Word Count Today...

...1,756, which isn't a bad number for an evening's work.

Still working on the novel, and redefining what it's all about. I'm back onto Part 1, narrated by a guy on a plane looking back to when he was thirteen and the fate of his family changed with the arrival of two mysterious women who have "a message" to deliver. And that's it in a nutshell. Part 2 is already part-written, although I've decided the narrator for that section should now be his mother, and the story needs to start earlier. I haven't decided yet what to do with part 3, but we'll see...

I've spent some of today looking at structure and time-shift, and the rest trying to do something about my internet connection. I mentioned before that I pretty much know what happens in the end, and I have the finer points of the beginning down to a t, but somwhere along the middle there's a muddle. And I feel I've finally come up with a solution in the shape of the mother's story.

After having to study Mario Vargas Llosa's Casa Verde when I was eighteen and being - to be frank - a bit confused at the time by his sudden time-leaps and changes in names of characters, I stumbled across his Letters to a Young Novelist, way before I even thought of writing a novel. And I remember being impacted by some of the mechanics behind it, even if I thought when I read it that time-shifting and character-bending were a bit manipulative. But that's the whole point, isn't it? Fiction is, by its very existence, one of the most manipulative forms of writing, whether the author has art for art's sake intentions or otherwise. The very best books I've read have dragged me all around the houses with meandering storylines and nebulous characters, but if you can trust the writer, and if the story's interesting enough and it's told convincingly enough... pah! you're willing to go there with them.

Since my first brush with creative writing technique nearly a decade ago, I've read my way through several books on form and style, including those that affirm it can't really be taught. And the most valuable lesson I've learnt is you have to write your way through some of it, and throw out a lot of work. To my detriment, I'll never be the type of person who storyboards my way through life. If I were, the thing would have been written by now, but it wouldn't be the story I want to write.

Anyways, that's enough from me for now...

UPDATE...

...and, dare I say, a primitive one (smoothly does it!), as I have a lot of finer details to work out.

So my trip went well, despite having to make several changes along the way. I'll post more on that later, hopefully with more pics like these:

On the poetry front, the next month or so looks to be a good one. Next public gig is at the Farrago Zoo Awards next week, then I'll be doing a few open mics, then some more gigs which I'll also give more info on later.

On the writing front, you've guessed it, I'll be working on The Novel and a few more shorts, one of which I've just redrafted for an anthology coming out in the Spring. Everything else, I'm waiting to see how it fits. I've begun a non-fiction project which may or may not work, so we'll see. I'm also looking to do a few music collabos soon.

So, onwards! I'll update the rest of this blog later and I should be posting more regularly from here on in.

And Today's Random Word Is...

...Primitive

(Grumpy) New Year and ting...

So, we're nearly 3 weeks into 2012, and I'm glad I haven't made any concrete resolutions, otherwise I probably would have broken them by now, just in time to make new ones for the Chinese New Year, coming up this weekend.

A relative of mine, who will remain nameless, promptly vowed - on Facebook, no less - to stop reading online comment pages this year; that would probably have been one of things I would have resolved too, had it not been for him forwarding me a link about the whole Diane Abbott foot-in-mouth incident, and a funny comment piece which I've now lost somewhere to cyberspace. And so this is what I've come back to: with the way overdue conviction of Stephen Lawrence's killers, the absolute proof that we are still hotly sensitive to the nuances of race and racism, in all its forms, as demonstrated here and here. And that, no matter how many times I press refresh on all the news sites, it's pretty much the same stuff. I'm just...doing it... now! And, yep, Occupy London wins first place (as it did in November), with Eurozone bailouts and the IMF coming next down the line, followed by stats on youth unemployment and yeah, I get the message. Pretty much the only other "news" is the 100th anniversary of Scott of the Antartic's expedition. If you don't know who he was by now, try Wikepedia. Oh, hold on, if you're going to attempt that during the blackout, try following the advice here.

I feel like I'm on one of those soaps where you can watch an episode months later and still pretty much follow everything that's (not) happened.

So, in the spirit of not moving forward, Merry Christmas! And Bah Humbug, in equal measure.

comparetheconfusedsanta.com: shimples!



Update: Decembering

I have it on (good?) authority that London is bitterly cold, Jeremy Clarkson is a complete idiot, and political correctness has, of course, gone barking mad – again (too tired to post link, just search for any comment site). And, of course, the kind of shocking stats that only come round once a year have returned, bringing with it some understandable cynicism as well as criticism of common ignorances that still persist.


I’ve not yet been gone two weeks, but stepping completely outside of your home environment, with little access to emails/phone etc can have the effect of making everything completely surreal. Or maybe it’s just me?

I’m travelling around, and currently in a not-so-small-anymore town in the Dom. Rep. where I once lived for a while. When I was last in the region, running water and electricity were limited, no one had broadband and horses were almost as common as 4x4s. It was a 2 hour journey to the airport through bumpy roads and the occasional (dodgy) police checkpoints. Now, whilst the power still goes out once in a while and water isn’t always forthcoming round these parts, the new toll road is as fast and as smooth as my Wi-Fi connection, there’s a massive baseball stadium round the corner, and I’ve just had a spin in my neighbour’s new wheels. Viva el progreso!

I’m also learning to appreciate the contradictions that life throws at you, and there are many here, because inequality seems to be exaggerated to the extreme. But I don’t want to talk about that now, especially as someone who is essentially an outsider, with only a week’s worth of observation under my belt. I came here to reconnect and relive, not to make socio-political commentary about the Caribbean.

My English is starting to get a bit confused, as is my Spanish, and I’m sure many of the bilingual people out there with similar experiences can testify to the complications that arise from adjusting to a second language. My dialect – or, better said, idiolect – is returning, along with several words and phrases I haven’t utilised for years, but it's not always coming out with the same fluency as it once did. It's a little frustrating not being at the same level, and just goes to show that language comes and goes, as does knowledge in general. You don't use it, you lose it! 

The poem, Search for my Tongue, by Siddartha Bhatt – which was on the GCSE syllabus when I was at school, and still is – resonated strongly with me the first time I returned to the UK after being here. Suddenly, in London, I was struggling to resurrect a native tongue I barely used here, and it felt easier to shout Cuida’o! than Watch Out! (which nearly got me involved in a traffic accident).

As this web page demonstrates, there are certain concepts that simply work better in one language over the other and some that can’t be translated. I, for one, would like to see an equivalent of the endearing diminutive –ito/-ita which, correct me if I’m mistaken, we only really have when it comes to names, in the form of –y. I think I’m way past being called Keithy, though.       

Christmas is approaching here, just as it is, incidentally, elsewhere around the world; however, the fact we’re in a tropical climate means nothing when it comes to fir tree decorations and depictions of snow-capped sleighs. In fact, whilst I was in the capital, I was amused to see Coca Cola’s annual Christmas tree, complete this year with a house with a chimney, right near Christopher Columbus’s old digs. Hmm. No further comment.

I’m not sure how much I’ll manage to blog up until Christmas, but I will do as and when I have the correct combination of time, energy and internet connection.

Hasta ahorita!

  

AND TODAY'S RANDOM WORD IS...

...Reveal

Which is nice and appropriate for what I've just posted below!

Postcard for the Album

These streets are made of domino slaps on wooden boards and diesel fuel

From irreverent motors wheezing up towards the old barrio they call Vietnam

And the same bachata song they’ve been playing till late all week

And the sleep of the dead

And the mangy old dog that hauls itself along and doesn’t chase the pickup trucks

Bearing gifts of freshly beheaded hens

But from the gutter barks its hoarse desire

A tyre on the ground marks the spot

And I’m learning again to make new friends

Out of the words I didn’t quite catch

Like the baseball OUT! I was supposed to deliver

And the tight-skin shiver of morning water from the rusty tap

And the sizzle of the outdoor pan

And the machete man and his sugarcane cart

Because these streets were constructed from all the spare parts

That make up the broke-down lives and histories I once knew

They were created by the stickiness of the self-same sun which hugs my shirtsleeves close

And slurs my tongue

And blurs the Polaroid perfections of all my recollections

Until you and me are here now dancing

Pega’ito outside some bodega or another where rum-soaked minds drink

The music of our dreams

And eat the tarmac of my silence.