Ruthless Edit

I spent most of the weekend having a ruthless edit of my blog posts - do anyone else ever do this? Took out a lot of aimless woffle, and eradicated some entire posts forever (after downloading an archive of course). This has made my blog seem leaner, but also I think it suggests I am not as prolific as I undoubtedly am - Oh, well, even in this blogsphere you can't have both worlds.

Pizza Peter

Peter's pizza arrived.
Spinach spun on top.
Crusty cheese browned,
Garlic bread downed,
Pineapple chunks on ham

Peter's pizza arrived.
Olives sliced on top.
Thin tomatoes grilled,
Empty stomach filled,
Pineapple chunks on ham

Oscar's 79th Birthday

Oscar is getting too old isn't he? 79 years is a fair age for anyone, but the truly Americanized glamour of the fabled awards ceremony is looking a little worn to my eyes. Too many categories, too much glitz, too long...

I read there are now some 500 film festivals in the world. Every one of them wants a new film to Premiere, everyone of them wants some media attention... and as thin as that is to stretch amongst 500 festivals we then get all the awards ceremonies. Even more media coverage.

New Worl(d)s 9

The latest volume of my short fiction and poetry is out!

Fiction:
Pop Bitch
The Tiger Watching
Rain Guidance
Nemeses

Poetry:
10:14 am
And Now...
Condensation

The Race For Racism

Well, it's no longer a question of whether she did or didn't - the British media no longer use the word 'alledged' in connection with Jade Goody's poor choice of words on Celebrity Big Brother. I've nothing really to add on the subject except to say that I've always thought that the people one sees on the show are so horrifically over the top that I have never been tempted to write a story with one or more of them in it. They by their very nature are caricatures of humans, and I think if I fictionalized them they would render my stories unbelievable, in an un-real way, something I am always striving to do in my work.

The Scream, Dreaming

The recovery of Munch's 'The Scream' by Norwegian police has inspired another short story.

In it I imagine the figure in the painting finds relief at no longer having to scream once he has been removed from the gallery wall he has howled out of for decades. Under wraps in the art thieves' lair, he can relax a little, and take time out to take a look at the surrounding scenery in the painting.

The piece is about finding yourself by losing yourself. Only by not screaming can this screamer find his true calling - to scream on behalf of the world!

The Sky Is Falling

Two plane crashes in two days, and it feels like the sky is falling. What is it about plane crashes that fills us with dread? Symbolic angels off death, like mediaeval woodcuts, hovering over a city, they represent I suppose Man's triumph against Nature. And when they fall, we fall; our hopes fall. They point to the fragility of our technological supremacy over Gaia.

Dying Swan

So, avian flu has reached Britain. How symbolic that the first victime is that most romantic of birds - the swan. As I heard the report on the radio I imagined in my mind's eye a young female ballet dancer, lying prostate on the stony beach of the Scottish loch. Turning to my synthesizer I recorded a ten minute improvisation with a harp-like sound. I may use the 'off-air' recordings again over this piece, which I am beginning to feel is turning into some sort of concept album about current affairs. Oh well, all artists are inspired by their environment and their times and I am no different. I have also begun to play around with Paintshop a little more and am thinking of creating at least one new image for each blog entry. This first was montaged from images found with google's image search - a triumph of technology helping find the raw materials for the creative artist!

Katrina (extract)

The rotating green light from the radar screen intermittently lit Colin's pinched face as he sipped at his cappaccino. It was a slow night for weather watching, the glowing cloud formations comprised of pixels generated from streamed satellite data were laid out in meterologically uninteresting patterns and Colin took another sip of the hot coffee hoping it would wake his senses up. The problem was that the forecast was 'dull', just 'dull'. The same word Angie had used when she slammed the door for the final time. How had he become like this, Colin asked himself? When would the weather turn?

"How's it goin', Colin?"
"Ugh?" said Colin, spinning round at the question. His manager had a habit of suddenly appearing behind him with no sound, no reflection in the round glass of the radar screen.
"Oh, er, fine, thanks Bob." said Colin.
"Good." Bob frowned at the screen and jabbed a finger at a position out over the Atlantic Ocean. "That updated in the last three hours?" he asked.
Colin checked a printout. "Er, no. Should be due any minute."
"Well, keep an eye on it." said Bob as he wandered off, a troubled expression on his face.
"Okay." said Colin.

He stared back at the clouds and the clouds stared back at him. The point Bob had indicated was a little different than the usual mid-Atlantic flurries. If you looked closely you could just make out a small circle, surrounded by tiny finely drawn crescent shaped half moons. It reminded Colin of his wife's eye, the filligree patterns in her green irises that reflected his own distorted image when they made love. Had she thought he was dull even in these moments?

A beep from the computer told him new data was updating the image. Perhaps now he would be able to call Bob back and put his mind at rest. There would be no extreme weather forming there, Colin knew. He' been doing this for too many years. He waited as the image updated, the pixels changing colour and shape. The effect on Angie's eye was as if it blinked and then opened again, this time larger.

Colin put down his coffee and his own eyes grew larger. He snatched for the telephone and punched in a number, never taking his eyes off the screen.
"Hello, Bob?" said Colin.
"I think we may have a hurricane..."

More New Wor(l)ds

It's a new year and I am presenting some new wor(l)ds in the form of my annual fiction-fest compilation. It's a mere six months since the last issue but I've been busy over the second half of the year and have produced 5 short stories and 6 poems. Several of these poems have been presented to audiences at my local literary club, whilst at least two of the stories were submitted to writing competitions (although they failed to be chosen).

The collection includes 'Katrina' - a short story written from the perspective of a meteorological officer who watches the hurricane drama unfold on his radar screen whilst simultaneously considering his wife's recent affair. In an interactive crossover I have produced a piece of music and sound effects which could be listened to whilst reading the story. I have some software which I hope to use to be able to produce perhaps a clip for youtube or myspace, linking to the story text. This is the first time I have experimented with this sort of technique, and I hope to use it at some of my poetry readings.