disk and printing out the pages only when you were happy with them. It was a lot better than the typewriter, although printing stuff did take about as long as typing it. The only difference was you sat there and watched it, fed paper into it, and had a beer.

By the time I got to my PhD, Amazon had added the ‘Look Inside’ feature to their books. Which is just as well. I lost some of my notes along the way and although the quotes I needed were already in my thesis, I didn’t have all the details for some of my citations. Instead of trawling all the libraries, I located the books on Amazon. I opened the ‘Look Inside’ feature, searched for my quote, and hey presto – I had a page reference. I also had access to the front pages in the book – the ones that give you year of publication and geographical location of the publisher. (By this point I also had a laptop. I won’t even go into how much easier that is than a typewriter or a word processor…)

Ok, coming back to my latest discovery. But let me put it in context. My research technique has always been as follows: read a book and make notes in it while I go. Afterwards, I come back to it and trawl through all the notes I’ve made. The ones I think are going to be useful I write out, in longhand, in an A4 pad. With the page number, and the book’s publication details at the top. Sometimes, that process can take two to three hours. I filled four of these pads while researching my PhD thesis. (And incidentally, it was the loss of one of them that led to the ‘Look Inside’ discovery).

Two of the novels I’ve read so far for my current MA I’ve read on my Kindle. I knew there was a highlight feature on it, and I knew the highlights get written to a ‘Clippings’ document on the device. Very handy to have all your notes put into one place for you to reference in seminars. What I didn’t know, however, is that this ‘Clippings’ document is actually a .txt file. Which means, I can plug my Kindle into my laptop, open this file, and then copy and paste all the quotes in it into a Word document. Actually, even better, I can copy and paste it into an Excel spreadsheet. Then I have an indexed list of all my quotes, properly referenced, readily available without having to get cramp in my wrist. I can search for quotes rather than having to flip through pages to find them. And best of all, I don’t even have to type them into my essays – I can copy and paste them in.

So now I have to find something else to moan about. I could always moan about the inconvenience of that I suppose. Or how about this – why wasn’t all this stuff around twenty years ago? The hardships I could have avoided if some technological inventor types had pulled their finger out a bit quicker. Lazy bastards…

The DeLillo book irritated me a bit, probably because I was expecting a postmodern classic and what I got was a satire of postmodernism presented in a fairly conventional structural form. Don’t get me wrong, in parts it was amusing and I’m always up for a bit of satire. But at times it seemed like he was really denigrating postmodernism, reducing it to the absurd and illustrating how it’s useless as a mechanism in approaching existence in the phsyical world. Although I don’t really use any of its techniques in my writing, I still think postmodernism is one of, if not THE most viable aesthetic approach of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Not just in literary terms, but in art, in cinema, in music even. The appropriation of existing cultural themes and reconstitution of them into something new is, for me, the most honest approach an artist can take. Everyone is influenced by what has gone before them, so why not highlight that? Why not make the audience aware that they’re reading a novel or watching a film? Narrative isn’t reality, so why pretend it is? Once you free the work from that constraint it’s then able to provoke all manner of responses to it – on it’s quality, it’s cultural purpose, it’s position within the evolving framework of cognitive connections that form in the mind of those engaging with it.

For my PhD I read a lot of postmodern criticism and took exception to some of the conclusions drawn. This is probably up somewhere else on the blog, but for context I’ve included it again here – my argument against Frederic Jameson (an approach which irritated my supervisors no end, but I refused to take it out):

“A common charge levelled at postmodernism in general, not least by Frederic Jameson, is that it is a superficial method of comprehension; that it fails to engage with representations of the past, or indeed of anything conceptual, in a meaningful or insightful manner. Jameson terms it the “pastiche”, the “bravura imitation” (133) of postmodernism, a reduction of authentic images and ideals to a “mass cultural allusion”, a set of stylised signifiers which start to replace the truth of any matter (134). The example he cites in his opus Postmodernism, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism is David Lynch’s Blue Velvet which, he believes, displaces “the 1950s” with “the ‘fifties’” (281), a string of “stereotypes, of ideas of facts and historical realities” (279) rather than those facts and realities themselves. To a certain extent this argument has real validity; however, it seems somewhat misplaced. This process of conceptual displacement is not strictly a fault of postmodernism alone. Representation itself is by very definition a reductionist process. The 1950s do not mean anything as and of themselves; they are merely a collection of years, of months, of revolutions of the earth around the sun. The attachment of significance to them is a revisionist process, an editing of facts into a narrative, a method which raises the same questions of whose narratives have greater authority – those of the historian or those of the “teller [who] constructs that truth and chooses those facts” (Hutcheon 56)?”

Replace David Lynch with Quentin Tarantino. And then tell me that films like Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill don’t resonate with audiences because they play on the same cross-reference of iconic images and cult themes that rattle around in their heads anyway. In any case, I’m rambling now. So I’ll stop. We’re covering postmodernism for the next couple of weeks so expect another rant about it soon.

I was going to say ‘a fantastic novel’ but I’m not entirely sure that’s what it is. It’s more a historical study, written in a novelistic style, with interjections from the author worrying about turning fact into narrative. I don’t like the term ‘non-fiction novel’. Brilliant book though. It recounts the assassination attempt upon Reinhard Heydrich, the head of the Gestapo, during the second world war.

You’ll also notice it has an endorsement on the front by Martin Amis. For once, me and Mr Amis agree on something. Wonders will never cease…

Anyway, definitely recommended, as is the latest album by The Pines, which I bought with some iTunes vouchers. This is one of the singles from it. Not sure about all of the lyrics, but just listen to the guitar work on it. Tremendous.

I said yesterday I didn’t have a lot to contribute at the moment. This is pretty much it really. Just stuff I like…

In the meantime, there’s this – a short essay on poetics I had to do for the MA course. I handed it in in December and it will have been marked by now so I figure I can stick it up here. It builds upon what I’ve been saying about short stories on here for a while and was written in support of my 7″ fiction project:

Poetics in Support of 7″ Fiction

“Short fiction must be microcosmic in nature in order for it to succeed. The aim of all literary work is to strike at elements of universal truth, to uncover resonant themes and ideas that readers are able to identify and engage with. In a novel, these can be extrapolated and propounded logically over several hundred pages, but in short fiction there is only the time to allude, to signify, to pique the reader’s intellect and encourage their perception to move beyond the limited boundaries of the text.

This is even truer of flash fiction. A piece of three or four hundred words does not have sufficient length to allow for elaboration of theme or protracted development of character and narrative. A successful work of flash fiction should therefore present the reader with a single moment, an instant in time, which contains within itself the cause and effect of its own being. Narrative arc is crucial but should not, indeed cannot, be set out in a conventional manner by the author. Instead of a sequence of events that build towards a conclusion, the micro-text needs to bridge the past, present and future in a series of very precisely related incidents. It must replicate, to some extent, the psychological function of awareness there on the page, where disparate stimuli coalesce to form a unified impression.

Linearity in form is therefore counter-productive to the aims of flash fiction. Linearity fails to stimulate the perception of the reader in the way that is required to contextualise the piece as a microcosmic event. The structure should instead replicate that of an explosion, a conceptual big-bang, with an epicentre from which is thrown all manner of wreckage. The point of impact is the immediate present the narrative voice speaks from; strewn about it randomly are the signifiers of causality and consequence.”

I’ll be back with something more interesting at some point, I promise…

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 2,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 4 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

The Cheese Family and more Reader’s Names

Anyway, yeah, it’s mildly amusing. Ironically, considering it’s about mis-spellings of my surname, they’ve actually mis-spelt my surname in one instance. Or maybe that was me when I sent it in – which kind of undermines my argument a bit…

‘This is my song. Because I’m a fighter.’

The thing is, she really wasn’t. If I’ve realised anything in my thirty something years here, it’s that if someone has to tell you something over and over, the person they’re really trying to convince is themself. I broke it off on Thursday. She took it quite well.

‘You just have a problem with women.’

If that got me off the hook, then that was fine by me. There are seven billion opinions out there, every one of them self-serving. Worrying about what you can’t influence is a huge waste of whatever resources you have. Besides, who was I to say she was wrong? She was just as entitled to the truth as I am.

‘This is my song.’

Another time, another era, but the same old bullshit that never seems to go away. My mother is playing Stand by your Man by Tammy Wynette. My stepfather is having another affair, and as usual she’s the last one to find out about it. Not that she’ll ever confront him. Me and my half-sister will have to drag his guilt around for him, as always. We’ll be the ones watching her walk about the garden in her nightdress, crying uncontrollably, at four in the morning. We’ll be the ones sat there, eight and six, when she walks into the room with a handful of pills and a bunch of threats that we’re too young to know are directed at us and not at herself. For fifteen years she was going to kill herself, and it took me almost that long to realise she never was.

‘I’ll do it. I swear I’ll do it.’

What she actually wanted was for someone else to sort things out for her. Quite how she thought a couple of kids could do that is beyond me, but there it is. We were a constant disappointment to her, and that wasn’t on – she had enough shit to deal with, how dare we make things worse.

‘I’ve had a terrible time.’

Haven’t we all?

‘There is such a thing as sympathy you know?’

Of course there is, it’s just a bit hard to keep up when the record keeps changing. Tammy Wynette gave way to Gloria Gaynor and thank God for that. It lasted two months. Then he was back, and despite all the bile she’d drowned us in, we had to like him again because now she did. Full circle didn’t just describe her world view, the one that started and ended with herself: it also described our lives as he moved back in and began almost immediately coming home at six in the morning with, in her words, perfume on his shirt and lipstick around his cock.

He liked Sinatra – no surprises there. Like every idiot I ever met, he thought the lyrics of My Way gave him an excuse to do whatever he wanted and justify it.

As for me, well, I have a song too. It’s called Go Fuck Yourself and I wrote it myself. There isn’t much of a melody and it doesn’t go verse, verse, chorus. But it is quite catchy, if you like that sort of thing. Every now and again I brush up on the chords and roll it out for an encore performance. It never would have made it onto Top of the Pops but I like to think John Peel might have given it the nod. The one thing it really has going for it is just how inconvenient it is for everyone involved.