Doodlejill

This is Doodlejill

and this is Doodlejill from the other side of the paper

Opening Chapter Dec 2001

This is something I wrote in 2001, that’s nearly twenty-one years ago as I write this. It’s either genius or a piece of shit. I suppose it could even be both.

You decide! (or not, I don’t care)

Continue reading “Opening Chapter Dec 2001”

A lazy writer?

What it is see, is that I’m a lazy writer. No, it’s true, I know that I could work much harder and craft every sentence, every paragraph, every chapter, every verse, every simile or metaphor into something that is entirely professional and rock solid. No, I could, I really could do it – every time.

Thing is, I don’t.

Why is that?

More importantly, does it matter?

And, in any case, lazy people deserve to have their voices heard too. After all, there are a lot of them about. Yeah, I know, there are a lot more people who don’t have the skills or experience to write well, whose voices are never heard, and it’s not their fault, so you could say, so what if your voice is unheard, for every one of you, lazy writers, there are a million others who will never have their voices heard and it’s not even their fault, it’s not their choice, they just don’t have the option. They may even be illiterate through no fault of their own.

But you do, you do have the choice, and the opportunities and still you produce sub-standard work simply because you’re lazy.. And don’t try and say that you have produced millions of words, published novels, short stories, poetry, articles, opinion pieces, musings and whatever else. They are lazy words. A million lazy words are less than equivalent to a thousand well-crafted.

You could say all that couldn’t you? But, what the hell, I still say that even lazy writers deserve their voices heard or at least out there in the ethers of life in the twenty-first century.

You don’t have to listen you know.

Illustration from The Dreamer – a short story – Click to read

A deliberate poem – Brown Black Birds

I wrote this poem yesterday while sitting in my car in a car park in Cardiff. It took around 15 minutes to write and another 2 minutes to record after reading it through.

The original text was not edited and neither was the recording, but I was tempted.

Sometimes the raw unedited material has something special about it that should be preserved.

Here’s the audio recording.

and here’s the original text

A Deliberate Poem – Brown Black Birds

A blackbird, a finch
pecking, feeding
This is their Eden
Other birds
Chirping
as they watch
from the green leaf-laden
branches
Another blackbird
perched on a chimney pot
You don’t normally see them
up there
Maybe it’s a big starling
or a small jackdaw
It’s a bird anyway
A fat brown blackbird
a collection of worms
dripping
from its beak
It’s a car park
in an inner city suburb
where people suffer
from drugs and poverty
from ignorance and brutality
from neglect and abuse
from the greed
from the selfishness
from the well-rewarded
jailors
via each other
while the blackbirds
and the finches
and the starlings
and the jackdaws
and the brown black birds
chirrup in their paradise

It’s a compromise

Croeso – Welcome

What’s it all about then?

No one’s got a clue really, but we try to do our best.

This website exists to display a bit of one person’s attempts to do their best. When I say ‘best’ I’m not sure if that’s true in the sense that everything here is perfectly crafted, because it’s not. Some of it is roughly hewn or not hewn at all, simply pointed at, but then again, maybe that’s the best I can do.

I dunno.

I reckon that less than 1 in 100 visitors to this website are actual human beings so if you’re one of them and not a bot, and have managed to read this far down the page, I hope you can find something of interest here.

Just scroll and click and search. Turn over some metaphorical stones – there’s quite a lot to uncover even if I do say so myself.

blah blah – you know the score – here’s a poem from 1999 about knowing the score

ninetyfivefive
 
 you know the score
 in a movie 
 or a tv show
 the flaws
 small flaws
 idiosyncratic flaws
 twelve flaws
 or just one 
 we’re allowed to be flawed 
 it’s ok as long as in the end 
 we’re fucking good at our job
 in my real life i’m an artex ceiling of cracks and fissures
 with some small redemption
 
 it’s kind of arse-backwards ain’t it?

More Reflections in a Bin

Here’s a short video clip set on/in a bin

Taken the same time as the photo in a previous post, i.e. March 16th, at the beginning of lockdown

The Flying Boy

I recently completed writing a new novel. The title of the book is ‘Skin and Bones’ . More news on that soon, but in the meantime here is an update on a major work-in-progress.

It’s a book with the working title of ‘The Flying Boy’. The title refers to a recurring dream I used to have when I as a boy, probably no more than eight or nine years old, possibly younger.

The dream involved me flying along the street where I lived at rooftop height. I think it influenced me a lot, in fact I am influenced a lot by the recurring dreams of my childhood. There were a lot of them.

I already wrote a book based on the one about The Three Bears and much of my other thoughts about what the universe is, how time works, reincarnation, spirituality, morality and so on, originate in my childhood dreams.

There will be more info about The Flying Boy in future I’m sure and one day the book will be published. Don’t expect a ‘normal’ novel-like thing, but it is a novel. In the meantime, here’s an extract from the work-in-progress. Continue reading “The Flying Boy”

Branches and Sun reflected in a bin full of rainwater

cropped

Original Photo

Ramble – Podcast

Candigirl – acrylic portrait

here’s Candigirl

Candigirl – A3 size, acrylics on paper

and here’s Candigirl in a frame

Candigirl in frame

It’s a collage

It’s a collage, that’s what it is, it’s a coll-fucking-age

writer or painter?

if I don’t paint I can’t write, in fact if I don’t paint I lose the plot . . . it takes a while, months, sometimes longer, but here it comes again . . . sorry, got to go and paint . . . if anything decent comes out of my forthcoming painting session I’ll post it here, you’ll be the first to know . . . back in a bit . . .  . . . it’s later . . . well, that didn’t go very far, there was a fair bit of tidying up and sorting out paints and brushes and canvases, not to mention collecting all the other stuff that had accumulated in the shed and putting it out of the way . . . then it was too hot to paint in there so very little got done (painting-wise) . . . then there was cooking and generally mooching about and just being unfocused . . . and now . . . here’s the result . . .

so, writer or painter then?

neither I suppose, not today anyway

Random Words of Today Podcast

Random Words of Today

*****

and while we’re at it, this is another little random podcast from the other day

it’s called RE: Tories Left Right etc.

*****

and yet another recoded just an hour or so ago

this one is Art Light Love Universe

*****

Damn Ants

An extract from ‘To Me’

Damn Ants

June 10th, 2006

I had one of those writerly moments earlier; you know, when you have a brilliant idea for a piece of writing; something clever and insightful, something entertaining and wise, something beautiful and exciting, and all encapsulated in the same simple concept.

The words blossomed in my head, metaphors leapt about like lemurs and stunning similes smiled at me.

Right, I thought, I’m going to blog this. This’ll have ‘em dancing on their keyboards – now how do I begin? Ah yes – fantastic, that opening sentence will slay them, and then I’ll say that, and then I’ll bring that in and then I’ll end it like that – wow.

So, I hopped out of the armchair and skipped jauntily over to the laptop.

I’ll put the kettle on, I thought. Now where’s that box of cheating chai, and I’m sure there are some of those melt-in-the-mouth chocolate coated ginger biscuits left in the cupboard.

Damn ants, you only need a grain of sugar to escape from the spoon and they’re all over the place like an army of Eng-er-land supporters on speed. Better clean up a bit.

Right here we go . . . .

Um, er, what was I going to say?

Damn ants.

 

***

some poetry work-in-progress – podcast

about Busted and Crime and Coffee etc.mp3

just another rambling podcast partly about the book launch of Busted the other day

Morning

Just found this in an old word doc from February 2000

Morning

Continue reading “Morning”

Me and some of my mates

Me and some of my mates


	

2 Old Heads at The Apothecary Cardiff

I don’t really know how it got to this but in eleven days time on April 3rd I am doing a sort of gig. Poster below.

It’s a very small venue but an interesting one.

here’s the event link on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/events/317730898881281/

Some of my paintings will be on display and for sale in the week leading up to the event.

Here they are:

Mozaic-B – Acrylic on canvas. 16″ x 12″ Framed and ready to hang £160
Mozaic-A – Acrylic on canvas. 16″ x 12″ Framed and ready to hang £160
Oranges and Lemons – Acrylic on canvas. 16″ x 12″ Framed and ready to hang £150
Earth and Sky – Acrylic on canvas. 16″ x 12″  Framed and ready to hang £120

Also on show but not for sale (high offers may be considered)

Cefncaeau View – Oils on canvas. 30″ x 24″