None Whatsoever

A writing exercise based on the above title, due to none of us being able to think of anything else...

Hmm. How ironic. This writing exercise title was devised after the four of us had no plans for new writing exercises.

Fifteen minutes. Tick tock. Tick tock.

In fact, while I'm pen-in-hand, I might as well advertise the group. If you live near enough to Manchester Centre and you do creative writing, why not get down here and join us. We're at Costa Coffee in the Arndale Waterstones, fortnightly on Sundays from 1pm. Here's the link to the site:

http://www.meetup.com/Writers-Connect-Manchester/

We'll start the session with a free-writing exercise like this one, and then we'll read them out to see how we each interpreted the exercise.

If you want your work critiquing, bring in 6 copies to dish out to us. Read your work aloud and we'll help you tighten it up and get it ready for publication. If that's what you want. I like to think we're all fair but constructive critics. If you feel you could be too, by all means come and meet us.

Okay. Another six minutes.

Here we go. As we couldn't get a grant from the arts council, we've made a table sign saying “Writers Connect” made out of very elegant torn-off cardboard. So, if it's your first time, you'll know which ones we are.

Remind me that- on the issue of merchandise- I have a few blog cards to dish out. Some of you will recognise some of the entries from previous exercises, that I've typed up.

Is any of this relevant to the title of the exercise, though? You know how much idea I have.

The Case Against Syndication

Manchester's Social Media Café meets monthly in The Northern, a bar on Tib St in the Northern Quarter.

http://socialmediacafemanchester.pbworks.com/

I went a few months ago to see if there were any other writers there, who might be doing a similar thing to me, and to do some shameless self-promotion whether there was or not.

The topic of the night was syndication. The idea: The more places your blog is held, the more people will see your work. But why upload your entries to each blog one after the other, the SMC organisers suggested, when you can “syndicate” your blog sites?

You upload to your primary site, and your secondary sites are automatically updated with the same information. Sounds like a good idea. I don't do it, though, and my blog content appears on five separate web pages simultaneously. I copy and paste for two reasons. The first: I can't figure out how to do it. Second: I wouldn't want to do it f I could.

Let's say there's a problem with one of your sites. You've written something, and someone takes offence to it. They contact the site administrators. They could get you shut down. It's extreme, but it happens. It's happened to me. If the complainant spots the work on one of your secondary sites, it will still appear on the rest of your web pages. But if they get your work taken down from your primary site... you lose it everywhere.

Another advantage to non-syndication: you can modify content for each blog. What you do in everyday life might be fine for anyone to read. But if you're a professional cage fighter who relaxes by flower-pressing after training, and you're keen to extol the virtues of both, you might feel that they don't sit together. Not syndicating allows (and requires) you to use your own judgement.

Some websites like http://webs.com are a pain in the arse to format. When I paste a blog into Webs' blog uploader, the site throws out all of my paragraphs and a lot of the spaces between words. Out of all the blog sites I've tried, Webs takes the longest to tweak text. Some other blog-hosting sites aren't much better.

The point is that, as a blogger, you are the king of your blog kingdom. You are in control of your output. The Copy and Paste functions are your weapons. Use them to protect and tweak your work, and your reign shall be long and prosperous.

The Lovebird

Terence the peach-faced lovebird sits on his perch in the birdhouse, alone. The human punters stroll through the building, admiring the radiance of the rainbow lorikeets, the bright plumes of the macaws, the macabre, large stillness of the black vultures.

The punters stop at Terence's enclosure and fall silent. The sign says,

“Lillian's Lovebird (Agapornis lilianae)” .

His beauty impresses people, sure. His green plume, ebbing into orange around his tiny face, is always perfectly groomed. He stares back at the people as they pass, his chin high. He's waiting for their expressions to slip into mild confusion, and for the mumbling conversations to start.

A human couple approach the glass, hand-in-hand. They look into his cage, into his eyes, into his heart.

She turns her head towards her boyfriend's, never breaking eye-contact with Terence. “Aren't lovebirds supposed to come in pairs?” she asks, quietly.

“That's what I thought,” he says.

“Aw...”

Terence watches as he releases of her hand and holds her by the far hip. She looks down, leaning into her boyfriend, her head resting on his shoulder.

Like they know what to do to hurt him the most.

For the hundredth time today, his tiny parrot heart breaks.

The couple stroll on to the next window, leaving Terence alone, again.

He knows he has to address this. Who puts a lovebird into a zoo... on its own? Do they not research their subjects, he thinks, before they organise accommodation?

Terence knows that there is only one way forward for him. He needs to speak to his mentor, Fluffy Oakes. Fluffy is the only human who even slightly understands him. In fact, he's the only creature on Earth that does- maybe ever. But Terence knows that he's not the only animal in the zoo with challenges. There are others that need Fluffy's help. Lots of others.

Terence and Fluffy haven't met for three weeks now. The lovebird's minor problems are all mounting up- his diet, his accommodation, his general health- plus the pressure of being a spectacle in the zoo...

But most of all, his longing for another lovebird is crushing him.

Can Fluffy sort this for him? Will Terence even get around to talking about this, or will he shy away from the issue?

His meeting with Fluffy is in two more days. In the meantime, Terence is just going to stay on that perch, his head high, pruning his feathers, accepting the punters' compliments and trying to ignore the pain... and how wrong all this is.

Meeting Peter F Hamilton

“Al Capone actually had Syphilis,” says Peter F Hamilton, Britain's leading Science Fiction writer. “That's why he had such an outrageous temper.”

It's Thursday 16th September. We're upstairs in Waterstones Deansgate, and SF fans fill the room. I guess I'm one of them, although I've never yet read a Hamilton book. Mr. Hamilton is here to promote and sign copies of his new novel, The Evolutionary Void. It's the third in his Void trilogy, after The Dreaming Void and The Temporal Void.

From the passage that he reads out, Hamilton's work seems strongly science-based: realistic but yet surprisingly contemporary, with colloquial, realistic dialogue. There's a good bit of humour in it too, which SF has always lacked.

In the Q&A after the reading, Mr. Hamilton reveals that a character called Capone, featuring in his novels, was in fact based on the legendary Chicago mobster. In The Evolutionary Void, every character believes Capone can run things. Hence the name. And hence the research into the mobster... and his STIs.

Mr. Hamilton reveals he may start writing contemporary, non-SF stories in the future. Whether he'll drop the middle initial, Iain M. Banks style, remains to be seen. He's also planning shorter novels for kids.

After starting an immense debate online about the necessity of realistic science in SF, (http://forum.urbis.com/forums/5/topics/1090) I wanted to ask about how he found the balance between getting the believable, hard science facts into the story, but at the same time not allowing the science to get in the way of the reader's enjoyment.

“Balance is critical,” Mr. Hamilton says. “I usually use instinct, or my editor, to keep the physics sound. I do research at pop science level, but I mostly use judgement.”

He mentions that two scientists from the same facility separately wrote to him, over a dispute about how much science Mr. Hamilton knew. One claimed he knew everything. The other reckoned he knew only the buzzwords. He wrote back to both- a letter each- saying “I only know the buzzwords.” What a guy!

If you've ever read a Hamilton novel or seen one on the shelf, you'll know they are big books. Well, Evolutionary is the biggest yet. When he rang his editor, the conversation allegedly went a little like this:

Hamilton: I've finished!

Editor: At last!

Hamilton: Yeah, it's a little longer than the others.

Editor: Okay, how long is it?

Hamilton: Two hundred and forty thousand words.

Editor: Oh fuck.

On that issue, Mr. Hamilton says he does self-edit but nobody believes him.

He also mentions that he sticks with describing dystopian, world-has-gone-to-pot futures, because the opposite image of a peaceful future world would be dull. “If we were dumped in Utopia,” he proposes, “what would we do?”

The sound of a police car siren, screaming down Deansgate below us, punctuates this point perfectly.

Scribble scribble. Book signed and dedicated. Snap. The (rather fit) events manager lady takes our picture.

More on the man: http://www.peterfhamilton.co.uk/

August Missions

“A fight is not won by one punch or kick. Either learn to endure or hire a bodyguard.”
-Bruce Lee

You may remember that, in July Moments, I mentioned I received a job offer.

http://powerisastateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/09/july-moments.html

The assistant manager of Rififi nightclub wanted me to work as a podium dancer- or at least, that's what she told me after watching me in the club. I never heard back from her, though. Boo. Someone I spoke to mentioned she has a tendency to make things up and lead people on. Weird. Well, at least my weekends are still free.

On Friday 13th August I saw two of my friends batter their way to glory. Warriors 6 was a boxing event put on by KO Promotions in Manchester's Ritz nightclub.

http://www.kopromotions.co.uk/

My MMA instructor Dave Butlin- boxing on this event- took his opponent apart fairly swiftly in an explosive bout. Team-mate Jordan McClusky- boxing on the night too- also won his bout after a tough, long fight. Team Quannum all the way!

http://www.myspace.com/quannumfitness

Once the fights were over, we hit the after party at Silks Gentlemen's Lounge.

http://www.silks-gentlemenslounge.co.uk/manchester/index.html

Silks sponsored the night at the Ritz and also provided the stunning ring girls. I spoke to Bob, from Irlam, who'd just whacked out £40 on a 2-girl dance. “Well, it is a nice club,” he said, admiring the opulent décor. “And the girls are beautiful. I enjoyed the dance, but it was too dark. They plonk you on this leather couch in a little room- it's private and comfortable, like, but the lights are so dim you can't see what's going on. It didn't exactly last very long, either. The dance, I mean.”

I have to say it was unusual going to a bar full of beautiful women and turning them all down. You find yourself avoiding eye-contact with them, because you know they're going to come over and try to take your money, for want of a better expression. I guess that's what a night out is like for a lot of women. Sort of.

Moving on. In a failed attempt to save money, I have spent most of August with my head in books. First up: the 1970 SF classic, Ringworld, by Larry Niven. Louis Wu is a successful but bored 200-year-old, celebrating his birthday by teleporting himself around the world to extend his birthday in the year 2855. When a member of an alien species offers him an opportunity to join an expedition to a planet that encircles its own sun, it offers the excitement he's been looking for. But the Ringworld itself has some strange surprises for Louis.

I think this book has stood the test of time because of its relentless creativity and scientific realism. From the first page, Niven shows us a world- Earth- that has developed to the extent that science has altered everything we touch or encounter- the moving footpaths, the high-powered sun cream that protects characters from the UV rays that pour in past the diminished ozone layer, the alien species that have (somewhat) integrated with human society- Niven packs every page with vivid details.

Literary types say that SF will always have a date stamp on it- the technology we have now dictates how writers envisage the world(s) of the future. But forty years on, Ringworld is still standing the test of time. The science still works and the story is engaging. If you're thinking of dabbling in SF, this is a good place to start.

Nostradamus: The Complete Prophecies for the Future. A handy book to have around, wouldn't you think? Mario Reading's book takes a look at some of the quatrains (sort of free-verse poems depicting future scenarios) written by the 16th century diviner. Nostradamus was an apothecary- like a pharmacist- but became famous as a prophet. Reading interprets the quatrains with a lot of assertion. He explains in the introduction that Nostradamus used wordplay a lot, and that nobody would have interpreted his texts literally in his time- hence we shouldn't do now.

Scholars believe that Nostradamus has already predicted the great plague, the great fire of London, The rise of Hitler and the attacks at 9/11- and the resulting war on terror. A note- at some point this year, we are due an advance warning of the third Antichrist. He won't drop into the maternity ward until 2032, however, so you've got time to batten down the hatches. (The first two, if you were wondering, were either Napoleon and Hitler or Stalin and Hitler. Reading and other academics haven't concluded on that one.)

As a book it's interesting, although Reading's thought processes seem a little presumptive. I'd have liked more info on past predictions first- I think a lot of readers would be more receptive to the predictions that way. It would have been more fulfilling if there was info on how researchers have come to interpret the work the way they did. More to the point- how did Nostradamus have these visions? This is a key question that isn't even touched on in the book. I also thought the book, as it stands, could have been smaller- publishers Watkins have formatted the text so wide that there's hardly anything on the page.

A good book, but a bit thin on the ground leaving a lot of questions unanswered. No wonder it was on offer in a bargain book store.

No Country For Old Men swaggers in next. This 1970s-set western novel moves at breakneck speeds, has authentic slang and grips from the offset. If you've seen the film, you'll know how original it is- even though the premise is not. Hunter Llewellyn Moss finds $1.2 million at the scene of a botched heroin deal, a spot in the desert surrounded by bodies and bullet-riddled trucks. He cuts and runs with the loot and, with an ageing sheriff and the entire Mexican cartel on his tail, starts to throw away his life a piece at a time.

The book is even more sparse than the film- details of the plot are left for the reader to figure out themselves, and McCarthy manages to say a lot in just a few words. He describes events clinically, leaving you to feel the appropriate emotion rather than read about it. A short, sharp shock of a book, and a worthy read even to those who know the film.

Oh, God. I plunged in at the deep end after this. William Burroughs' Naked Lunch bit my head off, chewed it up, shat it out and served it back up to me. This once-banned 1959 novel still stands as being possibly the most twisted, depraved book in existence. It's written as a series of loosely connected vignettes, starting with a heroin addict roaming the streets trying to score drugs. It then descends into a drug-fuelled, homicidal sex orgy for 200 pages. Imagine American Psycho without the yuppie lifestyle info. Or the complete works of Hunter S Thompson with no journalistic intentions- just drug accounts. Then multiply by a thousand. The descriptions are fantastically vivid, if you can stomach them- giving hilarious, poignant and sometimes quite sad insights into the world of 1950's addicts. Read it if you dare.

I needed to lighten the mood after the carnage of the violent books I'd read over the last few weeks- so I ended the month with Hank Zipzer: Day of the Iguana. Penning the Zipzer children's novels is none other than Henry Winkler, AKA “The Fonz” from Happy Days. He also, more recently, played Coach Klein in The Waterboy. Did I mention that I met him and my got a signed copy?! Yes, I did. It was the first kid's book I've read in about 15 years, but it was still pretty good. Hats off to Mr. Winkler for creating a character with dyslexia and bringing learning difficulties into the limelight. Not only that, but he's dyslexic himself, and has a series of books out. Well done indeed.

Have you read any of these? What did you think of them?

Who here has been to Newcastle? I went earlier in August for Gaz's stag do. I'd never been to Geordieland before. I'd never been on a stag do either- nor dressed up as a pensioner with a flat cap, a pipe and a cardigan. But that was the theme. So we set off at 7am in full old-person attire and hammered it 98 miles north.

Or at least, that was the plan. We may have looked elderly, but we made a major schoolboy error. Whoever rode shotgun programmed the satnav for Newcastle-under-Lyme, in the south of England, as opposed to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, just below Scotland. We'd covered about 50 miles of southbound motorway before we realised our mistake. Next time, I'm in charge of the satnav. Even without the detour, it was the furthest I've ever driven. So I was a bit frayed by the time we passed the Angel of the North and cruised into the B'n'B.

We then went out and visited some piss-stinking old-men's pubs, which were hilarious, as most of the customers had dressed exactly like us. (That's us except for the stag, who looked like a cross between a bride and a fairy, in some kind of pink ballerina outfit with a matching handbag.) Drinking games and vast quantities of booze followed, as did a yuppie bar, a strip club (where I was certifiably ripped off- I won't go into detail, but Diamonds Bar would have got the big thumbs up otherwise as most of the night there was hilarious) (http://www.fyeo.co.uk/diamonds.html) and a seventies bar (where I wasted a guy in a dance-off). We also found a Boris Yeltsin lookalike who was, ironically, drunk and falling asleep in his chair. It was a photo opportunity we couldn't resist.

The city was cold, as expected, but the locals were surprisingly friendly and the women were mostly hot. I haemorrhaged my account that weekend, but I have no regrets.

“You got a way of talking about one thing, then, ZAP- you start talking about something else.”
-The Wolf (Harvey Keitel), Pulp Fiction

Indeed I do, Mr. Wolf. And on that note, here are my two pennies on Manchester's recent Gay Pride parade. I was in Newcastle when this happened, but I read about the “Christian” picketers shouting “sinful” and “wicked” at the gay people as they walked past. I'm a straight man, and a Christian. In case, y'know, you didn't know. I don't really bang on about either of those aspects of myself. But I still thought the protester's behaviour was appalling. I hope Manchester City Council ban them next year, as they apparently plan to. Do the protesters not realise that there are already gay chickens, emus, penguins, salmon, lizards, tortoises, turtles, rattlesnakes, frogs, toads, salamanders, worms, beetles, dragonfly, crickets, moths, fleas, flies, wasps, bears, bats, elephants and domestic cats? Genesis says God made all of those, right? Get with the program, guys.

I suppose I should write a conclusion to this. Going back to the subject of endurance, I've got tons more to do including stories I want publishing, ideally. So I should stop rabbiting on about gay animals (pun intended) and get on with it. Laterzzzz.....

Should Gyms be Unisex?

“The greatest feeling you can get in a gym, or the most satisfying feeling you can get in the gym is... The Pump. Let's say you train your biceps. Blood is rushing into your muscles and that's what we call The Pump. You muscles get a really tight feeling, like your skin is going to explode any minute, and it's really tight - it's like somebody blowing air into it, into your muscle. It just blows up, and it feels really different. It feels fantastic. It's as satisfying to me as, uh, coming is, you know? As, ah, having sex with a woman and coming. And so can you believe how much I am in heaven? I am like, uh, getting the feeling of coming in a gym, I'm getting the feeling of coming at home, I'm getting the feeling of coming backstage when I pump up, when I pose in front of 5,000 people, I get the same feeling, so I am coming day and night. I mean, it's terrific. Right? So you know, I am in heaven.”
-Arnold Schwarzenegger, Pumping Iron (1977)

2006. I'm working out in Holmes Place, a city-centre gym. I got a week's free membership from a marketer after I filled in a questionnaire, and I'm making the most of the privilege. I'm feeling the burn on the chest press, but I can't quite focus on putting my all into the exercise. Something doesn't feel right.

I look up at the other people. There's a woman on the cross-trainer eyeing me with disdain. Another woman is power-walking on the treadmill- she's not keen on me either.

Do I really look that dodgy? I think.

I carry on working out until, a few minutes later, a gym instructor approaches me.

“You can't work out in here, mate,” he says, voice lowered. “This is the ladies' gym.”

I had no idea. I walk out of the area for women. It doesn't have a door, more like half a wall separating the “ladies' gym” from the “unisex” area. There's a discreet sign on the far side, that I missed.

What a jip, I think. It's the Naughties, and gender inequality is still rife in Britain. Only now it feels like it's going the other way.

Hence, I ask: Why allow women to work out in a “man-free” environment? And if you're going to give them that privilege, why let them choose whether they work out in their own area or the rest of the gym?

Despite this, I'm actually in favour of segregated gyms. When I work out, it's the one time and place that I'd prefer there be no women around. I don't want the distraction.

I'm not a big guy, so the heaviest weight I can lift really isn't ever that far up the range of weights available. I put everything into a 45-minute session, and by the end of it I look like shit.

It's not a massive deal when I work out. I shut everyone out mentally at these times, whether there are women there or not- even if she's fit. Okay, it can be difficult if she's fit. But on the heavy weights I grunt, sweat, sometimes scream in order to beat a personal best. In short, I look and sound like a total psycho. But hey, Arnie was doing the same thing when he was my age.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=871VTEF7qIY&feature=related

I don't have the porn music playing in the background, though. Normally just VH-1, or whatever.

Having said that, weren't gyms developed for men to build muscle tissue? That's what I use them for. I don't quite look like the guy in the video, but, y'know... a day at a time. I always thought the cardio machines were there just to warm up. If all I wanted to do was lose weight, I'd go for a run or use a skipping rope. Running is free. Ropes are around £10. If a woman wants to tone a certain part of her body, I know a load of weight-free exercises that she can do. It would save her a fortune.

So, yeah, if gyms still prove popular with women in future, we should segregate them for our own good- and certainly mine. And if Arnie can't discourage women from working out in men's gyms, I don't think anyone can.

Extremely Late Half-Arsed World Cup Analysis

“I wasn't as fit as I would have liked to have been, going to the World Cup, but I'm not sure what difference that made.”
-David Beckham, presumably after the 2006 tournament.

I agree, Dave. Because you are crap. Like every other British footballer.

I realise it's September, and the World Cup came to a close in July, but I still would like to analyse the predictions I posted on May 25th. Check out the entry here:

http://powerisastateofmind.blogspot.com/2010/05/englands-world-cup-chances.html

So. My first prediction: We won't win the tournament. Outcome: Correct. Second prediction: The team that will beat us will have a culture where the men are frequently skilled dancers. Outcome: Incorrect. Germany beat England 4-1. The Germans have folk dance, but it isn't very prevalent. Much like Morris dancing in England. Given their unflamboyant culture, I can't explain how Germany have always been such football heavyweights. Others- who actually follow the sport- perhaps can. Third prediction: We'd get to the quarter-finals. Outcome: Incorrect. Germany beat us in the last sixteen, the stage before the quarters.

Having said that, look who won the tournament. Good ol' Spain. I'm assuming you've heard of the Flamenco and Fandango? They are very popular styles in southern Europe. There are a few other dance styles you might come across in the Mediterranean nation. See here: http://www.whatspain.com/traditional-spanish.html

I mentioned that cultural influences like dance would positively affect players on the football pitch. Spain certainly are “a country more graceful than our own”, as I then put it. That makes me one hellufa prophet. Shame I don't actually like the sport.