Eccentricities

My life revolves around writing, my friends, my pets, and the running repairs occasioned by my pets' multiple eccentricities. My mother also likes to add her political commentary to the mess, she watches the hour long news at 6, switches channels at seven to watch another hour long news session. She is also inordinately fond of Newsnight and Question Time. On bad nights, I have died and am floating in some kind of political hell as my mother prods me with the pitchfork of "the country is going to hell in a handcart!" It is times like these that I really do wish I was a Medieval Court Poisoner in the pay of both Channel 4 and the BBC!

Last night I went to bed at three am. Okay, it wasn't last night, it was this morning. And yes… I know (for those of you who are about to pounce on my lack of mattress time!) it was late… I have an excuse… two late phone calls, both of which made me smile… and a sudden flash of inspiration on the fourth life.

Seven am and reality bites. Or squelches. Between my toes. Stepping on cold yoghurt on a carpet before you have even broached the first coffee of the day… words fail me (actually, they don't… but I am sure you really do not want to experience my command of the vernacular).

I ignored the squelchy feeling and pressed on, which is when I noticed the green arched streak on the white paint of the bannisters. From its curiously blotchy appearance, I deduced spinach. (It also helps that spinach was in last night's dinner). Amongst Dan's many charming little foibles he likes to take dinner bowls and cutlery, despite being somewhat long and low slung, he can jump to an astonishing height.

The slimy green trajectory suggested that the knife which I found at the foot of the stairs had fallen over the bannister as he snagged the leftovers off the tray on the table on the landing. And wiping dried spinach off painted woodwork is a nightmare…

Having scraped the spinach off the bannisters I headed downstairs. First stop is always the kittens. Quite why I am still calling them kittens, when they are two extremely substantial cats is beyond me. I know we have a problem the instant I open the study door and I can hear the relentless whine of the water fountain pump motor. They had wedged something in front of the filter, creating a dam, and causing the water to get pumped out of the bowl… Five minutes to unwedge the object (one of their toys), and refill the bowl.

My days always begin with running repairs. Irritatingly, my day has continued with them. Something of the hunter non-gatherer variety has been playing in the garden, as testified by the very nasty pile of feathers. I deduced that the culprit was fox, first by the mess, and secondly by the green substance of a nauseating viscosity which my darling Daniel chose to lie down and have a really good roll in. EEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! My cup truly runneth over.

My sitting room which also fulfills the role of office, yoga space, rowing machine space… my rowing machine is a vast rosewood thing of beauty, overflow wardrobe space, miscellaneous collection of junk space and I could go on, but that would be a little tedious… my sitting room is now so cluttered that I cannot find anything. I have been searching for the power cable for my netbook for almost three months.

Through the midst of this disorganised chaos I shamble. Complaining occasionally at my complete inability to find anything. Crowing with delight when something rises to the surface which I had believed had gone forever. My life may have all the outward appearance of offcuts of the script to the film Avanti, but if I am being honest, I like it like that.

Now I have to go and retrieve the catnip mouse, before Solitaire proves he is scarcely a gentleman and pins Tizzy to the ground and takes it off her.

To Self Publish

Self publishing. The publishing world has changed out of all recognition in the last few years. With the rise of eReaders, and print companies like Lulu, Lightning Source, and Create Space providing everything an author needs to get their work out to the paying public there is little to stop anyone publishing anything.

However, a note of caution. Self publishing may give you 70% or more of your costs back, but you are going to have to work extremely hard to get there.

The traditional route is still agent, publisher, possible small advance (although this is likely to be a lot smaller than you might imagine, and is supposed to be spent on preparing the author for all the marketing you will have to do!) and into print. Your return is likely to be approximately 12% after publisher's and agent's cuts. You will have to work hard, but everything will be set up for you.

Self Publishing you have to do it all yourself. All the marketing, from scratch. Socialising your book, virtual book tours, maybe even a book trailer. All these things are time intensive and costly.

So, if you are going to spend time and money in all this effort you need to start from a position of strength.

Get your work into the best possible shape to sell. If you cannot afford a professional editor, cast around amongst your friends and acquaintances for someone (or several someones) who are prepared to beta and be real friends (pouncing ruthlessly on any and all errors).

If you are going into print, the cover is important. The cover has one job, other than holding the book together; that is to sell the contents to the buying public. The very best cover you can get for the money is a key factor to success. Cover art is something of a minefield. It is possible to purchase stock images from a supplier like Shutterstock or iStockPhoto and create a cover yourself for next to nothing. My advice - bench test. Make several different options and ask friends and family for their comments. Obviously if you can afford a professional this is the best option.

The composition of the cover should entice. Look to the elements you will need. Title, Author, back cover blurb, isbn and barcode (if you are planning to go that route), slugs. Eh? Slugs… those little bits of text like taglines for movie posters, offering a little intriguing nudge to purchase. Head into your nearest bookshop. Go straight to the shelf which contains books of a similar genre to yours. Examine them, what works for you, what doesn't work… Think about it. If you have a good product you do not want to let it down with bad packaging.

As a self-published author you will have to do all the work to get your book in front of reviewers and purchasers. A word to the wise here. The internet is not a private place where you can behave badly and no one will notice. People are entitled to their opinions. Their opinions are not always in sync with yours. Should you receive a poor review you will need to handle it with dignity. As a self-published author you are not alone, it is one enormous family. How we all behave reflects on our fellow self-published colleagues as well as ourselves.

Self-publishing is hard work. It is not for the faint-hearted and those unable to accept criticism. However, potentially it is a very exciting and rewarding endeavour if you have passion, enthusiasm and commitment.

To read more about self-publishing and why you can: http://pavarti.com/2011/05/9-reasons-why-im-choosing-to-self-indie.html

Blogs I Love

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the things I like to read. How the mainstream has become less and less satisfying.

How independent writing has made me laugh, made me cry and made me think.

This is a blog post mostly about blogs, I hope you enjoy it and go out and discover the brave new world outside of what you buy in the mainstream.

First up is a writer I have admired since I first encountered his work from my time on Authonomy.

Dan Holloway is an incredible author and an amazing and highly creative individual who believes passionately in art being accessible to all.

http://agnieszkasshoes.blogspot.com/ Agnieszka’s Shoes started life as the first novel written on Facebook, and has gone on to represent the best of Indie Culture 2.0. “The View From the Shoe” offers a truly independent take on culture for the 21^st Century.

Lucy Brown is a PhD student and author who writes from the heart. In her ‘not so spare time’ she is writing a novel, but somehow she manages to squeeze a little extra time out of the standard 24 to write http://secludedcharm.blogspot.com/

Another lady who writes from the heart is Mel, my incredible writing partner on http://myinkproject.com. I know, a bit rich putting my own writing partner in here, but I look forward to Mel’s posts, they are always passionate, heart-felt and intriguing.

I fell in love with Richard Pierce’s writing the day I joined the dreaded Authonomy. I think his novel Bee Bones was the very first one I voted on. Richard writes beautiful, soul drenching, amazing prose that just gets you every time. http://tettig.blogspot.com/. His talent is just awesome, and he’s a lovely guy too.

Just when one might think that things cannot get any better or more creative, Dan Holloway comes back at you with another great blog, this time for his crime thriller series, Tommy West. In his own words: The Tommy West novels  are dark psychological mysteries very much in the vein of P D James and Val McDermid,with a small pinch of Thomas Harris’ modern gothic. http://thecompanyoffellows.wordpress.com/.

http://thepigpicture.wordpress.com is a new blog in support of the independent sci fi movie Pig. Writer/director Henry Barrial opened with a piece on identity. This is a blog to watch for the future as we chart Pig’s progress through film festivals to, we hope, general release. As Sci-Fi London Film Festival says “this is smart, indie sci-fi at its best, with a strong story and great performances that make the scenarios engaging and believable. One not to miss.”

Next up is a book. Thought this was supposed to be about blogs? It is... but it’s my rules, so book it is.

Raven Dane is a lady of infinite resource who writes a wickedly funny story, chock full of amazing and memorable characters, some of whom have wound up on my right leg. The Unwise Woman of Fuggis Mire is a deliciously irreverent and funny fantasy in which every fantasy cliché is gleefully flipped over and taken once round the dance floor. That this book is up for Best Novel at the 2011 British Fantasy Society Awards comes as absolutely no surprise. Forget the doom and gloom of modern life, indulge yourself... you won’t be disappointed.

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Stripes with Paisley

Stripes with Paisley??... I can hear the fashion Nazis screaming for miles. Guess what! Their angst is not my problem!

I freely admit that I break all the rules of dress sense every single day. But hey, I’m already breaking a substantial number of rules of female life anyway. One might as well go the whole hog whilst one is at it.

I am a size 22 in a size 0 world, and... there really is nothing left to fear. I am me, even if I starved myself and rowed for hours instead of minutes I am never going to be thin. It just isn’t going to happen. You just have accept that and move on.

Making the most of what you have got, and not sweating the stuff you cannot change is something I like to live by.

The laws of dress sense dictate that if you are larger than the average bear (in my case, grizzly) one should dress in dark tent-like garments and try to camouflage oneself so as not to be noticeable by the rest of the population.

Sorry, not a chance. My inner exhibitionist wants out... If it is bright, loud, outrageously patterned and likely to get me noticed, I’m gonna wear it. I am particularly fond of madras check in bright oranges, pinks and greens...

I was born brunette, which was not to my liking. Nature kinda dealt with that one though. I found my first grey hair at 11 or 12, by eighteen I was substantially grey and certainly by the time I hit forty, I was mostly white under all the hair dye. One of the problems of dyeing white hair back brown is that after a couple of washes, it looks like a ginger cat has upped and died on your head. The imp of mischief is strong in me. My hairdresser bleached my hair out white then added the blue fringe and the rest is not exactly history, but adds to the entire lack of mystique.

Lack of mystique?? Surely every woman wants to be an intriguing mystery??

Well, no... not really. I’m all for the uncomplicated life. Sure, I like to raise a little Cain from time to time, most of that comes from what I look like anyway, but with me wysiwyg works better. I am not especially patient... I like everything to happen yesterday. Besides, if you say what you mean and mean what you say, it saves time and distress later. If everyone knows where they stand that is one less thing to worry about.

I am loud, open, friendly, I will talk to anyone about anything, I do not have a nervous bone in my body, and like George Bernard Shaw’s arms dealer, I am unashamed.

I firmly believe that there is a lot more to worry about in this world than getting into a lather about what others might think, and if, by being me, I can show one other large person who is struggling with their confidence that there really isn’t as much to fear as one has been led to believe, then I might have done a halfway decent job as a human being.

So the hair, the inch-long quite-clearly-acrylic-fake nails and the tattoos are all very much part of the show. These things are representative of who I am. I make no attempt to hide any of them. Why would I? I am proud of all of them.

My tattoos are awesomely funny conversation starters... I went into a shop to buy a Mars Bar, Vlad (the Impala) gave me the munchies, so I just had to go out and grab a Mars Bar so that I could sit still for Stevie to finish him off. The quite elderly Indian lady behind the counter is staring at my right forearm, at first, I’m thinking... disapproval... then she bursts into giggles, and asks me if I know what it means. As a matter of fact, I do, I didn’t just pick dhoom machale out of a tattoo book, so I say yes, and we have a nice little conversation about it. I love all my tattoos, but dhoom machale holds a very special place in my heart, not just my right forearm. It’s a daily reminder that life is there for the living, because there’s only one to a customer.

Let’s party!!

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I remember it well...

I have been thinking about memory and identity a lot just recently, especially as I have begun a new writing project with my American counterpart, Mel. Here she talks about the deeper meaning behind memory, and how experience colours what we actually perceive...

I Remember It Well

We are all pathological liars. Our brains are designed to make us always "feel" as if our recollections are true, regardless of whether or not they actually occurred. In fact, science has proven that a memory is only as real as the last time you remembered it, and that the more you remember something, the less accurate the memory becomes.

Pretty powerful stuff. It brings to mind a song from the 1958 movie, "Gigi", where Maurice Chevalier sings, "I Remember It Well". If you have never seen this charming musical interaction, it is between two "older" individuals, who do not agree on the details of their first date. Of course, with his undeniable charm, Maurice manages to agree with his former love, even though he openly disagrees. I love it. (Men, take a lesson from Mr. Chevalier.)

The subject of memory has recently become a topic of conversation between me and my British blogging counterpart, Sj. She is in the throes of promoting a new movie that deals with this very topic. Interestingly enough, as I write a book that is based on my parent's love story and family history, I have personally been thrown into a trip down memory lane.

As I sift through old family photos, some of which portray folks that are unidentified, yet related, I look to my ancestral past, recollecting my own memories of those who are now gone, and whose histories are a part of my life. I recall good times and bad, but , in the end, have discovered that I have modified those memories to fit the moment that I live in now. This is why my book is reality-based fiction.

Face it, memories are random, and often strange. Marcel Proust once wrote, "The past is never past. As long as we are alive, our memories remain wonderfully volatile. In their mercurial mirror, we see ourselves." Jonah Lehrer, in his book, Proust Was A Neuroscientist, writes that Proust believed that, "we must misremember something in order to remember it." In other words, our mind is constantly reincarnating itself. It is ongoing and ever changing.

Lehrer writes that, "scientists have discovered that our brain is full of neurons that never touch, yet are responsible for brain activity. The spaces between these neurons are called synaptic clefts, and the area between these neurons is subject to change." Brain research has gained much knowledge of how those spaces effect memory, and how a memory is created, but only time will tell why our memories are "purely fiction."

My brother and oldest sister recall a set of parents that barely resemble the two that raised me. In fact, upon reading the love letters that my father wrote to my mother back in the 1940's, my sister remarked, "I had no idea that our father had such love in his heart." She remembered a different father than I did. For me, my father will remain tall, dark and handsome, with a smile that made women swoon.

Sigmund Freud coined the term, "Nachtraglickeit", to describe the phenomenon of transference. He surmised that we take memories of childhood trauma, and retell them at a later time in life, renamed with different characters, and through the eyes and ears of an older person. We create another version of a story, to meet the needs of our current situations and issues. Our past is actually quite different, but our memories disobey logic.

Hans W. Leowald, M.D., an early 20th Century psychiatrist, tells us that, "the ghosts of the underground that awaken, taste the blood of recognition and haunt us in ways not fully understood, gradually become ancestors, buried, and much less important." It really makes me think about my life, and question, "Who am I?"

The entire concept frightens me a bit. Could Proust be correct? Should we, "Treat the reality of our memories carefully, and with a degree of skepticism"? Proust contended that there was no need to keep track of the lies of our memories, as, "Every memory is full of errors." Am I really full of unintentional deceit?

Science has also discovered that most memories are triggered by taste and smell, and that exposure to certain combinations of these two senses can actually trigger "moments bienheureux", or fortunate moments. Author Jonah Lehrer, cites them as, "the blinding epiphanies that one experiences, like a beautiful apparition, and inspires an intense creative flare."

I happen to experience these "fortunate moments" on occasion, and revel in the rapture as they burn through my brain, carving new tattoos on my inner soul. Are these memories real? Of course they are. At least in my mind. And, who are you?

A figment of your own revisionist history?

Think about it. I do.

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Five Films

Five films that are rocking my world right now. (Actually, four films and a game... but nobody’s perfect).

Sanjuro – It really doesn’t matter how many times I watch this film, or the fact that I do have to rely on subtitles, because I don’t speak sufficient Japanese to make sense of the subtleties of dialogue; Akira Kurosawa rocks. Toshiro Mifune does more with expression and body language in this film than most Western actors achieve in a lifetime. And then you have the one against eight battle. They actually teach this in books on Kendo, Mifune’s form and movement is like a ballet. A beautiful, brutal ballet. Yet there is nothing gratuitous or creepy about this, no long lingering shots of dismembered corpses. Just a melancholic genius. By the time a karate master has risen to the level of master, through long and hard training, he may be capable of killing with his bare hands, but has also attained the self-discipline not to go postal and kill indiscriminately; so it is here, nothing gratuitous, no violence for violence’ sake, just pure swordsmanship.

Alien – FilmFour was doing an Alien weekend a couple of weekends back, and I tuned in. I have the box set. I fell in love with the movie when I slithered into the cinema to see it despite being underage. The tension, the claustrophobia and the creature. Especially the creature. I first discovered Giger in 1976, and his stuff was a revelation. I was quite an odd child, who found Goya fascinating, all dark, brooding and very intense, so Giger’s work plugged into that intense side of my nature instantly. Even today, my three favourite artists are Goya, Giger and the Spanish Surrealist, Salvador Dali. Add to that the complexity and construction of Escher’s work and you have a sense of what goes through my strange brain.

Dhoom 2 – okay, you’ve probably read the criticisms, you are probably thinking of this as simply silly, glossy fare... but... honestly, it has heart and charm. The set pieces are huge and wildly over the top, clearly the cast had a ball making it. Hrithik steals every scene he’s in. The songs are fun and advance the action nicely. So what’s not to like? At three o’clock in the morning when my brain is going a mile a minute and I cannot sleep it’s the perfect kick back movie.

Pig – okay I have an unfair advantage here, I’ve seen the film even though it was not yet finished, and my version is a rough cut. I could wax rhapsodically on lots of elements that add up to a completely satisfying, and emotionally engaging story. It is a thoroughly modern, twenty-first century tale, but retains a genetic blueprint of film story-telling that we last saw in the Noirs of the forties and fifties. It unfolds slowly, building in intensity as the man seeks clues to his past, and it isn’t an easy journey. Nothing is what it appears to be. Written and directed by Henry Barrial, the script asks questions of the audience that certainly, for me at any rate, made me start to re-examine the way I look at memory and identity.

With any movie it is rare for me to look and not re-cast in my head. There are a few notable exceptions, Casablanca is one... could you really see any one but Bogart and Bergman in those roles? So it is with Pig. The cast are just pitch perfect. Special mention has to go to Rudolf Martin, after all, he is the man; lost, confused, scared, finding out things about himself that he doesn’t necessarily like. And none of it really fits. So who’s lying to him? It would be easy to overplay this role, Martin keeps it simple and utterly convincing. The emotional payoff at the end is incredible.

Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood – is my game of the moment. Actually, AC II was where I discovered the joy and AC:B... well, I didn’t join the midnight queue to pick it up instore... but I came pretty close. A rich and extremely playable game even for a frightful klutz like me. This game totally rocks... and despite my extreme clumsiness (poor Desmond has been swimming around in the basement for what seems like hours now) I get immersed in the amazing detail. There is just so much to this game. It’s as much about genetic memory as Ezio fighting his way through to the Borgia heartlands. 

From this you would conclude that I like rich detail, great story-telling and dark and brooding art. Well yes, but I also like to seek out the independent and different, go for things that are outside a comfort zone. Try it, I promise you won't be disappointed.

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Inspiration

Inspiration. Now there’s a word to conjure with.

It was the Oscars this week, and as usual there are a million different opinions out there, this should have won, that should have won. Etc... so forth, so on...

It’s no secret that the movies have informed a great deal of my writing, and sometimes, even the things I get up to on a daily basis.

Five Graves To Cairo put an idea into my head that is yet to be realised, but who knows where life is headed.

My mind is totally random, and always has been. So, I can see a film or watch a tv show and certain little incidents within the movie or the tv show have just totally spoken to me.

All of this led me to consider what I think might be the elements of a great movie.

The starting point of any great movie, regardless of length, has to be a great story. Do you have a real story to tell? Of course, then you need a great script. Having a story is all very well, if you can’t articulate that story in a way that captures the audience’s sympathy and imagination, you won’t coax anyone into going on the journey with you.

So a great script has to be part inspiration, and part seduction, with just enough intrigue to keep the audience guessing.

When I got the chance to see Henry Barrial’s new film, Pig, I knew I was in for something that would be very different from the standard join-the-dots, cookie-cutter stuff that the mainstream has been offering of late.

Pig is simply inspired. And inspiring. I have been utterly unable to get some of the images out of my head.

In part that is the writing. Henry Barrial can really write. The script is everything I hoped it would be. Intelligent, compelling, different. A puzzle. I love puzzles.

Of course, a compelling script then needs two further elements to bring the writing to the screen undiminished. A savvy director who can interpret the meaning, and actors who can get into the skin of the characters.

Probably the person best placed to direct a film is the person who wrote it in the first place. So it is with Pig. Henry creates an absolute gem of a film. (http://thepigpicture.com/Pig.html)

The main character is a man with no memory of his past, played with utter conviction by actor Rudolf Martin. I tend to have a more analytical approach to movies than most, and rarely find myself so engaged as to feel emotionally moved by a character’s situation. Between them, Barrial and Martin conjure up something that just speaks to me in ways I really hadn’t considered before. And that moved me.

I also started to think about character in a different way. You have character, and then you have the nature of the character inside. Then a friend mentioned something that her attorney had mentioned about her former husband... and my mind exploded in another direction entirely. Suddenly, a character who had been dull as ditchwater (and unsufferable besides) in one of my latest scratchings, turned into something completely different.

That’s the nature of inspiration.

Putting things together in your head until they fit. And they can be informed from anywhere.

I always have a notebook, usually a Moleskine, somewhere about my person. You do not know where your next inspiration may come from. In my case, most of it is humbly informed from the great writing of others.

It doesn’t need to be feature length either. Doug Rao’s short, War Hero, totally blew me away. (http://www.makeshortfilms.com/). Thankfully, Doug has decided to make this incredible piece of cinema available for download. Regardless of politics, this film speaks to the humanity in all of us.

You don’t have to look far outside of the mainstream to find film-makers who are making incredible cinema with very little in the way of budget. Using imagination and vision. They can’t cover holes in their plots and cardboard characters with tons of expensive CGI and explosions. They don’t need to. They’re already delivering inspiring, thought-provoking films to you.

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