Friday, May 23, 2008
Early Morning Cello
A blog entry without a picture always seems a bit shoddy. Here's a picture of a small cello suspended outside my window. It's not promoting anything, but the skyglow proves I've been getting up early. Indeed it does. The reason why I'm awake to greet each sunrise is because I'm writing academic essays for friends who happen to be university students. These essays are mostly on subjects I know nothing about and the work is therefore taxing and requires many hours of input.
I've done this several times in the past. I once wrote a lengthy dissertation on organic architecture to help a friend get a degree, learning about the subject as I went along. Is that plagiarism? No, it's fraud, a quite separate category. I've also sat exams in the guise of other people, and when invigilating for exams I've always permitted the candidates to cheat. Clearly I am immoral. But I'm also nice. Such seemingly inappropriate, superficially paradoxical combinations move me deeply: sweet and sour, organised chaos, futuretime nostalgia.
I've done this several times in the past. I once wrote a lengthy dissertation on organic architecture to help a friend get a degree, learning about the subject as I went along. Is that plagiarism? No, it's fraud, a quite separate category. I've also sat exams in the guise of other people, and when invigilating for exams I've always permitted the candidates to cheat. Clearly I am immoral. But I'm also nice. Such seemingly inappropriate, superficially paradoxical combinations move me deeply: sweet and sour, organised chaos, futuretime nostalgia.
A box of the second edition of The Smell of Telescopes is on its way to me: the book was published almost a year ago but I haven't seen it yet. Great! My novelette 'Flecks from the Isle of Chrome' has just been published in Postscripts #14: it's related to my 'Long Chin of the Law' novella. Fab! The Postmodern Mariner has just gone to the printers: will be back soon. Cool! Last week I shaved with chocolate and banana ice cream because I didn't have soap. Ouch!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Piratical Garb
The weekend was a big one, much bigger than most, although I didn't go on any long walks or attend any gigs or even bask in the sun. But this same biggness means I've fallen behind with my work. I have lots of work to do but I feel demotivated. I'm helping some friends with their university assignments and so I've been trying to cram up on subjects I know nothing about. Cheating on behalf of others isn't easy!
I've just received the timetable for an SF conference organised by the Welsh Academi at the University of Glamorgan in June. The fact the Academi has organised a conference that has nothing to do with social realism is remarkable in itself. Next they need to learn the difference between genre and true fantastical literature (magic realism, fabulism, metafiction, etc) and maybe I can help that process along, just a little. My own talk is entitled 'OuLiPo: how to write impossible stories' and I'm looking forward to demonstrating some of the remarkable techniques devised by Queneau, Perec, Calvino, Roubaud, etc.
The Postmodern Mariner is almost ready to go to the printers! Yo ho ho! The unofficial launch for the book will be on the beach here in Swansea (unofficial to bypass Health & Safety laws) and it's hoped people will dress in piratical garb of some sort, even if it's just a knotted hanky on the bonce. I have a clear image of what a Postmodern Mariner should look like: outfitted like a buccanneer but with a frappuccino instead of a parrot on his shoulder. A filmmaker named Martin Roberts might film the event.
I've just received the timetable for an SF conference organised by the Welsh Academi at the University of Glamorgan in June. The fact the Academi has organised a conference that has nothing to do with social realism is remarkable in itself. Next they need to learn the difference between genre and true fantastical literature (magic realism, fabulism, metafiction, etc) and maybe I can help that process along, just a little. My own talk is entitled 'OuLiPo: how to write impossible stories' and I'm looking forward to demonstrating some of the remarkable techniques devised by Queneau, Perec, Calvino, Roubaud, etc.
The Postmodern Mariner is almost ready to go to the printers! Yo ho ho! The unofficial launch for the book will be on the beach here in Swansea (unofficial to bypass Health & Safety laws) and it's hoped people will dress in piratical garb of some sort, even if it's just a knotted hanky on the bonce. I have a clear image of what a Postmodern Mariner should look like: outfitted like a buccanneer but with a frappuccino instead of a parrot on his shoulder. A filmmaker named Martin Roberts might film the event.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
What Kind of Hat Does the Sun Wear?
The sun has got his hat on... But what kind of hat does a sun wear? Not a sunhat, surely. Maybe a moonhat... Talking about moon-related things, there's a character in The Postmodern Mariner who is obssessed by the moon. I'm currently proofreading the final draft of that book, so it should be going to print very soon. The same character also crops up in The Less Lonely Planet and I'm including him in The Pilgrim's Regress -- he's sneaking into a lot of my most recent work, mooning around when he gets the chance, trying to take over. I'll have to keep a close eye on him...
On Sunday I went for an 11 hour hike in the Gower with Adele and got myself frazzled by the sun. We went swimming in Three Cliffs Bay (the sea was freezing) and then played frisbee to dry out. We also had a hopping race. I lost because she cheated. After all that solar radiation I now resemble a sunblush tomato, almost 10% the redness of Tim Prosser. Here's the evidence, coupled with another plug for The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy. I'm trying to organise a beach party on Thursday evening. Anyone who wants to come, please let me know!
Jeff VanderMeer has advanced the claim that I am an unsung hero. I fear he might be right and thus I invite singers to sing for me, if they feel so inclined, at any time in the coming weeks, to help negate my unsung status. If singing is not possible I'll accept an instrumental, perhaps performed on a vegetable trumpet like this, or on a carrot syrinx like this. I hope those instruments are organic!
On Sunday I went for an 11 hour hike in the Gower with Adele and got myself frazzled by the sun. We went swimming in Three Cliffs Bay (the sea was freezing) and then played frisbee to dry out. We also had a hopping race. I lost because she cheated. After all that solar radiation I now resemble a sunblush tomato, almost 10% the redness of Tim Prosser. Here's the evidence, coupled with another plug for The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy. I'm trying to organise a beach party on Thursday evening. Anyone who wants to come, please let me know!
Jeff VanderMeer has advanced the claim that I am an unsung hero. I fear he might be right and thus I invite singers to sing for me, if they feel so inclined, at any time in the coming weeks, to help negate my unsung status. If singing is not possible I'll accept an instrumental, perhaps performed on a vegetable trumpet like this, or on a carrot syrinx like this. I hope those instruments are organic!
Friday, May 09, 2008
Tropical Epithalamium
Some people get married. My lovely Brazilian friend Caroline is getting married tomorrow. Immediately after the wedding ceremony she is going with her husband to a Whitesnake concert. There's no reason why I should be astonished by this choice of celebratory music, but I am. Then the happy couple are going to the tropical paradise of Natal for their honeymoon.Caroline was the main inspiration for my Sereia de Curitiba book and we've managed to remain close friends despite not seeing each other for six years. For me that's unusual, as I'm bad at keeping in touch with distant people: when my friends are far away I tend to lose contact with them. That's not good; but I'm not especially good, so at least a certain symmetry is preserved.
I might not be good, but I'm talented, and that's some kind of substitute, surely. Today I received my free copies of Mike Ashely's new anthology, The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy. It contains my story 'The Old House Under the Snow...' and I'm delighted to be part of this project alongside such excellent writers as A. A. Attanasio, Michael Moorcock, R.A. Lafferty, Howard Waldrop, Orson Scott Card, Jeffrey Ford, Michael Swanwick, etc, etc.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Re: Reading
Back in cold rainy Swansea... but I managed to play frisbee on the beach again. It wasn't too windy and the sky was interesting. My friend Adele has a soft frisbee that rolls up into a cylinder and makes a strange gloopy noise when it's caught, like a flying jellyfish. Frisbee is a minor hobby of mine, reading is a major one. For some reason I don't seem to be getting quite the same kick out of reading as I used to. Probably a sign of age. When I was in my early twenties I was genuinely besotted by every new discovery: the act of reading seemed active rather than passive.
I still enjoy books but I rarely love them in the same way. Maybe I'm consuming too many. I average between 20 and 30 every year. I've recently been disappointed with many authors recommended to me. Jonathan Carroll wasn't as good as I'd hoped, nor was Richard Matheson. It has been more than two years since a book made me jump up, ruffling my hair (as Nabokov would have it). As for the next hair ruffler: it might well be Blaise Cendrars' Moravagine. Mind you, I've just had my hair cut very short and there's not much to ruffle.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Rough Guide to the Less Lonely Planet
Madrid was a blast as always. Rosa and I went to an obscure gig that turned out to be very good, a singer called Amelia Ray who was more versatile than the 'blues' label she tags herself with. Madrid is a truly great place for music. A stroll through the backstreets reveals lots of little music clubs and there's something happening every night of the week. Madrid is certainly one of my favourite cities on the face of the planet Earth.
London I feel more ambiguous about. Before this week I would have said that I didn't much like it, but the last few days changed my mind. Rosa and I flew from Madrid to London on different planes because we couldn't get tickets from the same airline. The first night we stayed in the noisiest hostel imaginable, with a techno club directly below the bedrooms. After that we stayed with Sarita. Over the weekend we explored many of the usual 'sights' and also spent a lot of time at Portobello Road Market. Everything was better than I remembered it!
My new book was launched in a pub near Bond Street. For some reason I thought The Less Lonely Planet was going to be a paperback but in fact it's a chunky hardback and I'm very pleased with the production values. A collection of 32 linked stories dating from 1992 until 2006, it's one of my lightest and most absurd books, and I consider it highly representative of what I do. I hope it sells well, as I eventually want to offer a companion collection called Salty Kiss Island to the same publisher. We'll see!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Last Beer in Matosinhos
My flight was paid for, so was a hotel room for five days, my taxi fares, all my food and drink. All I had to do in return was give one talk that lasted less than twenty minutes. I was treated extremely well in Matosinhos. Every night sozzled on fine wine, stuffed with good food, I occasionally paused to think about the life of the conference delegate. I don't know exactly how much I consumed for free during my stay but it was surely hundreds of euros' worth. The lugubrious faces of phantom tax payers drifted past...I had the great honour of being photographed by Daniel Mordzinksi. Above, you see me standing with my own portrait. Is that doubly narcissistic? I hope so. Mordzinski specialises in photographing writers. His style is humorous but profound. His exhibition at the conference was quirky and fascinating. He is famous but modest and charming. The other delegates included Pedro Mota, Karla Suarez, Adriana Lisboa, Cristina Ali Fateh, John Lantigua and many others. And there was excellent music from Vitorino.
The weather wasn't as good as I'd hoped but yesterday I did manage to get in one beach walk and one beach run. That was before the debauchery. One Portuguese writer said to me, "You're Welsh, you're a writer, it's already 8 pm. Why in hell aren't you drunk yet?". I didn't want to disappoint him... My last beer was in a beach bar early in the morning. I woke with a hangover and just made it to the airport on time. Now I'm back in Spain!
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