Anagrams

'Hester Mofet. It's an anagram, isn't it, Doctor? Hester Mofet. "The rest of me."'
-Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) gets the run-around treatment courtesy Dr Hannibal Lecter 

(Anthony Hopkins) in Silence of the Lambs.

Going back in time a little here, let's take a look at Day 24 of NaPoWriMo, and the anagram challenge they suggest.

I used an anagram generator, one they suggested, resulting in some ridiculous word combinations. But I also wrote out my name- MATTHEW TUCKEY- and cut the paper into slips for each letter. This allowed me to pin down particular words and see what other words I could create out of the remaining slips.

Here are a few of the best:

TAKE THY WET CUM

EAT MY WET KUTCH

THAT MUCK WET, YE?

I then decided to throw in my middle name ALAN to create more combos.

WALK A NUTTY MACHETE

WHY LACTATE EMU TANK?

ACTUATE MY TAN WHELK

ATTACH MALE NEWT. YUK!

ATTACH MY KEY WALNUT

ME: CATWALK HYENA. TUT!

NUT ATE MY CHEAT WALK

U EAT THAT CLAM, WENKY!

WALKY MUTANT CHEAT

TUT, METHANE YAK CLAW

TWAT CAMEL, ETHAN. YUK!

NUKE TWATTY CAMEL. HA!

HEY NUTELA MACK TWAT!

U MALT A CAT THEY KNEW

LA! THE MAUY KNEW TACT. (Okay, so using foreign words now.)

CU: A LANKY TWAT THEME

WE TANK THAT CLAY EMU

AHA. TWEET MY CLUNK. TA!

TEAT MEAT CHUNK, YAWL!

TEAL MUTE YACHT WANK

HEY, MA! CULT TEAT WANK!

CULT: THEY WANT ME. KAA?

LAMENT, EAT, CATHY KEW.

HE, YAK CUNT MEAL, TWAT.

A WHEEL TUCK MY ANT. TA!

LA MUNTA! CHEEKY TWAT!

CUT THE WEAKLY MANTA

A NUT ATTACK MY WHEEL

NUTTY WHACK ATE MEAL

KNEEL AT A CUTTY: WHAM!

There are plenty of totally deranged images to inspire thousands of surreal poems, including supermodel hyenas, moving parts that abduct insects, strange reasons to be quiet on a boat, dangerous weapons with dangerous personae of their own, aquatic lizards, the forced consumption of seafood and arrogant camels. In fact, there's a whole Terry Pratchett novel in there. I might come back to this over the next few weeks.

Why not give it a shot yourself and see what anagrams your name provides?

Erotica Month

Pic courtesy Nagarjun, Flickr. Erotica at Khajuraho temples, India.

Dirty stories are not for everyone. They might not be for you. They probably won't be for your mum. You might not advise your boss checks out a short fiction piece about someone losing their virginity, or poem about a shy but eloquent driving instructor being coerced into his / her first threesome. Sex is still taboo, particularly here in the UK. In a lot of places, writing about it is still frowned upon.

This could be because a lot of what people perceive “erotica” to be- the likes of EL James, or worse, the articles in Fiesta- is actually garbage. Erotica- good erotica- is free of the clichéd scenarios, flowery metaphors, vulgar descriptions and general bad writing that surfaces in popular smut. This is another reason why sex writing is looked down upon- a good portion of it is horseshit, and its critics have never been exposed to- or have never sought out- anything better.

But fuck it, I've written about sex before and I'm going to do it again, and hopefully the right way too. In fact, I have some smut/ erotica/ dirty stories- whatever you want to call it- stored on my computer and it hasn't been polished off yet.

Okay, bad choice of words. I haven't finished it and fired it out yet. Wait. No. I- well, you get what I mean. Sex is everywhere, so there's no reason not to write about it. It's not a big deal. Something that is too big a deal for me, though, is the thought of reading out drafts of these stories at Writers Connect at the local Wetherspoons. That WOULD be awkward. So instead, I figured I'd use Scribophile, a creative writing feedback site, to gain advice on these pieces and knock them into shape.

Once the poems and stories are ready, I'll be using a few free online databases to search out markets for the work. I've found a few sites that look really helpful. Stay tuned for site reviews.

I've only written a small amount of erotica so far, but a good amount of what I've written has ended up in magazines. So let's see if I can build on that success over the next month.

Three Strikes: Week 25

This week: four personal bests at the gym.

10 min run- up 1 speed

Lateral pulldown, palms facing face, hands shoulders-width apart: up 2 notches.

10 min old-style cross strainer- not sure what you'd call this machine. It works similarly to most cross trainers (i.e. like the one I warm up on), but it doesn't operate with the same kind of circular motion that my hands and feet are used to. Up 0.08 km.

I've come to the realisation that I was in much better shape before I started doing extra cardio in my gym sessions. When I moved out in 2010, getting my own place coincided with my previous local gym shutting down. 

I joined OCL, and found the facilities were in much better condition that Bodymatters' were. There's something about smart gym equipment that makes you want to use it- to give certain machines a shot, and keep using them. That's why I found myself mixing a lot more cardio into my workout, and hence cutting down on weight training. This, coupled with problems with the new flat, my memory, social life and money- leading to me eating cheap, salt-heavy food- meant that despite all the working out I was doing, I was falling out of shape.

Since then, I've overcome pretty much all of these problems. My diet's in order, I'm sleeping better (sort of- okay, I've got the pills for it-), I've overcome problems with friends and I'm doing better at the gym, as these blog posts reiterate.

Yet I've not got back to the physique I once had. I've tried doing long cardio sessions to burn off fat, I've kept up with weights and I'm mixing cardio in alongside it all. This is probably because the cardio machines at OCL are much better than Bodymatters' were. So. What if I cut back on cardio, only using the cross trainer to warm up? What if I spent the rest of the sessions purely weight training? It makes sense that, now that I'm eating well like I did when I lived with my mum and dad, and now that I'm on protein shakes, that I should be able to tone up really quickly if I skip the cardio machines and focus on strength. Especially seeing as you can burnmore calories doing weight training than you can doing cardio.

I'm going to give this a shot for the next month. Time to get shredded!

Masala-Marinated Chicken with Minted Yoghurt Sauce

Next up in The Hairy Dieters cookbook is this Indian delicacy.

This was possibly the dish that required the most preparation out of all of the meals I’ve cooked. It comprises of 18 separate ingredients- most of them spices- and a good 12 hours of preparatory time. Forewarning- make sure your knives are sharp for this one. I didn’t.

That’s the first mistake I made, followed by not buying a garlic crusher. The next mistake was to not read through the instructions from beginning to end before starting the recipe. I didn’t realise exactly how long it would take to make. After making the marinade, I fridged it for 12 hours. The next morning at 8am I carried on making the dish (realising I didn’t have an appropriate baking rack either. The grill mesh had to do).

Once the steps had been taken, it wasn’t that difficult. I just followed the instructions. Ripping out the chicken’s spinal cord a la Predator took a bit of elbow grease, but essentially, the time and effort I spent preparing it was worth it. Just.

I took it to a Jacob’s join in work, having not actually tasted the dish at all. It went down a treat! I even got marriage proposals from the (somewhat older) ladies in work. It was hella spicy though. I’ve even had people asking me for the recipe! But of course, by the time I’d brought it in I’d forgotten what the recipe was called.

So. I’ve cooked for myself. I’ve cooked for my family. I’ve cooked for work. Plan for the next month: to cook for friends, and cook for a woman…

Australasia

A glass triangular prism sits on the pavement outside the Armani store on Deansgate. It’s hardly noticeable during the day, but at night the light emanating from underneath it, and the door staff, isolated from colleagues at any other nearby bar, draw a lot of attention. To read the bar’s name, you’ve got to walk right up to the door staff, to check the pale white lettering printed in a slender font on the glass.

AUSTRALASIA

I went on Bank Holiday Sunday. In front of me, a group of twenty-something-year-old lads were being stopped by security.

I told the doorman I was going to meet a girl. He let me in, past the exasperated group and down the long, under-lit staircase to the bar area where the bar staff were mixing cocktails over Bunsen burners. I met my date near the DJ booth, where deep house pulsed from an immense touch-screen glass mixing station. It’s worth going to see that alone. (But of course, my date was better to look at.) The painted brick walls and iron ceiling offered good reverb, and looks a lot better than I’m making it sound. Before long we were smashed on “Love You Long Time” cocktails and the supplies from their (incredibly tall) back-bar.

The toilets, normally the downfall of many a “classy” bar, were on top form: clean, with soap and moisturiser dispensers and Dyson Airblade hand-dryers. On the way back to the bar, I noticed the walkway passes not only the restaurant’s dining room but the kitchen, and you can stop to watch the chefs frying up behind the darkened glass.

A rough guide for a night out: check this bar out, then head into Spinningfields for venues of the same class. But beforehand, just keep your group small, load up your wallet and dress to impress.

Three Strikes: Week 24

Gym smashing from 6^th May onwards:

10 min run: up 1 speed

Lateral pulldown, backs of hands facing face, elbows at right-angles: up 1 notch. Kind of like this, only I wasn't topless and my head doesn't look like a penis.

Wow. Quiet week. I've found an amazing bar and I've had a big cooking success, but they warrant blog posts of their own. Stay tuned.

What is your dramatic need?

Pic courtesy Pascal P, Flickr

In Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Frodo becomes the ring bearer to return the ring to its place of origin, Mount Doom, so he can destroy it. That is his dramatic need. How he gets there and completes the task is the story.

The character's need determines the creative choices he/she makes during the screenplay, and gaining clarity about that need allows you to be more complex, more dimensional, in your character portrayal.

Without conflict, there is no action. Without action, there is no character. Action is Character. What a person does is what he is, not what he says!

-Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, Syd Field

There are two subjects that I frequently write about on this blog: creative writing and self-improvement. They are two fairly distinct topics. I've also written quite a few posts about my life and the slightly weird situations I find myself in.

Occasionally, there's a crossover. I'll have an anecdote that bridges two of those. Take this one, for example: I am 15 years old, reading a copy of the Reservoir Dogs screenplay instead of revising for my GCSEs. I realise that this is what I want to do with my life: I want to tell stories for the cinema. I want to write. The only half-decent jobs I'd ever be applicable for, however, are in IT and that's what I've applied to do at college. I'll never get the grades to study media, which might- at a long-shot- lead to a career in screenwriting. Or that's what I think, until I find an intermediate course at a local college, a course that doesn't require any grades at all. This is it: my first step to becoming a screenwriter.

A year later, I've made it onto the advanced course. A couple of people from the media industry come to the college to give careers advice. One tells us that to stand out from the crowd, and to be hired by media managers, a degree can be really helpful.

Another year later, I've learned an introduction to a range of sectors within the media industry- the goings-on in the worlds of print media, design, video, sound recording and editing, live TV and radio. I've finished the intermediate level work and am half-way through the advanced course. I still want to be a screenwriter, but I've learned so much about how competitive each sector of the media is and how each area- be it graphics or marketing- are totally different lines of work. We have touched on screenwriting here and there, but I've struggled with the modules that relate to it- the video modules I've found challenging due to memory difficulties and learning to use the technical equipment, and with organising groups of people like actors and crew. I don't really know where my strengths are and Screenwriting has become a pipe dream.

It's the start of my final year at college. The course tutor tells us that if we want to go to university next year, we'll have to fill in our UCAS forms now. The idea of me actually being taken on by a university seems ridiculous. I got a very low merit grade in my intermediate media course, and 1 grade C in my GCSEs. I feel like I'm being kidded, but I don't have anything to lose. I fill all six options on my UCAS form. As we've been learning about various different media forms, I have no idea what to focus on and screenwriting has been pushed to the back of my mind. I apply for more general media courses at degree level; an HND in Media Production is right down at the bottom. I send it off and forget about it.

Whilst I'm hammering through reports, practical projects and evaluations, a letter comes in the post. It's an invitation for an interview at The University of Salford- my last choice. I attend the interview and it goes well- I surprise myself with what knowledge I've actually retained- but I'm intimidated by the prospect of me doing this at higher education level with the intention of doing it professionally. Here I am, waffling about 2-camera set-ups and interview techniques. It all sounds very convincing. I'm too dazed, due to hard-and-fast work, hampered by forgetting countless things, to stop and think about why I ever started on the intermediate course to begin with. Regardless, I gave the interview a shot.

Days later, I get accepted onto the course. I'm in disbelief. My next two years, at least, are planned out. I just hope they support me in whatever way I need.

One of the last college modules I complete is Freelance Journalism. The majority of this is written work, an area where I seem to be getting a lot of Distinctions. There's a flash of inspiration as I look through all of my grades from the last two years. Each module has four grades: Planning and research, Implementation, Evaluation and Outcome. Each grade is either a Pass, Merit or Distinction. My grades are mostly Merits, but the Distinctions are scattered around the work where writing was a major part. Four in Freelance Journalism. A lot more in Evaluations. A tutor tells me my writing has come on a long way.

There's a part of me that wants to “pull the handbrake on”- to say, “Wait a minute. I seem to be a dab hand with this here. I should be doing a writing course, not a technical one.” But as I've been turned down for every other course I've applied for, I assume that the place I've been given is the ONLY course at the ONLY university that would ever take me.

I'm prepared to bet that I'd have been wrong. Why didn't I get that movie-style flashback of me trying to read the Reservoir Dogs screenplay in school, and being filled with that urge- that NEED to tell stories and to put sentences together? Why didn't I look at these grades and realise that I was more likely to fulfil my original ambition than I was of having a chance of succeeding on this tech course and getting a job in that field?

Because I forgot all about my dramatic need.

I had pushed those harboured desires to write to the back of my brain, where they stayed until my 26^th birthday. Then, whilst chowing down on jalapeno pizza, I was talking to a relative about blogging. She asked me if I'd considered sending it out to anywhere- local magazines or newspapers. I said I'd never thought of that, but there's no reason why I couldn't, I suppose. I'd been writing for fun for a couple of years, but at that moment in Albert's Shed in Castlefield, the penny dropped.

I was a writer. It was no wonder I'd not succeeded at anything else. The grades I'd got at school, college and uni were all average except those I got for the written work. The hopeless attempt I'd made to join the Armed Forces years after graduating had involved testing- I'd scored abysmally at the memory and numeracy sections, but very strong in the literacy section (and my electrical comprehension score was very high, bizarrely).

There was one other problem I have had- aside from applying to the wrong jobs and doing the wrong course. Throughout college, university and subsequent jobsearching, I'd forgotten what I wanted in the end. As a result of not having this “dramatic need” of my own, I didn't know how to behave. My whole personality was “wrong”- I was shy, depressed, directionless and frustrated. I wanted to develop myself and become more confident, but into what? What was I striving for? I wanted a girlfriend, but what else? Regardless of other people, what did I want from life?

I had no idea. Not until that birthday meal. I am a writer, first and foremost. I do reception work to pay the bills, and I'm grateful to be in a job in this climate, but integrally, I write. Since that conversation on my 26^th, I've become much more confident– overall, with writing, and with talking to friends, family and colleagues. I've made decisions based on that need and I feel like I know myself a lot more. I stumbled across that opening quote more recently and it spoke volumes to me. It said, know what you want and you will know who you are. And knowledge, as we all know, is power. Power, even if only over yourself, is confidence.