Where did the time go?

Today is the 40th anniversary of the publication of my first piece of serious journalism. It was the first of a three-part photo-journalism series I did for Leeds Student newspaper on the changing face of Leeds, which was then calling itself “the Motorway City of the Seventies” – another way of saying a large part of the city was being bulldozed flat to create a 4-lane inner ring road. (Ralph Berman, a medical student I shared a house with in Chapeltown area of Leeds was my photographer. Chapeltown itself would later become associated with the Yorkshire Ripper murders and race riots but that was outside my timeline.)

Looking at the back of my newspaper clippings for 23rd April 1971 (where I see I also came second, with 42% of the vote, in the poll for the student union vice-presidency) there’s an ad for that week’s gig at the university. The Kinks and Roy Harper were playing and the price of an admission ticket was 45 pence.

By coincidence, the 23rd April 1971 issue of Leeds Student was also the issue when the newspaper won its first Student Newspaper of the Year Award (it won the award for the seventh time in 2009) which was good going as the rag only began life five months earlier in November 1970.

The Times journalist Damian Whitworth (and a former Leeds Student editor) once said “Leeds Student alumni in the media are like rats in London, you’re never more than 20 yards away from one.” I’m not sure whether that makes me feel better or worse.

This blog is moving on…

It has been fun running this blog on this Blogharbor platform but it is starting to creak, so I am moving it to the newer Posterous platform. Words & Vision will remain here pretty much indefinitely on this site as an archive but from now on, all the new stuff will appear here… www.charles-christian.com

Thank you for visiting this site and please visit my new site.

…Charles Christian
7th February 2011


Diary of a Short Story Collection #3

More progress on the short story collection! We now have a front cover and a launch venue – the FantasyCon event in Brighton on 30th September to 2nd October 2011. More details to follow however the cover was designed by The Cover Factory for Salt Publishing's new SF&F imprint Proxima Books – and yes, there is such a character in one of the stories in the collection…

Diary of a Novel #12 + Diary of a Short Story Collection #2

Fifteen weeks into the project and I've now hit the 90,000 words mark – probably another 30,000 words to go – it'll all be over by Christmas. (Now where have I heard those words before?) And I'm still being racked by doubts: what if it is all total rubbish???

Today I'm printing off the pages (about 400 pages of A4 – don't mention the dead trees) so I can start reviewing the first draft. However this is not me voluntarily multitasking but out of necessity – a friend of a friend through the day job introduced me to a novelist, who introduced me to his agent, who said 'Yes, send in a synopsis and a couple of chapters'. No pressure there then.

Meanwhile, the short story collection: Contract now back from the publishers – Salt Publishing – and my collection of dark/urban fantasy and sci-fi short stories and flash fiction – This is the Quickest Way Down – will be out next September. Warning: I shall be totally unbearable from Q3 2011 onwards – and now back to feeding the printer.


Random musings

Quick catch up…

* No reports from Aldeburgh Poetry Festival this year – as I'm not there. Given myself the year off.

* Had some progress on the submissions front – Dave Cunliffe's Global Tapestry Journal (which can probably be best described as an old-style UK print zine dedicated to aging hippies and Beats) has published one of my poems Bourbon Eyes and my photo-journalism piece Don't Look Back looking at the way Greenwich Village NYC has changed since the early 1960s – a bad case of condo-ization

Here's a link to the poem: http://wordsandvision.blogharbor.com/blog/_archives/2008/12/22/4032285.html (or use the search engine on here for bourbon)

And here's a link the Greenwich piece: http://wordsandvision.blogharbor.com/blog/_archives/2009/2/28/4108012.html (search for cornelia)

Opinion: live literature – dead audiences ?

With the winter poetry readings season now underway again in the UK, I'm once more left wondering whether poets get the audiences they deserve – or if audiences get the poets they deserve?

Poetry readings are a form of live literature, right? In which case, why are the audiences so dead?

As with many stories, there are two sides to this tale: In the last few weeks I've heard audience members complaining about poets muttering into their mikes. I've heard of audience members being bounced out of poetry readings for have the temerity to criticise the readings. And I've also attended readings where all the poets (even first-timers on open mic) have given cracking performances yet been greeted with tepid or no applause.

Seems to me the issue is that poets and their audiences don't know how to interact with each other. For example, with stand-up comedy, you either laugh or jeer after a joke – and the comedian also knows that somebody is bound to heckle them. With rock music, its the same deal: cheers for a good performance, jeers for a poor performance. But live literature?

Now obviously I'm not suggesting poetry audiences should take things to the extreme we saw at a recent Guns 'n' Roses gig in Dublin, when the band were pelted with bottles of urine. (Bottles of urine? Where did they come from? Do people pack them with them before they go to the show? Or maybe they now have a franchise selling them to punters Piss Bottles 'R' Us perhaps?) But maybe they could be a little more demonstrative than they are at the moment?

For the poor poet giving the reading, the lack of reaction must be disconcerting, as they don't know whether their work is being well received, hated or met with bland indifference? Performers do need some kind of feedback – good, bad or otherwise. Yet, most of the time we just get that weird poetry audience hummm-type sigh which, frankly, half the time sounds a bit smug and complacent. A kind of 'oh look how clever we are, we can appreciate the hidden depths of this poem' self-congratulatory tone.

There again, some – correction, most – poets don't help themselves by the way they schedule and time their readings. They read one good poem then immediately launch into another one before the audience has had a chance to digest and applaud the first. Or, they do an upbeat number and immediately follow it by a words-to-slit-your-wrists-by downbeat item.

And, what is it with poets endlessly flicking through their chapbooks mid-performance, apparently uncertain what to read next? Don't they ever prepare for their readings?

Perhaps both audience and poets alike should bring along urine bottles and throw them at each other? Me, I'm now going to cheer, heckle, jeer, boo, tut-tut and/or applaud every poem I hear read – anything but hummm them!

In a New York state of mind

More of a manic week than usual this week, as still slightly spaced out from
a  flying (well obviously I didn't drive) trip to New York – arrived
Tuesday 9:00pm, flew back out Wednesday 6:00pm – and seemed to spend an
inordinate amount of time hanging around Irish airport transit lounges –
I was flying via Aer Lingus. (And my admiration to the man I saw eating
fish 'n' chips with a pint of Guinness at Shannon Airport at 5:00am on
Thursday morning.) So what did we learn?

Well, the trip was in connection with the day-job, so I won't inflict that on you, save to say the route was not of my own choice. Not surprisingly, the flights were primarily full of Irish people and –
after helping one elderly lady load her carry-on luggage into the
overhead locker –  I was told that for that act of kindness I was going
straight to heaven. “Madam, ” I replied, “being told they are going
straight to heaven is the last thing anyone wants to hear at the start
of a transatlantic flight.”

I also tested out the theory that if you make a fleeting – in one day,
out the next – trip to another timezone, you don't suffer from jet-lag
because your body clock remains on its 'home' setting and hasn't had
time to start shifting to another zone. Sounds a good idea – and
possibly might work if I could ever master the secret of sleeping on a
plane, so I don't get back home feeling wrecked after being up for 23
hours, two days in a row.

I also bring you news of a new game, you can play in hotels or office
block where they have banks of elevators/lifts facing each other – it's
called Verticruising
and the idea is you race someone in another lift to the same floor. The
game starts by each player pressing the floor they are going to, then
it is all down to how fast your respective doors close – and whether
someone else calls your lift en-route. (Yes, I know that does reveal I live in
Norfolk, where nothing much ever happens, we have to make our own
entertainment.)

Finally, a little diet tip I picked up from a woman who, it just so
happened, I was having cocktails & dinner with on Wednesday night.
She said that the secret to her looks was to never eat anything after
2:00pm on a day when it was still warm enough to wear a bikini. I shall
make this my mantra from now on.

* Next progress report on the novel over the weekend…

So they asked me – so I told them

A bit of gloating here as the latest issue of Sophie Playle's gorgeous Inkspill literary magazine is out now and features an article by me on creative writing courses – what are they good for? If you know the old Edwin Starr song War, you'll know what my answer is. Well, Sophie did ask for my opinion – and I told her. Although this does mean there are some streets in Norwich I'll never be able to walk down again without a minder to watch my back.

Inkspill is a quarterly the mixes factual/opinion articles with short stories, poetry and art. They've also got an interesting short story competition coming up – you can find the details here www.inkspillmagazine.com