New Year's Eve in Craster
I'm spending New Year's Eve on my own. Probably for the first time in my life.
Very strange. I'm staying in a friend's cottage in Craster to write, appropriately as our poem of the month for January is an extract from Dunstanburgh by Katrina Porteous, (who my spell check wanted to call Quatrain Protease, a great name for a character, perhaps) which I see every time I step outside the front door down to the harbour, which is two steps away. The weather is wonderful, clear blue sky, brisk for walking, and not too cold for sitting and writing.
I'm working on Wall, the piece that won me joint 1st prize for the Bishop Auckland Crossover Novel competition.
It's bliss here. The bedroom I sleep in is also my workroom. It faces southeast and every morning the sun rises like a glowing giant balloon out of the North Sea; it's one of those rare moments when you can just about see it move in relation to the horizon.
It goes down in a sky like raked hot coals at the back of Craster, behind the crags that divide it off from inland Northumberland. My first visit to the one and only village shop to buy milk, I asked 'Where can you get a mobile phone signal here ?'
She thought about it a bit, then said 'Up top, out of the village. We're a bit cut off here.'
The cottage is cosy, with a lovely wood burning stove that smells wonderful, it hisses and crackles, I keep opening up the door to see what it's doing and to feed it logs, and fiddle with the dampers. Much more entertaining than tv. As I came back from a walk along the cliffs to Earl Grey's Bathing House, the smell of the village threw me right back to my early childhood in London, when everyone had wood or coal fires,
All I do is sleep, dream, think, breathe about my writing until my brain says stop. Then I go for a walk. I almost feel resentful when people I pass say 'Hello', they break the spell I'm in. But the walks help if ideas won't come sitting staring at blank paper. I go for a walk and my mind goes for a walk too, and before you know it, ideas are popping into my brain.
I've noticed the yellow gorse is flowering - is this peculiar to Craster or is it global warming ? I thought gorse flowered around Easter. Listening to the news about the terrible devastation caused by the Tsunami in the Indian Ocean, I pass the low lying cottages along the coast here, and wonder whether higher seas would wipe out these little communities too, if the polar caps continue to melt. We think we're so safe and secure in our northern island, yet we shouldn't be complacent.
I have mixed moments of delight and doubt about my writing too, but one thing I have learnt is that I can keep at it, given the opportunity. And I'm determined to make more of those in 2005. Happy New Year to all our readers, as they say.
Apology for Absence
I've borrowed the heading for this diary entry from Julia Darling's new poetry collection. Its launch at the Hatton Gallery (more of a lovely party really) is one of the many events that I've enjoyed recently, and which have filled my diary to such an extent that I've neglected this diary - sorry! (And thanks to the friend who pointed this out.)
So much has happened since September, it's hard to think where to begin. My short story mentoring with Sara Maitland is into the final months, and I have built up a fair number of stories. On Monday I was in Manchester for the launch of Bracket, the new anthology from Comma Press, which features my story, 3,000 Degrees. The reading was at the Central Library and it was great to meet other contributors - plus there was a Christmas market outside, so I came home on the train with vast quantities of very pungent cheese and sausage, plus Belgian sweets and Dutch biscuits. It was probably just as well that the heating wasn't working! The theory was that these goodies would be kept until Christmas, but some have already been enjoyed - a couple didn't even make it back to Newcastle.
I took my laptop with me, so on the way to Manchester was able to work on my latest short story. Having the laptop makes such a difference. We are in the process of having our loft made into a bedroom and study, so the family computer, like everything else, is stacked up in the spare bedroom. The laptop has kept me sane! I've discovered that I prefer writing stories and plays straight onto the computer, but poetry is still a notebook love affair. There is something about writing it out longhand that helps with the creative process.
My play, The Anstruther Light, took third place in the SCDA one act play competition last month. I didn't think I would be quite so nervous, but spent most of the two intervals in the ladies' loos at the Howden Park Centre, Livingston (thankfully, they were quite nice). I learned a lot from seeing the play performed and have rewritten some sections. The Kaims Players in Montrose, my home town, are going to put it on in February.
Last week, I was lurking around Blaydon Library with a camera. The reason? To photograph the stone head of Garibaldi, which is displayed between the used stamp collection box and the copies of Gateshead Council News. My Iron Press collection, Garibaldi's Legs, is progressing and the illustrator working on the cover wanted to know more about the Garibaldi connection. I did explain what I was doing to the librarian, but some of the people queuing to return library books obviously thought me very strange.
The Blue Room is a victim of its own success.
I like to think that the Blue Room was instrumental in the whole move towards the increased demand for good, interesting live literature events.
When we first came up with the idea of a friendly venue for nervous new readers, especially aimed at encouraging women, back in April 1997, there were only a few live literature events a month:
I can think of The Modern Tower, The Lit and Phil, Stand and Deliver and Colpitts poetry, the annual Durham Litfest as regulars, and others that came and went.
Since then, New Writing North has established a whole host of live literature events, with Live Theatre, Northern Stage, Central Library and elsewhere; the two Universities have both established Creative Writing MAs with series of extra reading events attached, as well as nurturing groups of new writers eager to read their work. The Lit and Phil have developed a full and lively programme of readings. The Poetry Vandals and New Word Order are going from strength to strength, and The Northern Fringe are hosting monologues in a variety of venues. And that's just in Newcastle.
Independent Northern Publishers have got themselves organised and are putting on readings to promote local presses output, which is also growing: in the last year at least three new groups have joined the ranks of INP, with accompanying output - Smokestack Books in Middlesbrough, and Bullet Magazine in Newcastle, and Zebra Press (I think that's the name) the publishing arm of The Poetry Vandals. New books mean book launches - and that means more demand for a space and time for a live literature event.
Also, most events are very light on the pocket or even free, usually because the organisers want you to spend money buying books at the event. There's often the lure of free refreshments as well (alcohol helps you part with your money more easily).
Is it any wonder that events clash ?
There's almost no point in trying to co-ordinate events, there aren't enough nights to avoid clashes. Unfortunately there are so many, that you can't go to them all; I have even heard people say 'well, I won't go to any' and give up.
Is this proliferation of live literature events a good thing or not ?
Does it reflect a growing audience, hungry for the live word ? or is it the same crowd stretching itself thinly across the north east ?
I went to the Blue Room on December 4th and it was a great night, it was also heaving with people, much to my surprise, as I knew there were quite a few alternative events on. What was the magic draw for that evening ?
Was it a well known writer like Fiona Cooper?
Was it the well publicised 'raunchy' material ?
Was it Beccy Owen playing music, hot from a new cd launch ?
I doubt if we will ever truly know these mysterious reasons. But perhaps we should try harder to find them out.
I looked around the room, and there were a majority of folk of a 'certain age'.
Perhaps we need to reach out to a young wider audience - I don't just mean the blue room, I mean all the literature events. Maybe we should have (dreaded word) evaluation sheets at every event, with questions that try to discover why the audience decided to come that particular evening. Not evaluation sheets with tick boxes that aren't relevant -
e.g. Was it good/bad/don't know ?
but with open-ended questions and lots of space so people can write all sorts of things, such as:
'what made you decide to come along tonight?'
well, my friend phoned up and said I'm going to such and such tonight, why don't you come along...
'what stops you going to events ?'
when my cat is ill and the weather is cold and wet
I don't know what we'd do with the answers but it may be helpful to guide us with future planning.
Why do I go to events ?
If I'm honest and I had a free evening I might think of the cinema first. I go to readings partly because I want to see a particular poet or writer read, but sometimes I go for other reasons: to support the reader, because I know them, or I know I will meet other writers and friends to chat to, or I want to keep up to date with new writers on the Oscene' or becuse if I go and support the event, then I hope they will come and support something that I organise. I'll buy your book if you buy mine.
Maybe I'm not your Mrs Average audience, but then who is I'd like to know ?
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