Oil on canvas – then photographed and edited in Gimp
Updates below Continue reading
I’ve come to a stop on this – so will let it rest for a few days then look at it again and decide whether to develop or abandon it
‘Add New Post’
This blog / website / whatever it is called now, wants me to add a new post every time I come here. If I do make the effort to add a new post it normally means I’ve got something specific to write about. Whether it’s one of my feeble attempts to market my books and/or art or whether it’s one of those rare occasions when I get wound up enough about some topic, usually political, or vegan-related, to feel a need to make some comment about it.
There is a third reason I add new posts, and that is the most important reason – it’s when I share some of my creative work, like a short story, or a poem, or some rant about parallel universes and/or the nature of reality.
But sometimes there are gaps when I have nothing specific to say, and I don’t feel particularly inclined to share some creative work, yet I still feel the urge to add a new post.
This post is a result of one of those gaps, there is no reason for this post other than to fill it (the gap).
Yet . . .
I do have something to say, I’m sure I do . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I’m not sure what type of writing I prefer but if I can probably narrow it down to two – they are writing novels and writing film or TV scripts.
I think it’s because each of those forms allow you to write proper ‘stories’ with plots and characters. For example it’s exciting to throw a random plot twist at the characters and see how they react; then follow them to the end to see how everything gets resolved.
There’s time to get to know the characters a bit, time to chill with these new and interesting people. It’s also a bit like that with painting, especially painting portraits, where you don’t know where that first mark on the canvas is going to lead, who is going to emerge from that mess of form and colour.
I suppose that it’s a bit like that for all art-forms – the creation of something out of nothing but an idea. But then, isn’t it a bit like that for science and engineering too? Isn’t it a bit like that for every facet of human existence, from making a cup of tea to designing a spaceship?
There’s nothing special about writers and artists.
Anyway, my work-in-progress includes adapting two of my books into television scripts.
It’s going great so far, in fact both books seem to lend themselves to the visual style of a television script. The books are Bums and Boys from the Backfields and each story is being developed into a six part TV drama. Both books are set in the industrial/post-industrial town of Elchurch on the South Wales coast but they are very different books in other respects.
Here’s a sneak peek
A little poem from my new collection – Blodyn – click here for more info
In the dark
In the late dark, a visitor
From a summer, long departed
Teased from winter’s slumber
Deceived by central heat
And a wall to wall mat
A microdot of consciousness
For a moment sharing awareness
As it slips across my clutter
The day before yesterday was half-eaten fruit day
It’s bananas – it really is
It wasn’t me guv – honest
Something I wrote on my birthday
Happy Birthday To Me
It’s a scratch on the wall
a step on the path
It’s my birthday again
another year’s passed
If years were seconds
there wouldn’t be many
not much more than a minute
(This is a very raw and unedited bit of rambling, posted here as an example of the sort of thing that I write when I’m thinking about what to write but can’t actually get writing.)
Around ten past midnight on the cusp of Monday February 7th and Tuesday February 8th, 2017.
I wrote a little blog article between yesterday (Sunday) and today (Monday). It’s all about Trump and Brexit. Its premise/conclusion is that the ‘Libtards’ have to apologise before we can move on and develop a better system (if there is even a need for a ‘system’). But, a better system of what?
- How do we get on and look after each other?
Anyway, despite it having been a miserable day in some ways, the fact that I finished an article of sorts has made it a good day. It wasn’t easy and I had to plough on despite feeling that it would never make sense. In the end I think it does. It’s called ‘It’s not too late to say sorry’.
Less than a week ago, I published Blodyn, a book of my poetry, old and new, despite having only recently written blogs about how rubbish poetry, or at least the poetry industry, is.
Anyway, putting Blodyn together has sparked anew my interest in and love of writing poetry, so here goes:
Verses for a purpose
They need bundling
collecting in a net
They need releasing
one by one
They need repeating
Each one is a gem
a coruscating gem
A method of seeing
Caress them in your hands
Speak them with your mouth
Stroke them with your voice
Bring them home
Let them gather
Let them drift
Let them fly
Catch them as they pass
Love them while they last
Stars are special
Stars are light
Stars are real
Stars are bright
Must be time for bed; it’s nearly one a.m.
The world we thought we understood is in meltdown after the victories of Donald Trump and the Brexiteers, and there is a general air of despondency lingering like cheap perfume around most of the people I know. I think this is because they belong to the demographic now being referred to by the victors as ‘Libtards’, i.e. Liberal Retards.
I suspect that many people who don’t normally vote actually made an effort and took part in those elections in order to stick it to what they were told is the privileged elite. If that’s true then I can understand why, since they probably share my under-privileged working-class background and have no connection to the smug comfortably-off professionals who, over the decades, came to dominate government and political organisations like the Labour Party in the UK and no doubt the Democratic Party in the USA. Continue reading
Birds busy being
Busy birds being
Being busy birds
Birds being busy
Birds Being Busy Being Busy Birds