Extra Curricula Activity

Not content with getting on with the novel, I've started musing on a story. I can't help it if these images pop into my head and demand attention, an airing at least. Here's how it goes so far:

"I stood with the Sabatier knife held above my head like some latter-day Excalibur. The King lay dead at my feet. The King was dead, long live the King!
He had been due to die today anyway, just on a suitably consecrated altar not the kitchen floor."

Somehow, and I'm not sure how, yet. This takes place today in a world in which a form of volkish tradition rose up in the UK and embraced the Celts as a pure race.

I'm still working it through, and it may be too big for a short story, but I like my background to be sound. Already the parallels between the Red Clydesiders in Glasgow and the events in Munich in 1919 are rather astonishing. Glasgow didn't have a Thule Society and nascent National Socialist group fighting back the Communists, that I've found, yet.

For Relaxing Times, Make It Satori Time

In a circuitous way I discovered this week that I'm an Existentialist, a Romantic and an Anarchist. I prefer to use Gnostic as a short hand, but that does have the added connotations of demi-urges and other mythic entities. Not that I'm averse to that association, but it does blur the image.

But also I'm not an Artist. Something I had been laying claim to. The parallels are strong. I make marks on paper; these marks are images that I collect together in a way that aesthetically suits my need to convey a message. Some of them, this one, 'A', for example, were once closer to a more obvious picture of a cow's head.

I am also much more pleased with the fact that the images I create give many different readings and interpretations to the observer. Pleased because I feel these interpretations involve the observer much more than photographs or paintings. There is, in my opinion, a deeper reaction. Most art is passively passed by, ignored or interacted with in a >blink< level response. Maybe my work requires the observer to stop a little longer to truly see what is there?

Technology has affected my art in the same way as it has all fields of endeavour. It has allowed me to more readily arrange my shapes into the collages I want and to have them distributed further.

I think we have established that my art is the equivalent of oil paintings and sculpture. But I am not an artist. Not even, as I had amused myself with the idea, an out-sider artist (I have no formal training past an 'A' in English Higher). The reason, pure and simple, is that I do not live the life of an artist. I have chosen that instead of living in penury, eeking out an existence eating stale bread and whoring with prostitutes in my absinthe riddled insomnia, I would hold down a 'regular' 9to5 job and practice my art, like some furtive secret vice, in the evenings and on weekends. I haven't given myself over wholeheartedly to my muse, nor nobly sacrificed the balance of my bank account to writing sketches of verse for tourists on the banks of the Clyde.

So the official representatives of art, who rolled up in their fat, black pickled-in-formaldehyde half-limousine, hair coifed just so, wearing factory-worn black Armani denim suits handed me an official cease-and-desist order, then crapped into Jesus-shaped cookie-cutters and left the contents in my garden. So, just so we're clear, I'm not an artist.

Perfect Wakefulness

Well I think the reading went down well, despite only having 5 hours'
kip in the previous 4 days. I even beat my previous record for staying awake by six hours; 
I'm now up to 66, yay! The thing that I really hate about staying 
awake too long is entering the state of being 'perfectly awake'. This is where you are beyong sleep and enter a hyper-reality. Everything is increased in sensation, while at the same time seems like it is hidden behind a warm, damp cloth. It is kinda cool and kinda creepy.
I am now having difficulty remembering how to sleep. I go to bed anxious I'm going to stay awake, which means that I do...

Unleash The Dogs Of Havoc

 I have something to confess, it's part of my messianic complex - it's all my fault. A throwaway line leads to the theme. And so on Wednesday the Word Dogs are running a reading event, and I'm somewhere in the line up. 

Where: The 13th Note, Glasgow
When: Wednesday the 24th Jan, 8.30pm
How much: 2 quid

8 writers, 8 tales of high adventure, pirates, pestilence, and general havoc.

Website Upgrade

After happily converting the khaibit.com site to CSS 
sometime in the recent past, I have now upgraded the design. 

Apart from a sunnier spring clean to the design I've also converted all the stories to PDF format and uploaded two new ones: Search Engine and Clatty Pat's Needle.

I think all the links work (except to the Adocentyn area), but if you find a fault, flaw or bizarre browser rendering (this last one took me all morning to fix) it would be kind of you let me know about it.

Highly Influential

I was asked an unexpected, and for me, unusual question, given that I'm not published (yet) and don't tend to be on panels at conventions - what were my influences?

I replied with a quick thought (Umberto Eco) and then rather blithely said 'Everything I've ever read'. Which is both true and inaccurate at the same time. Having been thinking about it, I realised that my influences tend to be in theme or flavour rather than style and structure. Consequently, I'm faced with the stark realisation, for a writer, that most of my influences aren't books or authors. Rather it is film and TV. To some extent this could be a worrying sign. Certainly in the past I've seen people write RPGs where their influences and knowledge of the world has been other RPGs. But on the other hand I consider myself more of a storyteller than a writer. Writing just tends to give me more control of proceedings than say live roleplay.

So what are my influences?
In the style and structure category I think I am quite unwittingly married to Ian Rankin's Rebus books, but think I'm starting to break free; I read some JG Ballard recently and that has blown my mind - he's already doing what I want to do and that includes the themes and flavour, but I love the style. No 'he said', 'she exclaimed', the reader is orientated through the dialogue by descriptions of what the person is doing while they say it - this not only adds details but removes the sense of two heads talking to one another separate from the environment. I also think that structure and the use of perspective comes from Neal Stephenson. But this whole area is one of experimentation for me.

In terms of theme and flavour there's a heavy dose of Lovecraft which is sometimes more explicit than others (see The 23rd Nail). But we have to go to things like the myths of Arthur, Robin, Loki, ie English/North Europe/Norse myth to really touch the depths. And here it should be pointed out that Robin of Sherwood and an Arthurian adaptation were both on TV when I was very young. The former especially with its strong pagan feel still echoes with me, and perhaps explains a tendency toward fantasy than SF. But I also watched Shogun as a kid too and this has left an odd sense of Japan in my mytho-conscious. Consequently, the Ring (which could be Lovecraftian too - in the original film there's a lot of hints about Sadako's mother's relationships with sea goblins) and Samurai films have a stong influenc eon me - both nobility, honor and horror. But in the end the Arthurian stuff resurfaces, with knights, Templars, Gnostics and the odd mad magus really being a strong vein. What I really try to get down to is the horror of simply being human.

How evident a lot of this is I have no idea.

Theatre Of Cruelty

Lets get this straight - an unknown agency poisons a man with a rare radioactive isotope, a highly dangerous one that probably could only be obtained through a government, smuggles it into Britain within the relatively short lifetime of isotope and uses it in central London; a material that could be attached to some form of dispersant such as a 'dirty bomb' - and this actual act of terrorism, by possibly a foreign power, doesn't cause a widespread terror alert?

Head Cold

There has been speculation ever since science threw out the God question as to how humans became intelligent - what was it that caused the spark that ignited Prometheus' flame and made us almost overnight some 200,000 years ago change?

I have rather liked the idea that eating some mushrooms by accident opened up the mind to experiences whether real 
(ie just neurons firing away and creating dreams) or spiritual (elves, shamanic quest beings etc). 
But I came across this article about
fossil viruses and their remains in the human genome. And I'm beginning to wonder if all we did 
was catch the right cold.

Until The End Of The World

Some sobering news in an otherwise unsually drunken weekend included the revelations that polar ice, ancient, always there
perennial ice had molten and that in the opinion of James Lovelock, the guy who brought up the Gaia holistic-earth theory and pointed out decades before anyone noticed that CFC emissions were damaging the ozone, that the Amazon rainforest is turning into desert.

So we're all doomed. Who needs to try and instigate WWIV as the End Times are here anyway? But it'll be fairly nice in the north of Scotland. So I'll be alright, Jack.

Back Door

I'm getting a small, but growing, trickle of people asking to see Enoch's Vault, my first novel. If you're interested don't feel shy. Whether you like it or not, pass it on. I'm getting even more tempted to just put it into a downloadable, readable format.

The Tarantata, as it is now, is finished and due a critique next week. For me it is the simplest story I've told in a while, but I'm happy with it. Primero is with another magazine and I may have one last punt of Enoch's Vault to a small Scottish publisher.

Quadrilogy

I saw several films recently and it is interesting to compare and contrast. In order of viewing, I saw Innocent Voices, Volver, Little Miss Sunshine and A Scanner Darkly. I don't think any of them could be considered mainstream viewing. Two are in spanish and two are American 'indie' films.

Innocent Voices is the only one which remains with me. It is set in ElSalvador and an 11 year old boy is the 'man of the house' and trying to avoid conscription by both the government and rebel forces. Apart from a single moment of what seems like convenient timing the story is shocking, grim and haunting, and is apparently a true tale. If you can go see it.

Volver is a film by Almodovar. At first it appears a mother has died and is haunting her children and her granddaughter. Alas this would actually have been a better and more interesting premise. Penelope Cruz stars and is getting many plaudits, but I found her wooden and a vacuumn in the center of the film that the rest of the cast do well to ignore. Otherwise there is no real sense of resolution.

Little Miss Sunshine is billed as having a standing ovation at Sundance and is a comedy. It's funny, but it isn't a comedy. Most of the laughs are in the last half hour, unless you've not seen the trailer. However, it is a fabulous study of a family in crisis and the finale is unexpected, apt and superb.

Finally, A Scanner Darkly. If you've seen Arnie in Total Recall go and watch that again. This is dull, goes over the same ground and is less a waste of your money and time. Ohh it's rotoscoped. Why? It adds nothing to the film but nausea. Really it is five hours of Robert Downey Junior doing a turn as a druggy.

Rescued Cliche

I managed to salvage the Tarantella story from the old hard drive. Sometimes you think you have a wonderful opening and invariably it gets changed before you're finished. It is almost as if the parts of your own writing you love have to excised from the script - if you love something set it free. Reviewing the 'great' piece whose loss I was traumatised by it now seems it may be a little cliched. Fortunately, it is the voice of the narrator not the author, so it may, just may betray some character if it remains. See what you think:

"The problem with the 21st century is that everything has already been done. Every procession of notes, or arrangement of proteins, has been sequenced and synthesised, protected and patented, purloined and pirated. Every nook has been explored, every people exploited. Each resource has been near exhausted, every species has been near extinct. In short, there is nothing new under the sun."

It is good to be writing again. It seems so fleeting the time I get to do it these days. But I still feel the restless yearning building inside me to go through the pains of creation. Nothing satisfies it like a blank page filled with crafted text. I'd love to be a musician or a painter, even photography is good. But as much as I'm sure I could and can. The time isn't there and frankly they don't hit the spot.

Norwegian Blue

Last Monday I came home to find my PC trying to boot up. This was a little odd as it was switched off when I left. I fiddled about but nothing I could do could induce it to switch on. After a lot of diagnosis the next day, including buying a new power supply (which I no longer need - if you're interested), it was pronounced dead at 1200 hours. It was a little like mourning a friend. That computer got me through a lot of the last year as my window on the world and my source of entertainment. No wonder it was worn out. The unusual heat finally did it in along with a failing power supply. Crispy chips are nice when they aren't silicon.

Today I'm waiting for its replacement to arrive. Not something I'd planned on getting as I crawl out of debt induced by unemployment and exacerbated by having to pay huge repair bills on my car. It cost me the same amount as the number of the beast. I choose to think of this as an amusing omen for good.

Fortunately, I had done a backup not long before and so most of my data is safe and recoverable. All that I really need from the harddrive, if it still works, is my savegames and and the story I'd started working on.

I don't know if this will make it into Adocentyn, but I'm imagining it set during a holiday my narrator/hero has and perhaps the first glimmer that his childhood is catching up with him. Taking place in the deep south of Italy, I'm taking an almost voodoo spin on the Tarantella; a dance once done to rid young women of the poisonous effects of the bites of a Tarantula. I think I've got it mapped out, but I wrote a great opening paragraph extolling the ennui of the early 21st century. While a re-write may do it good, sometimes you never capture the same intent twice.

Comical Ali

Remember the information minister for Iraq who spent a lot of time denying the Coalition of the Willing were making any headway into Iraq while huge explosions happened right behind him?

I was reminded of him today when I was listening to the radio and heard the Israeli ambassador to the UN reject a call for a truce to allow aid into Lebanon because Hezbollah are trying to create a humanitarian disaster...

Guernica

It is a bit of a mystery to me how after one military force attacks another (usually considered a 'legitimate' target) this justifies the 'precision' bombing of an entire country and specifically the civilians.

Meanwhile the people supplying the arms just sit back and watch the show.

Saddle Up

Much of my work seems to occur at just the right time that a similar wave crops up in the media in general. Enoch's Vault takes Biblical mysteries and the whole 'alternate history' research that we see in The DaVinci Code et al. Primero, is an alternate Bond/spy story, just as there is an upsurge in these.

I'm not claiming to be in tune with the Mode of the Monde, in fact this is the problem. Someone, somewhere, decided two years before that these things would be good to publish, or make into film. So you need to either make the wave or be in the right place at the right time.

I'm back working on my misunderstood magnum opus Adocentyn. There are, I guess, the usual fantasy moments in the book, and they'll be tinged with that religious faith quest thing I seem to do, that yearning for touching the divine. I mean, it is a self styled Gnostic parable after all. Will this be good enough/ different enough? I dunno. El seems to think so and she has a gravity of opinion that outweighs most.

Here's a bit I wrote recently that I really love:

The stairwell was an odd mixture of damp, mouldy patches, sometimes with disturbing fungal growths clinging to the wall, and dry, arid regions duned with dust. Both of them made my nose itch and I fought the urge to sneeze. I didn’t want to breathe in whatever might be floating in the air.

Just as curious, in these regions, were the creatures that inhabited them - spiders with tiny bodies and long legs that made them as big as my hand skittered over the deserts, while fat, anaemic slugs writhed amongst the mildew. I imagined a polarised war between these two forms of decay and prey. Dry rot versus wet corruption.

I don’t know, now, if I realised that same war was waging within me.

Migrating Cranes

Every afternoon, for the past three weeks, as I drive home from work, I have seen large, vehicle-based cranes heading west. I have begun to suspect that apart from a plan to slow down late-afternoon traffic on the 'M'8 the cranes are migrating west. Quite why is a puzzle to me, but I expect to see them standing forlornly in Saltcoats and Largs, arms raised and extended, mourning their inability to go further as the land has ended.

My Double-O Dee story was rejected by Farthing, no explanation besides an implication I'd not read their submission guidelines. I've just finished the edit on Primero after feedback from the GSFWC. Not sure where to pitch it next. Really, it is a choice between Interzone and something further afield.

Back Down T' Pit

My life as a full time writer is about to fade away for the time being, and let's be honest; it wasn't exactly paying the bills. So tomorrow I return to the 9-5 and am actually happy to be running my own company. Nothing like being the boss if you _have_ to work.

Meanwhile Adocentyn nears the 10,000 word mark and I've polished off Primero, and hope to start submitting that to various magazines soon as I research suitable ones.

The Enki And Enlil Show

You know how you suddenly have one of those meme particles beam into your head and suddenly it's like 'Ahhh' and followed by furious scribbling (if your hands can still do that).

Well there I was in the warm afterglow of that orgasmic moment of First Principle (and hell En Sof knows they're the only orgasmic moments I get these days), when I stumble onto Hal Duncan's Blog and find the bar steward has beaten me to it, cos he was up late. Puck and Jack, and Enlil and Enki, you bet (or is it Enki and Enlil, they're a bit like Ant and Dec). Sigh.

I better just stick with my Sufi stand-up Neural Din. And I'm beginning to think that Kitten Uzi and her Uzbek punk bank Uzi Kitten will turn up in Adocentyn. Poor Sec needs a girlfriend.

Having escaped Oblivion, I can now get back to writing, but The Movies turned up on my doorstep. Machinima here we come.

Eastercon, Eastern-con

The pre-Eastercon reading went well. Finally did an smaller extract from the Dee 007 prelude to Primed. Now I'm thinking maybe I should see if I can make it a full novel in its own right again. Plot inspiration may be helped by some research on my reading shelf.

I was lucky, as I seem to be these days, to get a ticket to Eastercon here in Glasgow. Much more relaxed and less hectic than Worldcon was last August. Strange how things have not changed much for me though. Still, the whole weekend was highlighted by me walking down the stairs from the mezzanine into the hotel bar, at about lunchtime on Friday, while a rather stunning woman, wearing green, was coming up them. She gave me the most wonderful smile (which threw me off guard). Turned out to be Justina Robson, one of the guests of honour. Now I bet she's married and confused me for someone else... ;-)

Anyway, started thinking about next years con, but I may be in Japan for a Kyudo tournament, and off course Worldcon in 2007 is also in Japan. Started looking at prices - Con £100 membership (very reasonable considering a taxi from Narita airport to Yokohama will be £150, think I'll try the train), Flight £700 (if it costs the same as ths year, can't book next year yet, damn it), Accomodation £550. And that is without any special room rates. So about £1400 quid before everything else, so budget about £2000. Experience of a lifetime - Priceless. But going to Japan twice in one year - better start saving, hmm and maybe working. Wonder if I can get a book finished and picked up in time for Aug 2007 publishing?