Choons on the move

I treated myself to an MP3 player - an iRiver H10 6GB. I absolutely did not want to get an iPod because I don't agree with the DRM restrictions they impose on tracks downloaded from iTunes. Plus, I'm just contrary by nature so I couldn't follow the iPod herd.

Despite the iRiver's occasional tendency to lock up when syncing with Windows Media Player, it's a great little machine. And listening to music as I trudge to work makes getting up at silly-o'clock and the day ahead seem a little more endurable. Music is a life-saver, it truly is.

Oh... er... that time of year again...

Right, yes, only a few days until November which means that National Novel Writing Month is upon us. I've been meeting up with fellow Oxfordian NaNo writers every month since last year's challenge and I've taken it for granted that I will be doing it again this year. Except I have no idea what I am going to write. Nada. Zip. I first tried the NaNo challenge in 2004 but, because I only signed up to it on 1^st November, I had not planned anything in advance. I just made it up as I went along from Day One, got to about 25,000 words (the target being 50,000) and, having written myself into impenetrable knots, gave up. Last year I did some preparation: a premise, brief character notes, outlines of key scenes and a general synopsis. Sure much of what came out was made up on the spot but at least I had a basic framework to keep myself on the right track.

This year, though, I have no premise, no characters, no outline, nothing. All I do have is a desire to write the most sarcastic novel ever, to poke fun at mindless Creative Writing 101 dogma by explaining everything in terms of plot, symbols, metaphors, character arcs and motivation as I go along as if crediting the reader with zero intelligence. The only thing I haven't got is an actual story.

Come Wednesday, then, it looks as if I'll have to wing it from the very first sentence. Oh well. Wish me luck.

Just to be clear...

Regarding Madonna's efforts to adopt a Malawian boy: couldn't give a fuck.

A new genre label

I am going to coin the name for an hitherto unlabelled literary genre: Faux Noir Narcissism*.

Faux Noir Narcissism is fiction that is repugnant for no other reason than the writer attempting to be "edgy". Faux-Noir Narcissism will feature much violence, often of the sexual variety, and a lot of swearing. The author of this material will believe that they are "telling it how it is". The reality is that their work is nothing more than a manifestation of their morbid self-absorption.

Such writers will tell you at length about how their work is confronting and exploring the darker side of humanity. If you dare to suggest that the work is gratuitously vile then they will respond that you are naïve and cannot stomach the harsh realities of the world about which they are fearlessly writing. The actual reality is that such writers have never actually experienced anything truly horrific themselves and have no empathy whatsoever with those who have. The reason for this is that they are obsessed with how oh-so very fucked up they believe themselves to be and with the "dark shit" that rattles around their otherwise empty heads. In the case of authors of sexually violent tales, however much the narrative voice may condemn such violence, you will often detect a fetishistic tone, a queasy relish for detail.

This kind of work is not confronting the ugly realities of life - it is utterly inauthentic and displays no insight into how violence, sexual or otherwise, truly affects its victims. It trivialises the real horrors that people endure in this world. Such stories reveal nothing more than the sado-masochistic or rape fantasies of the writer.

There is nothing wrong with depicting violence and the darker aspects of the world in fiction. We all make stuff up but to do it effectively and—dare I say it?—responsibly one must draw upon one's own experiences and extrapolate from them, recall situations you have been in and exaggerate them, adapt them, imagine taking them to the extreme. But most of all you need empathy; and it is all too easy to detect the writers who have none. Without empathy you will produce nothing but shallow, self-indulgent rubbish.

* Unless, that is, "utter shite" counts as a recognised literary genre.

The Movie Event Of The Century

Fraggle Rock - The Movie is coming. Meh - I always prefered The Muppet Show although Sprocket the dog was cool.

Fuck that: I want a Dangermouse movie!

On a sidenote, I am not as excited as I should be about the forthcoming Transformers flick. Despite that funky advert (for Citroen, is it?) proving that the current CGI technology can convincingly depict a car turning into a robot, the movie is being directed by Michael "Master-Of-Retarded-Spectacle" Bay. Hey ho.

Another bloody meme

Er, I mean another fascinating probe of my psyche in meme form. Kathryn has charged me with listing eight interesting factlets about myself. I've been thinking about this for two days now... Never mind, here goes:

1. I am a descendent of Rob Roy courtesy of my maternal grandfather (who was Scottish). I have never actually seen any proof of this but I have been assured that somebody in my granfather's family did trace the family tree back to Mr. Roy. However, I doubt that I am related in any way to Liam Neeson.
2. When I was two years old I had an operation to correct a squint in my left eye. Or was it my right? No matter: this means that I can go cross-eyed in just one eye... although, technically that would mean that I wasn't going cross-eyed but... oh, you get the point.
3. I once met Jimmy McGovern (he of Cracker fame) at a creative writing class. It was the one week when I had suffered writer's block and had been unable to produce anything worthwhile, thus I blew my chance to impress one of Britain's most esteemed writers for television. Bollocks.
4. When I was five years old I shut my bollocks in a drawer.
5. I had an orchiectomy when I was fifteen and now have only one testicle.
6. My friend's dad was bullied at school by Robert Plant so my friend's dad's best mate beat up Robert Plant. This fact isn't really about me at all but I'm struggling here, OK?
7. Fuck it, I'm just not that interesting...

I should now tag some other poor bastards with this thing but, frankly, I'm too depressed about how boring I am and can't be arsed.

More madness! At work!

So, psycho part-time permanent-member-of-staff who made accusations that I was conspiring with my supervisor to oust her from her job so I could take over and that I was falsifying my timesheets has now made a formal complaint against my supervisor and me for inappropriate behaviour and bullying. I am required to attend an investigatory meeting so that the powers that be at the council can ascertain if there is any credence to her accusations.

Psycho part-time permanent-member-of-staff's complaint takes the form of a four page letter of bile and fantasy that paints me as a gloating, arrogant bastard who spoke to her with disdain and then took part in a campaign of silence against her to make her feel uncomfortable and isolated. Of course I didn't fucking talk to her! She made it perfectly clear that she didn't want me there. If anyone treated anyone with disdain, it was her for me. Plus, with all the complaints she was making against our supervisor, I was worried that anything I said would be recorded and twisted by her to try and incriminate me; and this four-page formal complaint only serves to justify that fear.

Why the fuck have I put up with this shit for so long? It's only some crappy temp job, after all. I'll tell you why: If I simply walked out it would make me look guilty of all the bullshit misdemeanours she has accused me off and I don't want that old bag to win.

On the other hand, I might have an interview on Tuesday for a very interesting job and if I were to get it then I'd say bollocks to it and go.

All good fun, eh?

More madness! In hats! Online now!

Issue 6 of Mad Hatters' Review is now online and it is packed of more strange words, magnificent artwork and splendid aural bobbins (two of which were composed by me).

Mad Hatters' Review Issue 6

And as I am feeling especially narcissistic this evening, here are the direct links to the fictions for which I wrote musical accompaniment:

"Seven faces Of The Assassin" by Andrew S. Taylor
"Shaking the Superflux" and other works by Justin Taylor

And there's lots of other cool stuff by extremely talented people. Go read, look, listen and enjoy.

Minor Sunday rant

A few things that all writers should know:

1. The word "copyright" is not a fucking verb, it is a noun.
2. Copyright exists at the point of creation of an artistic work. As stated by The UK Copyright Service: "To qualify, a work should be regarded as original, and exhibits a degree of labour, skill or judgement." You do not have to do anything to become the copyright holder of your work. You don't have to fill in a form and pay some money to your national copyright service - that only registers you as the copyright holder of your work and provides security for you should a dispute over rights ownership arise. Nor do you have to put that © copyright symbol at the end of everything you write - your are still the copyright holder with or without that statement.
3. When you have a piece of work accepted by a publication and they ask for certain rights (First North American Serial Rights, First Electronic Rights, Electronic Archival Rights, for example) you are not handing over the copyright but are merely licensing the publication to use your work in specific ways. The copyright remains under your ownership unless you sign a contract that explicitly hands the copyright over to someone else.
4. Mailing a copy of your work by registered post to yourself isn't actually an effective way to prove yourself to be the author of your work. That's a bit of an urban myth.
5. Work that appears on a website is protected by copyright laws and not "public domain" or "fair game".

If you are a writer and didn't know any of the above then shame on you. It's your business to know the basic principles of how copyright laws work. The rules are easy enough to find: simply type "[you country] copyright laws" into a search engine and odds are that among the first results will be your country's copyright agency. There's no excuse, really.

Writers who not only don't understand the basics of copyright but also go around telling other ignorant writers a load of baloney on the matter really get on my tits. So go and find this stuff out for yourself. It's not that hard and it won't take long.

Oh, and one last thing: learn the fucking difference between "copyright" and "copywrite", fool.