Under Glass

I find that whatever creative endeavours I am involved in, a nice bit of Philip Glass in the background works wonders. I'm not sure why this is - I'm guessing the rhythmic repetition of this particular minimalist composer's music drives me on. Of course, it depends on what works of his I'm listening to; I'm not sure I could cope with his earlier experimental pieces, but the later, orchestral ones ("Low" and "Heroes" Symphonies, soundtracks to Koyaanisqatsi and Powaqqatsi, Itaipu, etc) are perfect for this purpose. The track "It Was Always You, Helen" from the Candyman soundtrack album is one of the most beautiful things I have heard.

I did get to see the great man in concert just once, at the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff, circa 2005, where they screened Koyaanisqatsi with a live performance of the score. (I was a bit far back, but could just make out his curly hair). Somewhat disappointingly, it wasn't performed by a full orchestra but rather on electronic instruments. It was still a fantastic experience though, to see that hypnotically beautiful piece of film-making on the big screen, with the added bonus of the live score.

I even created my own tribute to him in a short electronic piece called "Under Glass", way back in 2000. It's not brilliant, but I may stick it on DeviantArt at some point. Speaking of which, that's where I'll put my written work, once I get it set up properly.

And speaking of written work, I think I may have almost finished "The Scent" (see previous blog entry) - it's taken a long time to write (not surprising, being a very personal and emotionally affecting piece) but I am finally happy with it. Just a few cosmetic tinkerings perhaps and it'll be ready for publishing.

Just as well too; I've got Gloria banging on for attention, vampires at my window, a homeless guy trapped in a cemetery, various oddballs living in a highrise and a twisted threesome to contend with. I think my brain's going to explode. Luckily, Mr Glass has just arrived with the first movement of his "Low" symphony to calm and inspire me.

Suddenly all is well.

Playful Phantoms and a Feisty Female

Well, it happened to me again this morning. You know, it's Saturday, no need to get up, a nice lie in to look forward to. But would my mind let me rest? Oh no - as is becoming increasingly irritating, it had other ideas...

Making good headway on my planned quintet of supernatural short stories based on the five senses, I only needed a story built around the sense of touch. I toyed with the idea of having an older person who is paraplegic and is visited by playful phantoms who pleasure the character by touching them. Even though the character is biologically unable to sense anything from the waist down, these little demons can pleasure by supernatural means. (I deliberately refer to these supernatural entities as 'phantoms' based on the medical condition of 'phantom pain'; for example when an amputee feels a sensation in a limb that is no longer there). In this case, the phantoms are here only to gratify and not torture the individual. It seemed like a perverse enough idea. I decided to run with it.

And then, at 7.30 this morning, after Stu had got up to go to work, that's when Gloria popped into my head. This 70 year old paraplegic, nearly blind and unable to speak wasn't going to let me rest any longer until she nailed the role of being my protagonist. I could resist no longer. With a sigh, I dragged my 43 year old body out from under the comfortable duvet and into the living room where Stu was having his breakfast.

"What are you doing up?".

I fired up the MacBook. "I've got a 70 year old woman banging on about being pleasured by phantoms. She won't go away until I've committed her. To the computer that is."

"Oh right. Well, since you're up, how about giving me a lift to work?"

Gloria would have to wait that little bit longer.

I'm finding that since I've started writing in earnest, one of the most satisfying aspects is character development. I'll spend a fair bit of time rounding these characters out - their background, upbringing, circumstances and how all of these affect their personality. That in turn provides them with motivation which helps drive the narrative, make it more believable. And so it is with Gloria - and she is proving a fun character to develop.

I set her age at 70 which means that (this being a story set in contemporary London) she was born in 1941, a baby of the blitz - in fact, I like the idea of her being born during a bombing raid, popping out in an Anderson shelter, or one of the London Underground stations adapted for such use. She turns out to be a troublesome, fiercely independent, playful and highly precocious child, running amok during the Festival of Britain flashing her privates to boys and then fully embracing sexual freedom in the 60s and 70s. Later during the recession years of the late 80s and early 90s, she uses her fading beauty to allure an older Italian businessman (who leaves his wife and family for her) and therefore secure her future.

This story is intended to be the most uplifting and humorous of the five, the others being either dark, gruesome or just sad. I like the idea that even though this woman's body is failing, her mind is still as sharp as a razor. I intend to write it first-person narrative; this to me seems the best approach of getting her character and inner thoughts across. Also, there's the aspect of receiving sexual pleasure in advanced years, something not written about enough I think (our culture being so obsessed with youth!), especially from an elderly woman's point of view. This is her remaining pleasure in life, to welcome these little phantoms whose sole purpose is to tickle her fancy, so to speak.

So Gloria got her way and is now the star of this particular story. But I like her character a lot already and can see her worming her way into future fictional enterprises too. That's ok though, she'd be most welcome; I just wouldn't count on her behaving herself.

Anyway, back to writing. And then a bit of rest. I've agreed to go out on the gay scene in Cardiff tonight, something I've not done in a long time. I may not survive. On the other hand I may get lots of inspiration for future characters. We shall see.

Hasta la vez próxima.

A Fish Out Of School

Whilst going through folders of old paperwork to compile the list of projects (mentioned in my last post) I came across some old stories written when I was at secondary school. I surprised myself at how good they were, but what also struck me was how the themes of insecurity and paranoia kept cropping up within the neatly inked pages of A4.

That got me thinking of my time at school (ooh! bad idea!) and about the kind of person I was back then. I can't say I had a really bad time at the place - I was only moderately bullied and made fun of, nothing I couldn't handle - but I never really embraced learning at that time. I used to dream the lessons away, my head so far in the clouds I'm surprised Air Traffic Control wasn't on permanent alert. Consequently I was one of those invisible students - not brilliant, not so awful that they had to be constantly monitored - just average. Even the other children didn't seem to notice me (here Mister Cellophane from Chicago springs to mind), apart from the few friends I had.

I think back at the time I wasted hanging around at lunchtimes, in the doorway to the main building (which was also the entrance to the boys toilets... oh man, how bad does that look), just doing nothing, waiting for the wretched bell to ring in another tedious lesson. If I could travel back in time I would march that young man by the ear to the library and make him read until his eyes bled. It's easy for me to think now that I should have made more of my time at school, but it just wasn't me back then.

Apart from English lessons, of course, which I loved. I finally left Fitzharrys Secondary in 2005, with two 'O' levels both in English - language and literature - and a handful of CSEs. And I was never happier to leave. The irony of it all is at that point I suddenly became interested in learning. So that's what I did, which resulted in a degree from the Open University, finally achieved in 2005, twenty years after leaving school. In-between and since that time I've attended numerous work-placed and evening classes - Spanish, Japanese, IT, desktop publishing, drawing, tap-dancing, therapeutic massage, creative writing - plus an abortive attempt to get a degree at Newport Art College (as it was then called) in Film and Animation. I find the older I get the more I want to learn; even that invisus dictata maths suddenly has an appeal - c'mon, I can't be the only one who finds algebraic equations arousing??

I was also thinking about how much I've changed as a person since those early years. I'm more confident now then I've ever been in my life, but still people label me 'quiet'. (Apart from when I'm writing blogs, then I can't shut the hell up about myself.) I suppose that's true, but compared to some people I'm practically mute. But that's ok - I'm comfortable with myself now, knowing that I've made up for lost time and still have a lot more that I want to achieve.

As for the stories I had written I'm proud of what I did back then and who knows? I may use them as future projects. The creative vein has been tapped and I'm simply haemorrhaging stories. Well, maybe a slight exaggeration. But If you don't see another entry on here then you know that I've shuffled off this mortal coil due to literary induced anaemia.

Anyway, that's enough of that. I've got a chilli on the stove and a DVD of Alex Proyas's wonderfully dark The Crow to watch with Stu later. Good times!

Persistence of Vision

On my Mac's hard drive, there is a folder entitled 'List of projects, real, imaginary and some that will never ever see the light of day'. It's exactly that - a long list of titles for film projects, sourced from old scrapbooks, diaries and random scribblings, all the ideas that I can remember having, no matter how bizarre, stupid, crazy, smutty or downright morally reprehensible they might be.

The reason?

Well, one day not so long back I felt the need to compile this list of potential projects to remind myself of the ideas I've had over the years and hopefully kick start a much needed period of creativity. Now that I have decided to dedicate myself to writing, some of these former ideas are proving useful (for example, a story in the works that I've provisionally titled The Boy Of My Dreams is based on a film idea I had in the mid '80s).

Please don't get the wrong impression - I was never a professional 'film-maker'! True, I used to tinker about making little animated doodlings and such on Super 8 stock, but I was no Derek Jarman. (Or Michael Winner, thank the lord). I was interested in film from a young age - or perhaps more specifically the cinematic experience. The sheer spectacle of the original Star Wars and Superman blew me away in the late seventies and I think I've seen Superman II  more times than any other film at the cinema to date. The criminally under-rated Dragonslayer and technically stunning Poltergeist scared the hell out of me. And then, when puberty hit, I expanded my cinematic horizons to include gay themed dramas: Another Country, My Beautiful Laundrette, Caravaggio and RW Fassbinder's sweatily erotic and intellectually baffling Querelle were among the many titles I greedily consumed.

In the mid to late 80s I frequented the twin centres of filmic goodness, the Penultimate Picture Palace and Not The Moulin Rouge in Oxford, both showing crazily eclectic double bills in their shabby interiors; sheer bliss for a young cinephile. (By the way, the Penultimate still exists as the Ultimate Picture Palace, but sadly Not The Moulin Rouge was demolished in the early 90s to make flats - it was indeed a sad day. Here is a good site about the former cinema). On heavy rotation in these palaces of flickering wonderment were such classics as Midnight Cowboy, Annie Hall, The Seven Samurai, Harold and Maude, anything by Fellini, Pasolini and Visconti and of course, the queen of cult movies, The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I was fascinated by the film medium, not only as a storytelling tool, but also the technical aspects of creating movies. Lighting, camera angles, sound, music (separate blog entry for this subject in the works) and especially editing all interested me. Then I finally got my hands on a Fuji Single-8 camera in the late 80s, which gave me the opportunity to create my own mini-masterpieces. While I loved the shooting of film, the editing process was the aspect that truly fascinated me; how raw footage could be put together in a way that could create an impression and yet cut in a different way could create something quite different. (This is me doing just that). And of course, the role that special effects played in creating illusions; needless to say mine were extremely low-tech smoke and mirrors stuff usually involving - well, literally smoke and mirrors.

But it was a pricey hobby and one that I couldn't sustain, especially after I left home. However, once I moved to Wales I succumbed to video as a cheap means of creating movies and I made some little visual experiments. They still exist on numerous Hi-8 tapes, which, now I have iMovie on the Mac, I intend to digitise and use in future filmic creations. Coming soon to a YouTube near you!

As far as the cinema goes, I still go as often as I can and supplement it with old, new and rare titles rented from LoveFilm.

And of course the list mentioned above will continue to inspire my written efforts. On the subject of which, I re-read the vampire story I hastily wrote in the early hours of Sunday morning today. It's totally obscene. I consider it my best ever work*.



*It's actually neither, but I feel it has potential, albeit with a fair bit of revision!

Blood and Voices

It's 1am on Sunday morning. You're wide awake. You can't sleep. Your mind is just too active.

What do you do?

Write a vampire story of course!

Hey it worked for me. After writing the last entry, I had an incredibly creative splurge yesterday afternoon, spurred on by an online conversation with a Facebook friend (big respect to you Mr. L!). While working on 'The Scent' (which is beginning to take a more acceptable form), I got a idea to make a collection of five supernatural stories based on the five senses. I already had sight and smell covered ('Shadow' and 'The Scent') now I needed three others. Then it came to me (in the early hours) that a vampire tale would suit the sense of taste perfectly. And once this was in my mind I couldn't switch it off (and never was the title of this blog more justified). So I crept out of bed (so as not to wake Stu up), fired up the MacBook and committed the story to the hard drive.

Unusually for me, I wrote the story from start to finish in one go - normally I tend to start off with key events and expand out from there. But this one seemed flow naturally, and I found I had pretty much the whole thing written down in less than an hour. It was based on an idea I had many years ago where a young man is visited by his best friend who is now a vampire. This was well before the likes of the Twilight saga or even Interview With The Vampire; I think it was more likely inspired by Tobe Hooper's superior TV movie Salem's Lot which scared me shitless as a child. Those scenes with the children floating outside the window... oh my god!!

I guess what also attracted me at the time was the homoerotic imagery associated with this scenario; to a young gay boy the idea of one man necking another was pretty sexy (and back then I had to envision my own homoerotic images, none being available to me!). That too found it's way into the story, which I wrote first person narrative, from the perspective of the vampire. I haven't gone back to it yet (been pretty much comatose for much of the day) and may find it's a pile of shite that needs completely reworking (or binning). Or maybe 1am in the morning will prove to be my peak creative time. In which case my working life is buggered.

Stu blearily emerged from the bedroom for a slash at about 3am and eyed me suspiciously, feverishly typing in the darkness of his living room. I had to reassure him that was writing fiction, rather than perusing porn or chatting with guys on Gaydar. I'm not sure if he was convinced.

And then, just as I was about to retire, another idea came to me. A while back when I was visiting St Sepulchre's Cemetery in Oxford I had another idea for a short story, which I immediately had to commit to paper. Purchasing a cheap pad and a pen from a local store on Walton Street,  I settled with a coffee in Manos Deli and scribbled some notes. I had no idea where to take it - all I had was a young homeless guy chasing his dog who had bounded into the overgrown cemetery (which actually happened as I was leaving the place - at least I assumed this young man was homeless). But it felt like the start of something.

Then it came to me last night that this could form the basis of a 'hearing' sense story, where the young guy ventures into the cemetery to retrieve his dog only to find it sitting on a fallen tombstone with disembodied voices issuing from it. I was beginning to creep myself out at this point and also it was getting on for four in the morning. So I finally crawled in next to Stu. But even then my mind wouldn't cease it's infernal synaptic exchange of ideas - it was too busy thinking of what to put in this blog entry.

By the way, St Sepulchres is a really lovely little cemetery. Here are some pics I took of it when I visited: http://www.flickr.com/photos/oxoboy/sets/72157626556592729/

All About Mother

Among the stories I'm juggling at the moment, the one I want to focus on is titled 'The Scent'. Again it's a short story with a supernatural element and based closely on an experience I had.

To explain...

My mother died in February 2009 after a long battle with cancer. Her health had been declining for the last few years and I remember while we were on holiday in Cornwall late 2008 how drained and frail she looked - it shocked me. Also that year, she suddenly started discussing funeral arrangements with us - something that we didn't want to hear, but was important to her. I guess she kind of knew then (subconsciously perhaps) that she didn't have much longer to live.

Then during January of 2009, she took a turn for the worse and was admitted into The Churchill hospital in Oxford. I rushed across from Cardiff to visit her and to help out Dad who needed support. The doctors at the Churchill couldn't really help her and, when persisted by us about her condition, all they could say was "she is very unwell". I suppose they didn't want to alarm us by bluntly stating "she is dying", but I knew that's what they meant.

Mercifully she didn't live much longer after being admitted - it was so distressing to see her deteriorate rapidly the few days she was there and last day I visited she could barely communicate. The news of her death hit us all hard, even though we were expecting it. At the same time it was a relief to know that she was no longer suffering. I take comfort in the last coherent thing she said to me: "Don't worry about me, I've had a good life". And she had.

Anyway...

'The Scent' is about Alice, a woman in her late 30s, who goes into her deceased mother's bedroom and senses a presence there, the unmistakeable scent of her mother. (It's something I experienced a few days after mum had died - there was a real sense of her there, her bodily aroma, as if she were in the very room with me.) Alice addresses the darkness of her mother's room, speaking about the how the family is coping and asking for forgiveness for the times she was, as she sees it, a 'bad daughter'. (I didn't do that, by the way.)

This story is more of a character driven piece than 'Shadow', but the supernatural element is there, in the form of the presence of the deceased mother (or is Alice just imagining this, using the situation to clear her guilty conscience? Ah ha...) I have used my own family as inspiration for Alice and her siblings, and the mother's character is practically based on my own. (Sorry mum, hope you don't mind me doing this.) By the way, Alice isn't supposed to be me, but a composite of myself with other personalities within the family.

It's also proving more difficult to write, not only emotionally but also at a technical level - I read through a rough draft of it yesterday and was appalled at how clunky it sounded. It is going to need a fair bit of work on it before I can even consider it halfway acceptable. But I believe it's worth spending the time on. And if it gets too much, I can always take a break and do some more work on yet another supernatural creation, the twisted love-triangle story I've provisionally titled 'The Boy Of My Dreams'. This one is necessarily much lighter and (hopefully) funnier.

On a final note, 'The Scent' isn't intended to be about the afterlife! I'm not a religious person (certainly not any organised form of religion), but I have a fascination with spirituality, the supernatural, the unseen... I like to think there's more going on around us than we can perceive with our five senses!

Right, I've put on 'Riceboy Sleeps' by Jónsi & Alex to get me into a sufficiently chilled mood - time to get down to some serious typing.

Prologue

My very first venture into the strange world of Blogging. Not really sure what to expect. But here goes.

I guess I really want to write about... well, writing. Having completed my first short story for a creative writing course held at work, my mind is now ablaze (not literally, although I do smell burning sometimes) with ideas - new ones, old ones, things that just pop into my head or that something that I've seen/overheard in public. I have written stories before but the last one I penned (or more accurately typed) was somewhat, how shall we say, 'racy'... yes, I think I'll leave it at that. It's likely not for most tastes, not unless you like the idea of two men getting friendly.

The story for the course is called 'Shadow', a short supernatural story about a teenage boy who discovers something very unsettling down a dark alley. The alley and the boy are based on reality, the former being in my home town of Abingdon and the latter being (loosely) based on myself. The actual supernatural element didn't happen to me, but I did venture down that dark alley in on a perverse whim of frightening myself.

I'm sure this blog will eventually encompass other stuff too, such as my photography, travels, various odd art projects. Like I say, I'll give it a go and see where it leads. By the way, the title of the blog I came up with on the spur of the moment ages ago. I think I'll keep it as most of the time the noise is in my head... it just never seems to find the way out.

Now, how do I get this published...