The Winchester Mindset
I saw this online a couple of days ago and stole it because it's great. Until we all think like this, we still have a lot of work to do:
Hmmm... maybe I could work with some artists and see if we can come up with some shirts that rock on this concept... something that we can do some good with. It's always worth a shot.
This full blown minimalist mindset I've gotten myself into is wonderful. There's a peculiar chain of events attached to such a thing which is probably a huge lie but one that's working for me on some level of my psyche I won't pretend to understand...
The more things I get out of the house, out of my life and out of sight, the more room there appears to be for me to get along with my work.
Maybe a human being is nothing but a jar to be filled with a certain amount of sand?
I'd like to think that was true but real world examples such as Mr. Trump having more money than Greece vs the guy I once saw die in the street with nothing but a pair of old pants and a brown shirt that all the buttons had fallen off, say otherwise. I guess the truth of the matter is that we all make things up to get us through the night. We will believe anything we tell ourselves. That's the absolute truth of the matter - and when I describe myself as a Dirty Realism writer, that's what I'm really getting at... looking for the truth by throwing words together and hoping one day I'll turn over the stone I was looking for.
(Shoot... I've forgotten what I was going to write about now...)
Oh yeah, the less I have around, the more I seem to be able to achieve. For instance, now I have given away every single book I owned on music writing (aside from No One Here Gets Out Alive) I feel free enough to press on with another music book in the shape of Howl... for some reason, I would sit and look at my shelves and think "I'll never write a book as good as Ziggyology" and some trap door in there would open up and make it so.
Thus, by killing the demons in plain sight, freedom has decided to reveal itself.
I'm not unique in this. It's nothing but my own peculiar prison I made for myself, but don't kid yourself that you don't have one of your own.
Maybe it's also why writers, musicians, film-makers et al, produce their best work when they're young... or rather, when they have nothing. You have to fill the void-jar with something and at that point in your life, the best way to do it is by yourself rather than with somebody else's stuff.
Then again, I could just be full of shit but it seems to be working out for me so I'm taking it as a win and will go to bed convinced there is some kind of valuable wisdom in this.
While I remember - because it's important - one of my favourite writers who comes in the shape of a man called Poe Ballantine, recently posted up a short film called Poe In Hot Springs. Watch it - it's linked up there.
It's very cool and is just the kind of thing writers should be doing with their time to enhance their writing legacy instead of begging for cash like cheap dime-store hoods over at patreon.com.
I don't know if they still have dime-stores over in the U.S. but it's as good a phrase as I can think of right now.
Finally, there's a new album out from Steve Wilson this week. It's called To The Bone and it's an album I needed to hear to reinstate my faith that there were people still out there capable of making that very special thing called an 'album' without running out of ideas towards the end - or even worse, towards the middle.
Whilst mostly being a challenging listen (in all the right ways) as the man behind Porcupine Tree, Wilson is also more than capable of reducing a man to tears in the simplest of ways. Take a look at this:
I think my work here is done for the day. It might be one in the morning but that's no reason not to sit on this suitable chair for an hour or so and kick up some dust with a new toy:
All The Love In The World
Holy fuck. I bought a Gretsch.
This guitar has been haunting me for the best part of a year, but today, I stopped talking myself out of it, pressed some buttons and this beautiful Gretsch Falcon will be here sometime over the weekend:
I'm excited - and I don't do excited very often. What I wanted was a guitar that could handle what I have to throw at it on the songwriting front. Something that would behave like a partner in crime worthy of the title. Something that looked like it could handle a lot of work even when I wasn't in the room!
I am in love.
Soon it will be time to begin demoing up the first batch of songs for my DeadBirds project. We'll spend some time getting to know each other better and in those cracks of production known as putting The Family Of Noise out, together we will get in on.
Meanwhile, in the writing world, I found a great post over on LitReactor this morning about the life expectancy of a novel. You can read the whole thing here and if you're in the writing game, you should read it.
It's one of the things nobody ever tells you about when you talk about being a writer. You can write a novel, spend years on it even, but once it's out there, you have zero control over what happens. You can't vet the people that buy it to make sure they will understand all of the things you were trying to say about the world. Just like in the above linked scenario, you can't guarantee your book will stay alive out in the world, can't guarantee your publisher will stay in business or sometimes, that you will even get paid.
Conversely, if you have a massively successful book, the mental fatigue can be just as harsh. You write a book. It sells millions of copies. You write another. Nobody likes it because it's not 'the same' as the first one. Maybe you only had one book in you. Who knows.
The writing road is littered with obstacles you need to navigate.
It's tough being a writer - mostly because unless you are one of about 24 people, nobody has heard of you and yet, you still need to find a reason to get up in the morning and write again and again, for no reason other than it's what you do.
You want to know what's even tougher than being a writer in 2017? Being a horror writer...
Here's a shot of my local Waterstones where 'horror' has been consumed by 'science fiction and fantasy':
I went up close to check too. They're all in there - King, Barker, Koontz, Herbert - all consumed by this new multifaceted heading and I like it. Well, I kind of like it. Perhaps it would be more accurate if those big headings at the top of the rack said 'Other Worlds' or 'Alternate Realities'. I could see that as a huge step forwards for kids looking for kicks in 2017 and future years. It has to be about the kids now. When it comes to these genres, people of a certain age are already sold regardless, but for me, I think the whole genre-fiction 'thing' needs reinventing from the ground up.
And if we're going to kill one genre, let's kill them all because fans of these genres are not dumb. Eight racks with seven shelves to each rack means we're not playing a minority game these days.
Anyway, I take my hat of to The Management for bringing horror into a larger family where it wasn't quite so noticeable that there were only thirty books worthy of the title up for sale.
I did ask: when people (generally speaking) buy science fiction or fantasy, they are game for new works/authors more than ever - but when people (also generally speaking) buy horror, they fall back on the masters.
What happened out there? Is it easier to get scary thrills from a movie? Did it go down the same path once too often?
I'd love to know the answer.
But I bought a motherfucking Gretsch, so I don't have a care in the world right now. Sorry about that.
Bonehead
Well... that was a good weekend for getting some art books out of the house and into good hands. The car was considerably lighter when I left than it was going, though I don't envy those who thought "It's only a few books, I can easily carry them without a bag". Those kind of thoughts are for people who don't carry art books around very often. Still, my work on that front is done. I'm filing that as a big win and it's left a good sized hole that looks like I've done something useful.
Anyway, when I got back from the show, I figured doing a 12 hour day after an 18 hour day, another 18 hour day the day before that and then driving five and half hours back home was probably a stupid idea. I was pretty tired when I touched down, I messed about with Hector for a little while, filled his water bowl up and then, just to make sure I was home for real, slipped in some of said water and knocked myself out for a little while by smacking the side of my face on the corner of the kitchen cupboard at high speed.
Let me tell you... that hurt like a bitch, but I slept like a dead man.
After taking H to the beach for a little while...
...I spent some time today working on the cover for The Family Of Noise. I'm not going to change the softback edition too much from the original design it had wrapped itself up in... which was this:
I still love this cover - it says everything I want it to with one simple image doing a lot of the hard work.
Today's question is whether I completely redesign the hardback version or not. I suspect not, but while I was chewing it over and playing around, a few things started to take shape that have so far not been thrown into the bin. I'll see how that pans out over the next week or so.
Meantime, tomorrow, I'll be checking over the final manuscript again - which might actually take longer than I think... so let's call it the end of the week and then I'll move into type-setting mode, run like hell and hope I don't fall on the scissors.
Topically, I received an email this week from a German author requesting that I review a free digital copy of her book here and also leave a review on amazon - because obviously, book reviews is something I'm forever posting around here. Then again, the email also said it had already sold over 250,000 copies in its German variant so, perhaps it's me that's missing something.
If I sold quarter of a million copies of a book - with or without having to cut in a middle man - I'm not sure I would be be scrounging for reviews online from a man who was sitting on the edge of forever.
Particularly a man who Doesn't Review Books. Ever.
Go figure.
Finally today - because I still have things to do - quote of the season (so far) from Game of Thrones:
"Nothing will fuck you harder than time."
Jesus. Ain't that the truth.
Pop Life
Work begins on my first 2017 release... shortly. I have the somewhat 'large' event - Tattoo Jam - to attend to from Friday to Monday, so even with the best of intentions, I know I'm not going to get anything done between now and the end of that. It would be foolish to even try, so best forget all about it in the physical world. In the mental/spiritual world however, it will still be going on... what to do, how to do it - those kinds of things.
I’m going to release The Family Of Noise in early October - which is not so far away, six weeks or so in fact, which will give me some time to mock up proofs for checking over as well. Being as it’s finished and has been sitting here for the best part of a year, I figure it needs sending out into the wild to fend for itself. I decided a long time ago that what happens to it then is not up to me. It’s up to those who read it and love it enough to tell others about it to give it life or, if they hate it, to grind it into the dust and kick it into touch.
My job is to send it out to school in the correct uniform with a packed lunch, make sure it has a few friends to prop it up in the early days and have a snack ready for it when it gets home.
It will be released as a numbered limited edition hardback run of 100 (which will only be available directly from Bad Hare right here) as a softback (also available here but also available to order on amazon and from bookstores if you so wish) and then, soon after, across all digital platforms to suit whatever e-device you happen to be wielding. I'll post details and links as soon as I cement them into the floor.
Maybe that hardback variant will also have some bonus material - I’d like that a lot and hopefully, so will anybody who picks it up.
So that's a plan, right? It feels good to get moving again. Meanwhile, in the gaps of all that and the magazine, I've been hitting the guitar hard. It's the best use of my time whenever the pen gets too heavy because no matter how much you improve, there will always be somebody who can whup your ass into a small suitcase.
Meanwhile, out in the world that's not mine, my buddy Sean Herman mailed over some of his zines - which are great - from Serpent's of Bienville out in Mobile, Alabama:
It's kind of hard to explain what they do over at Serpent's - it may be easier to describe what they don't do! The one thing I do know is if ever you're down that way, you should go check out the place. The man even sent me a preserved alligator paw in the mail.
(That's right... if you cast your mind back, I was writing a column for them called Beautiful Creatures. Now look down to the floor and you will see all of the balls I dropped on that front. I must get back on top of that because I'm starting to feel bad about it.)
Burning Time
Despite the purge of a lifetime of accumulated books, I still read as much as I ever did. I have not fallen out of love with it in any way, nor books themselves for that matter.
The publishing world - alongside of the music business, the movie/TV business and more than likely, every other business you can think of - continues to change. It's confusing out there for writers. Hell, you don't even have to be new to the game to find it the business equivalent of the Grimpen Mire.
To bring us up to date with the world of me, a couple of years ago, I released a book called The Family Of Noise. I didn't make a huge deal out of it and pushed it out only to a few friends and people who like to follow me here regularly with a plan for a real PR campaign in the following weeks. I thought it was good... but word came back from many of these people that I should put it out through major channels for it to get the audience it deserved. That's just what you need to hear when you've spent two years smashing yourself in the face with a hammer.
I retracted the book from public eye along with any sales channels and set about pitching it to agents and publishers. Although you can apparently find a used copy on amazon for £120... in French! I don't think this item exists because I sure as hell never got it translated and know exactly where every single copy went. Go figure.
The upshot of which is that it's still sitting here a good year later - maybe it really does suck, but oh, how I wanted that book to be picked up by a huge publishing house and for all my dreams to come true but such a thing is not to be - at least not yet.
All that has happened in that year is a year has passed by in which nothing has happened.
Such is the price you will pay (if you want to view it that way) if you want to be a writer... but this is not quite true.
There are two types of fiction writer and both are very real and proper. For some, validation comes from being picked up for mass publishing and it's a big deal. It means your material was good enough for somebody with something to lose to invest in you - and it is a big deal. It's the traditional way and it makes all of the wheels spin. It's what I've spent my whole life investing in on a weekly basis. I am not pouring scorn on it...
...but I have decided, I don't have that kind of time to squander, hanging around waiting for something to happen with my own work.
This is a really long way around of saying, I am going back to publishing my work through Bad Hare - which is my own imprint. I will likely sell as many copies as I would through any publisher that wasn't one of The Big Four, I like being responsible for my own cover art (which is not something I can bank on anywhere else), I will probably make more money from it but mostly - and this is important, I will be writing and moving forwards instead of waiting for somebody to tell me it's OK to keep writing.
I do not write because I want to be an award winning writer. It would be nice I guess but I do not want it and I sure as hell am not hankering after such a thing. I don't write for money because I have a great job already and the actual odds on me making enough money to live on in such a niche game are slim. I do not write to be part of a group in which we all slap each other on the back and meet for beer once a month, not for kudos, sex, fame or anything else that might spring to mind. I don't even blog to try to convince anybody passing to sign up to a mailing list so that I can 'harness the audience' - to my eyes, that's cheap, desperate and smells of 'me-me-me-marketing' at its very worst - the internet is littered with them.
I write because I like writing and I want to write.
I write because so far, the people who have read what I write, like what I write - hell, some even love it.
I write because I have no idea what else to do with my life.
My only real fly in the ointment without a publisher is finding an audience... then again, here's the cover of Mary Miller's The Last Days Of California, which I thought was incredible for all the right reasons but have you read it?
No. You have never even heard of it, so I rest my case.
But sometimes, there are those little voices in my head that tell me I am Super Wrong and that I should hold out - but they are lying and I know this because this morning two things happened.
1. The voices began their dawn chorus
2. A few minutes later, I saw this in a thing Mr Gaiman did with The Guardian today:
There’s nothing like studying the bestseller lists of bygone years for teaching an author humility. You’ve heard of the ones that got filmed, normally. Mostly you realise that today’s bestsellers are tomorrow’s forgotten things.
I went to have a look at what was hot at the New York Times this week throughout a few random years. Here:
1995: Beach Music by Pat Conroy
2000: Winter Solstice by Rosamunde Pilcher
2005: Lifeguard by James Patterson and Paul Kemprecos
2010: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson
2015: Go Set A Watchman by Harper Lee
The first two I have never heard of - author or book, Lifeguard is unsurprising because J.P. knows how to sell a book no matter what you think of him. Nobody cared about Larsson until Dragon became a film, so that too is understandable and Watchman is a blip on the radar - and also, compared to Mockingbird, garbage - that's nothing but a lawyer, a publisher or an estate cashing in on a legend. For point of reference with that, the week after Friction by Sandra Brown was sitting at the top.
No. Me neither.
What can you deduce from this? I'll tell you... people bought what they were sold. As always, Mr Gaiman is bang on the nose. Some made some money with their books, some still are... and at least two of them are dead.
I just want to write, so I am signing out of using my limited time on the planet firing shots at the publishing world. I am going back to flying solo - which also means I don't need to be concerned with ever looking at such lists again and can content myself with doing what I want as best I can and hopefully, finding an audience who like what I do too.
Le Fin.
Sorry it was a long-ass way around the block and if you got to the end, I salute you. If nothing else it made me feel better about the future.
Footnote: I do think however, that if you are writing a crime/mystery novel or police procedural, a publishing house is unmistakably the way to go. A series - like John Connolly's Charlie Parker series - needs it. I'm not sure I would have discovered it otherwise and that would make me sad. Maybe we should all just know ourselves a little better by being honest.
Show Me How To Live...
The purge continues. Little by little, it continues in the right direction. Yesterday, (not so) small person (anymore) asked me why I was giving all my books away when - aside from my record player, a few albums and my guitars - it was almost all I had left. It was a question that deserved an even better answer.
I sealed her mouth shut by giving her my record player (hey, in for a penny and all that) and a few albums she might actually like. She took to it well, fell in love with the concept and this morning, disappeared to an inner city nightmare in search of her first slab of vinyl she could call her own… and came back with a Michael Jackson album.
It could have been worse and I’m good with that, though it would have been neat if she had discovered Mother Love Bone all by herself.
Anyway, I chewed her question over and I guess the real answer is that many years ago when I left home, I had very little to call my own - but a year or so later, when I left town to head for London, I had even less. A few clothes in a bag, a copy of an Ed McBain novel (See Them Die) I was dipping in and out of, a Walkman and two cassettes. One featured Rick Springfield’s Living In Oz with New Jersey from Bon Jovi on the other side and tape two had The Doors Morrison Hotel and Zodiac Mindwarp’s Tattooed Beat Messiah.
What more could a man possibly need on a shamanic quest to find himself?
I can’t recall ever feeling more like anything was possible than I did back then when I had nothing - and while this isn’t an attempt to reduce myself to the meagre possessions of Gandhi - it is certainly an attempt to get down to what’s either useful or beautiful… and the one thing I’ve discovered already is that very little truly belongs in either category.
Thus, my codex for the future is going to be something like:
Tread softly and leave a big fucking scar in the wind
...which I think is harsh enough not to be called a tree-hugging hippie. Hugging things ain't gonna fix jack. What the world needs is a warrior and warriors don't carry backpacks full of crap around with them.
Ummm... that might be taking it a little too far but the sentiment is there.
The wisdom of samurai is priceless.
As a footnote to this on the subject of music, I've done my time with vinyl. I have no regrets about handing the magic of it down a generation. I've spent more money on vinyl than I ever did on books for years on end. I've tried to resurrect what I felt for it but in the real world, jacking my iPhone into Creature Speakers has more power behind it than any record deck I've ever owned...
...and if MP3 is the worst format in the world, that's OK because my ears are so hammered after all those years, I honestly can't tell the difference any more.
August and Everything After
I have an appointment with a doctor this afternoon. I have been 'doctor-less' for nearly eight years now but figured I had best get my ass checked over. Well, not actually my ass - that's a figure of speech. You know what I mean.
Medical stuff aside, I thought I would leave behind some gifts while I was there - see previous post if you have no idea what's going on here.
This for one, which I picked up at Denver airport a few years back:
And this, which I picked up at Philadelphia airport a year later:
Never release a book with a white cover. They collect debris for no reason like there's no tomorrow And then there's this - which I didn't pick up at any airport - that I still haven't made my mind up over whether it was good or not:
I can think of no better place to leave behind a few books of short stories than somewhere where traffic is transient. In fact, they can have this too... which I've owned since around 1993:
What's interesting about this last book - particularly if you're a writer - is a) this publishing company no longer exists. I think it was a spin-off from Serpents Tail (or at least a joint venture), b) I would wager that everybody who reads this post has never heard of Benjamin Weissman and c) the book is excellent. Consider all the boxes for success ticked and yet...
As writers, we all hanker for such things - write a book, get it published and have as many people as possible read it but I would go so far to bet a LOT of money that none of you reading this has ever read any of these books even though the first three are by people who have done other, sometimes very big, things in the world and are pretty well known out there. I'd also throw a heap of cash into the arena with a rough guess that none of you knew Molly Ringwald had even written a book.
If your next question is "who is Molly Ringwald", it's OK. It just means you are substantially younger than me and that's OK too but you really should watch The Breakfast Club as soon as possible.
So what hope does Writer X have of fulfilling their dreams? This exercise of giving books away has given me the ability to see behind the curtain and there really is an old man sitting on a stool rattling levers backwards and forwards. Writing is a crap-shoot. You might get lucky and you might not.
So, the answer I have arrived at today is this: you can get yourself an agent and subsequently a publishing deal... and your book will be released and that will be a Big Deal - and so it should be.
But what then?
Tomorrow, somebody else will publish their book and the next day, somebody else will too. In fact, somebody will release their book on the same day as you from a different publishing house and this will be 'competition'. Over the course of the week, dozens (hundreds?) of books will be released and people will have to choose you over the other people.
(How I would hate to have a book out and have it sit on a pile of things 'to be read' - because that happens too. Can you imagine buying an album and putting it on a stack of things you might listen to later? It just doesn't happen. People who by books - and I am one of them - are a strange collective that's for sure.)
Next week, the world really will have moved on - you won't even be a popular social media post - repeatedly telling your social channels you have a book out will piss people off, you will start to look desperate and that's not a good look on anybody.
I honestly believe, here in 2017 and for the foreseeable future, that you must make yourself into your own brand. You have no other option if you want people to buy your book and listen to what you have to say. If you're a band with an album, you hit the road in support of your release - that's the mindset you need to be in to make it as a writer because writing is not enough anymore unless you're happy firing one gun and then staying at home to proudly clean it for the next 30 years.
TV is the new cinema and screenplays will continue to go that way as actors strap themselves to long-term projects... and wisely so. An hour and half on the big screen versus six months week after week on the TV. That's a no-brainer for your 'brand'.
Apparently, nobody buys albums anymore. It's all about the single... or at least individual tracks. Does anybody ever get to the last couple of tracks on an album? People have power now. Your good stuff will find itself on a personal playlist and your not-so-good stuff will be banished to the back-end of the internet.
So if you're an author and you think a book every few years is good enough for commercial success, you're wrong. I believe you need to be episodic in your writing now. Don't ask me how you can make it work because I don't know but feeding new material to the world daily, weekly or monthly, is what your average person either wants, needs or expects... or at least it is of you're new to the game.. and particularly if you don't write super-commercial airport books.
I am no marketer. I struggle with this shit more than most but I have spent the majority of this year pitching at agents and publishers to find myself sitting here empty handed regardless.
Am I bad writer? Maybe.
Am I a good writer? Maybe.
Those things are not for me to decide. That's the job of the reader and nobody else. It's also important to differentiate between being a good writer and being a writer whose work sells millions of copies. Sometimes you have to decide which one you want to be, but again, these things are not mutually exclusive.
I know dozens of good writers who can't get a break and I have (started to) read hundreds of books by people who should never have gotten through the gate.
All I have is this:
The worst thing you can do is to write because you want to be a success.
The best thing you can do is write because if you don't, you'll feel like the most important part of you will die.
That's all I've got. Still working on the rest... and by the end of August, by the time I am done with this book purge, I will have come to a decision about how I'm going to approach my future as a writer.
A very short Big Bear Rescue update but an update all the same. Stage Two of the project is underway. With the wind behind me, I'm going to have multiple shirts available in the store at any one time with overlapping end dates so there is always something available at any one time.
The biggest news is that I have some quite brilliant new artists in the wings getting ready to roll - but right now it's a secret simply because if I tell you now, I won't have much to say in the next update.
End of update... but you'll find better and faster updates on twitter, instagram and as much as it pains me, facebook across the remainder of the year.
A Very Small Stack Of Books
I'm going through a serious purge this week. It began last week and will continue until the purge is complete. Fact of the matter is, I'm purging books in a very serious fashion.
My goal for the middle of August is to have given away at least 90% of the books I have here. It's pretty drastic but I have my reasons. The first is that I never read anything twice. Never - so why hundreds and hundreds of books line many shelves is a mystery.
Actually, it's not a mystery at all. You buy the book, you keep the book and as the years pass by, they grow into something called a collection...
...and then I read something that rang an alarm bell right in the ear drum. I realised these books were all still here because I thought they said something about me I needed other people to know.
But nobody ever comes round and if they do, they have better things to do than stand around looking at my bookshelves. It's an interesting question to ask of yourself but I also realised these books were dead. They're not books if they're not being read. They're just paper sitting on a shelf. For them to be books, they needs to be out in the world being read... though what other people choose to do with them after that is up to them.
The purge is going well. It was tough to begin with but now, not so much. A few things will stay - something like twenty books that are special editions or mean something to me - but not many more. There's also a few art books that will stay but the upshot of this is that I will be left with a few books that have a soul and I will have gotten over the biggest stumbling block in my minimalist head.
The point of such a thing?
Freedom of course.
The Lost Gods
I went out last night to The Bookstore. Not for any particular reason, it was more like a calling. This happens sometimes and you don't actually know why you've ended up in the bookstore but somewhere in there, is a book you must read and your job is to find it. It can be a hard slog navigating your way through the piles of books they want you to buy, piled high and tempting you in with two for the price of one offers.
These are not the books you are looking for.
The search would never be so easy as that. Mind you, it would have been a lot easier if my ear had been to the ground for the release of this last October - how I missed it, I have no idea, but there it was: a single copy right in the corner, top shelf, spine facing inward so that nobody else would find it until I came to discover it... I only reached up to turn it around because things like that shouldn't happen in a bookstore.
I am easily pleased.
Anyway, I have even taken the rest of the week off work to give it my undivided attention because some books need such a thing. This should be one of them:
I might be gone some time.
One of the internal illustrations... of which there are quite few.
Something In The Water
I finished the first draft of The Man Who Lived Again today. I shall celebrate by throwing it in the back of a drawer and not looking at it again until the middle of next week. That's the best way to treat these things. Months is an even better way of finding out if what you wrote was any good or not but it's not super incredibly long, so a week should be enough.
Then I must figure out what to do with it but that can wait until it's finished for real.
Wrapping that has given me a jolt in the arm too. Seeing some pages mount up is always good for the soul - no matter how confident you might be to the outside world, those doubts can set in for anybody and if you let them take hold, they can really start a riot in your head.
Anyway, while I'm in the frame of mind for this kind of 10,000 word novella format, I'm going to wrap up another I have lying around. This one is running with the name Just Like Living In Paradise and is in the same rusty nail format as this one was when I picked it up, so spirits are high that if I turn up in front of the paper with a pen and bleed like a prize fighter who needs to pay the rent, I can lick it into 'drawer-shape' by the end of the month... which is apparently just a couple of weeks away.
I found myself in the news yesterday and I wasn't even there! My friend Siân (horror actress, tattoo model, all round good egg and lovely person) was on Heno - a Welsh magazine show - talking about... well, I don't actually know what she was talking about because I haven't watched it yet but messages from back home kept bouncing around in my phone saying she was on and had mentioned the Big Bear Rescue project.
Any moment now, it should go online and I'll catch up. My Welsh is awful these days. I might need the assistance of subtitles to keep up - or my mother!
...and while I'm on the subject of things in foreign languages, this hit BBC4 at the weekend and is worth a watch:
If you go hunting for it, it's called I Know Who You Are. Highly recommended.
And now, back to work. Today I am accompanied by songs from the wonderful Sade simply because I need to listen to something unquestionably beautiful as I pick at scars with long fingernails.
Balance. Balance. Balance.
Internal Injuries
I have a torn rotator cuff.
It doesn't look like much from this x-ray but it hurts like a bad motherfucker from hell - which a great song by The Datsuns. You may send flowers if you wish. The odd thing about internal injuries is that nobody believes you're hurting because there's no blood or gore to show how bad it is... not that I was looking for sympathy here. It was just an observation.
Which makes it a lot like writing. If you haven't got a book out, you're not doing anything. Doesn't matter if you're crying on the inside over your words, planning, proofing or beating yourself up for some reason - if you have no book for people to look at, then you're probably sitting around on your behind watching tennis.
And the horrible thing is, when your book comes out, at first it will be judged by the cover (regardless) and that's the part you likely had no part of - unless you're me, in which case, it's all my own fault.
Even worse - because we all like to see the world spin super-fast - if you do have a book out today, rejoice like a crazy person being showered with ash at the end of the world because tomorrow, somebody else will have a book out and you will be Yesterday's News.
Hey - we all helped to build the monster.
Jeez - who would be dumb enough to spend thousands of hours being creative when all you have is a tiny window through which to launch your product at the world! A window so small, there's also every chance you'll hit the frame and your thousands of hours will simply fall to the floor.
Me for a start and if you're reading, possibly you - and I wouldn't change a thing.
Writer's write and there's nothing you can do about it. You either are one or you're not. Writer's write, photographer's shoot etc... and one day, there will be blood.
A word from the wings of my life... I am (maybe) a day away from competing a novella here. I may have mentioned it previously but it is now fast approaching that thing called 'reality'. It's called The Man Who Lived Again. Aside from that, I'm not going to say anything else about it... you can figure that out for yourselves.
More news as I get closer to the end-game - but it makes me happy to be putting something new out. It's been a long time.
This album comes out soon - in a limited edition of 500 copies too. These sessions are wonderful if my memory is holding up like it should and the live album comes from a show I was at when the band where at the very peak of their game. If you ever loved The Dogs D'Amour, you can pretty much file this under essential. You can pre-order it direct from Cargo Records right here. I hope it never becomes available for streaming. Some things you really should own in the real world and this is one of them.
Baby Dynamite
The iRig2 seems to be a good piece of kit. It at least does what it's supposed to in the recording stakes but you could spend a fortune inside the app adding effects. It would be easy to go down that road but that also sounds like wasting time when all I'm looking for is a way to record first drafts of songs. This week I'll be switching from their own apps to see how it fares with GarageBand - where I at least know which buttons are worth pressing.
However... I found another use for this solid little piece of kit:
Stuck in a tape deck here, because it's the safest place for it, is a tape of a tape of a tape - probably seventh generation - that has seen many better days that plays host to a Baby Dynamite four track demo from 1992. Baby Dynamite is of course, my band from what has very quickly become a 'few years back'. This is the first batch of songs we recorded. Somewhere out there is a second tape with another four tracks on it but I have hidden it so safely, I haven't a clue where that is.
Thus, out of interest and for anybody trawling the internet for proof such a thing really did happen, I'm posting them here in all their detiorated glory. These were all recorded in a bedroom home studio pushing the tech we had as far as it would go with the intention of handing record companies a demo product so good, they would hand us bags of cash safe in the knowledge we would spend it wisely and come up with something like Hysteria that would make superstars of us all... or at least make us enough money that there would be something different for dinner other than cream cheese and Space Raiders inside a bread roll.
In hindsight, we were at gentle war with each other. Pete - whose studio it was had very set ideas about how we should sound and so, that's how it sounded. He's a great producer and I think might still be somewhere out there. Nate, my drummer, blood brother and housemate had similar tastes in music, so the multi layers were fine with him too. I don't recall Lee, our bass player having much of a say in anything because Pete was a control freak and recorded all the bass parts himself - but in fairness (so far as I know) Lee is the only one of us still out there regularly playing 25 years later, so he obviously didn't take it to heart... and at the only gig this particular line-up of the band ever played, he was the only one of us that didn't mess up.
For what it's worth, my fuck up was the worst. I misjudged how high my heels were and fell off the stage into a stack of amps, blowing all of the power in the building. Funny now. Not so much on the night.
Anyway, I was just pleased to be writing these songs, getting them out of my head onto tape and didn't think much about such things. We were riding a wave of self belief - no matter how misguided. The goal was to become a slick, well oiled machine of a band that outgunned the American wave of glam rock back then... and in hindsight it wasn't a bad shot at the target.
Then Nirvana came along and that was pretty much the end of the story for a bunch of guys living just outside of Liverpool with no cash.
Let me talk you through it:
WHITE KNUCKLE RIDE
Pete had some old riffs lying around and I came up with the lyrics for this while he was out walking his dog. This was to be the 'statement' of what we were about and it even had an intro you could walk on stage to based on the WWF Legion of Doom's catchphrase "What A Rush". Sadly this one has suffered most on the tape just because it's first...
CREATURE FEATURE
I wrote this song for Alice Cooper. True fact. Maybe I should have sent it to him. If White Knuckle Ride was a showcase for Pete being a guitarist, this was my showcase for hooks and lyrics. I loved this song and still do. It simply is what it is and yes, somewhere in there is a lyric about nuclear war which I stole from Duran Duran. If it was good enough for them and all that...
HOT CHERIE
This is an odd one. Back in the mid 80s I used to trade tapes with some guys out in California and I came into possession of one by a band called Brunette and because I was running a fanzine at the time, had some correspondence with Johnny Law from the band. A later tape from the band contained this song and Brunette disappeared from the face of the earth. For the record, they were a great band and all these demos can now be found as an album on Apple Music - and more than likely Spotify as well.
Anyway, Pete wanted to cover a song to see how we stacked up against the real world. I was dead against it but submitted this to him as a great song from a band nobody would ever hear from again... and thus, people would think it was our own unless they looked really closely...
Who could have known that the very same year, the guys from Brunette would get together with some guys from Journey (yeah, that Journey) to form Hardline and release an album on which this also appeared.
Still, it was good fun to sing this... it pushed me right out of my comfort zone.
Whatever you think of this version, it's a great song and if you like such things, the Hardline version is on their album Double Eclipse... but I still think the Brunette version is the best.
The other song we recorded sucks diesel. I hated it then and I hate it even more now. You know when you get to the end of an album and you turn it off because the band had obviously run out of ideas? That's what this other song is like - it doesn't even have a good title, something I was massively insistent on then as much as I am now.
The other tape had some much better material on it - I really found a groove after this batch. It had/has a couple of songs on it I'd love to hear again. One was called Paperhouse and the other, Naked With Jezebel. If you happen to be passing and own such a demo, I'd love to hear from you.
After these sessions, we took a break to write some more songs, do some other things and never quite got it back on track. For my part, I wandered off in a solo direction and put a project together called SPIRITWALKER which was about as far removed from this as I could get. Maybe I'll post those songs here later this week - I was a lot more careful about looking after those.
One final thing on this. Back then, it was hard getting your music heard. Nobody gave a damn and every band had a demo of some kind. So far as I can see, since then, the whole world went digital but nothing much has changed. I know lots of bands that had a record deal that went on to do nothing and I know lots of bands who never even got close that should have. There were more opportunities to play locally but there were less opportunities to connect and do something on a larger scale. Such is the music business then and now.
You get what the previous generation left you.
Which means it's a lot like writing. You do it because you love it and not because you 'might get somewhere'. You make music or write because it's what you do.
The world owes you some water and some oxygen and that's about all. End of story.
A Hard Day's Night
Jesus. It's a few days into July already. How did that happen? I put the next issue of Skin Deep to bed this afternoon but it only seems like a week since I strapped a rocket to the last one. The 300th issue will be knocking on the door before I know it. This one was #279, so in the real world, I guess we still have a couple of years before that happens, but still... it sounds pretty close from where I'm standing.
I won't be taking my eye off the ball.
Anyway, with that off the desk, I shall be turning my attention to other things for a few days, namely, songwriting.
Last weekend, I messed around with some different ideas for a logo and settled quite wholly on this. I've looked at it for a few days now and it sits well, so it can stay:
Then I bought myself an iRig2 for simple, on the spot recording. I haven't road tested it yet but that's on the cards for tonight just as soon as I've finished this post.
It had better do what it's supposed to. I have high expectations and lots of material to pull together before I go anywhere near a studio. I haven't been in a recording studio for so long, they have likely changed beyond all recognition... but that's OK. That's why I have friends who know what they're doing - but that's way down the line.
I am not averse however to loading up demo material here when it's ready. If I tell you up front that what you'll get on that front will be more like Marc Bolan messing around at home in 1973 than Def Leppard making Hysteria with $100m at their disposal, you won't be too disappointed.
Or maybe you will.
Mostly though, it feels good. You know that thing you do when time disappears because you're so preoccupied it loses all meaning? That's how this feels. Not sure what took me so long to come back to it but I'm here and pressing on regardless.
On my quest to waste nobody's time but my own watching great crime shows in the darkest hours of the night, I've stumbled upon a fantastic beast. It's called The Night Of and if you're in the UK, it's skulking around somewhere on SKY/NOWTV. A brief synopsis would go something like: 'Imagine you borrowed your old man's car for a few hours in the middle of the night... and then everything that could ever go wrong, did'.
That pretty much sums it up. I'm hooked. It's a slow boiler though, so if you like you're drama edited like an MTV video from 1990, you'll be out of luck here, but if you have the attention span for shows like The Killing, it's might be right up your street...
The Great Outdoors
As something of an appendix to the last post about dropping material on Medium, my buddy Mr Wayne Simmons has also taken up residence there and made his first post about his workspace. I'm reasonably sure I've dropped some things on here before about where I like to work but no harm in rolling through it again.
Some of the time, I work at the kitchen/dining room table which is nothing special. Just a flat piece of wood with four legs. Unlike Mr Simmons, I have no man cave, no posters, no action figures, no paraphernalia at all and with good reason. I get distracted easily. Thus, in front of me sits a blank wall. I even moved all of the pictures that were on it to the wall behind me so I couldn't see them.
Which all sounds a bit dull... unless you've mastered the dark art of using the wall like a screen on which you project the film running in your head - which I do. It's a little more complicated than that, but that's all you're getting on that front.
However, the rest of the time, I write using a pen and notebook and I like to work here:
...or somewhere close by. There are many places to sit, write and watch your dog run free. There are also buzzards, hares, ravens and occasionally (sadly) other people with dogs but you can't have everything.
Believe it or not, I can get a lot of work done here. Words flow and that's what counts. It's a good feeling too because it never feels like work but neither am I averse to writing on trains, in the car... I guess the point I'm trying to make is I don't mind where I write, so it may as well be pretty. How disabling to have be in a certain place before you can get any work done. Thus, I have learned to be ready because it comes when it comes.
So there you have it. That's my day. If you're looking for pictures of sexy desks and workspaces - much like this one occupied by Bruce Springsteen - you're shit out of luck...
But this below - featuring Al Gore - is my idea of absolute hell. How can you focus and get anything done somewhere like this:
Where's the blank canvas to be filled? From the look of all this stuff, it looks to me like it's already been completed by other people, which is pretty much the story of Al Gore - apart from An Inconvenient Truth which is excellent and obviously made before he collected all this crap.
Seeds Of Decades
A whole week with no posts = busy.
The first thing to happen was that I recognised one of the holes in my life was that I missed writing about music so I figured I would do something about that. Not being of a mindset to launch anything as complex as a magazine right now - one is quite enough to look after thanks - I had a look around The Place (aka: the internet) to find a good place to do such a thing and made a call. You can't say jack on twitter, even less on instagram, I could post them all here but that wasn't really the point, tumblr has less attention span than both of my kids and the dog put together (which is a shame), which just left Medium to try out.
I have a love/hate thing with Medium but it seemed like a good a place as any online and so far so good. If you take a look here, you'll see that I branded it with my dearly beloved Burn logo - hey, it wasn't doing much else aside from lying around in a folder - and is populated with the album reviews I pulled together this week. As more weeks pass by, my plan is to press on with three or four a week... and that is the total extent of my plan with it for now.
Let's see what happens. If you're in for the long haul with me, there's a BURN link up top in the navigation bar.
For the record, this first week features Cheap Trick, Nickelback, Uncle Sam and Mark Lanegan.
I finished my Father's Day present this afternoon. It looked like this and I loved it very much. As they say in places like Paris and Rome, it was "fucking excellent". The only reason I didn't finish it sooner was because I had too much work to do...
If music is the rock you stand on and you were born between 1960-ish and you can remember Live Aid first hand, you'll relate somewhere along the line, I promise.
I sat in Mark Ellen's office once with my proto-mag, Rock n Roll Babylon, when I was trying to bravado my way into EMAP on a wing and a prayer. He was very nice and encouraging about the whole thing and after reading this, I can see why.
We all stand on the shoulders of giants at some time.
Anyway, I've now moved onto this...
...which has had some good write ups around The Place and so far, is living up to the quotes on the cover. I have lot's of work still on the desk this week but I plan on tearing through it pretty swiftly all the same.
Meanwhile, work continues on various projects and my feet are getting itchy for another road trip. Must do something to rectify that.
Fast.
The Line Of Duty
This morning I began to pull together an interview with one of my favourite tattoo artists in the world: Noon. You can find his blog here but for the sake of getting this post off to a good looking start, here's one of his recent pieces:
It always surprises me that almost 100 issues on (just 15 more to go) from when I started, I can still find great things to talk about. Or at least I can when my co-conspirator is still passionate when it comes to their end of the bargain. Noon is one of those guys. I'm hoping it will be every bit as good as I want it to be when I'm done.
File under pending... for a couple of weeks.
Aside from magazine things, this week I've been pounding the keys on a script that I believe has legs. Another couple of days and I'll be done with the second draft... writing such a thing (one day I'd like to be able to point you back to this post with hindsight as my friend) has left me with a lot of off-cuts. There's so much on the cutting-room floor, if I'm still feeling uber-positive about the whole thing after the weekend (because these things have a tendency to back you into a corner) I might carry on into next week and see where those bits might take me because what I really need right now is another project to stare at me and ask when I'm going to pay it some more attention... honest it is.
Earlier this evening, my mother sent me a text. One of those mysterious ones out of the blue that suggests the whole thing would become much clearer if you had been in the room with her while she wrote it. This has happened a lot more than it used to since she got an iPhone.
The content of the message went like this:
"You will look like Billy Connolly when you get old"
My best guess is that he happened to be on TV at the time. I did see something a couple of days ago about some paintings of him that had turned up in Glasgow (I think) so I'll assume that was the trigger... but I haven't seen a pic of Billy for a long time - so I went to find one.
So first, Robert Plant (as detailed here) and now Billy Connolly. I'm starting to see a pattern of hair + beard emerging.
Billy is 74. I could live with that look. It's coming down the line regardless. My mother knows me well.
Items Of Interest From Other People Whose Work I Dig:
I saw today that Jonathan Carroll has a new book out in August - this has jettisoned itself to the top of the wish list with ease. If you're not familiar with his work, he posts regularly on Medium and it's always worth the trip.
But... you don't have to wait if you're intrigued. The man has a huge backlist and never disappoints. If you're looking for something new to help pass the evenings under the quilt with a torch, this is a good place to be.
On the music front, I tried to be adventurous at the start of the week and listened to the new Katy Perry album for some reason and wished I hadn't then diverted myself back to more familiar territory. There's a new Goo Goo Dolls EP on the racks but when I had finished with it (twice), I couldn't remember a thing about it. Putting music out because you can and not because you have something to say is wrong in every way you can think of.
Then a bird came into the kitchen, knocked a box of dog snacks off the shelf and I remembered Cheap Trick have an album out... it's not all out yet, but there are some advance tracks strutting their stuff. It looks like this:
But while I was hunting down that album cover, I saw there was also an album out last year which had totally passed me by in every way you can think of... and it's all there. Cheap Trick have lost nothing over the years. Nothing at all. That one looks like this:
Life is good when Cheap Trick are around.
A Flying Dog
To begin: a flying dog. I have a flying dog and he rocks...
Got up stupidly early this morning and wiped out a stack of day-job work that was hanging around which left me with a free morning (kinda)... so I wrote a short story. It had been bubbling under for a while and this morning it fell out of my hand almost fully formed. Typed up, I'll let it swim in its own juice for a while and see how it looks at the end of the week. Then (and only then) will I look for a home for it but mostly, it's good to have wrapped something up again.
Then, I got a bee in my head about a song that had been unfinished for far too long, so I wrapped up the lyrics for that too and tonight I am Home Alone which is a good opportunity to piece it all together. It's called Cry Baby Ridge - and I did not rhyme 'ridge' with 'fridge'. That Alicia Keys song is pretty good until it gets to that part. Somebody should have pointed that out in the studio but it's out there now and you can't take it back.
I guess pretty soon I'll have to record something and post it for public consumption.
There's a news story on BBC today about Patty Jenkins (the director of Wonder Woman) being a woman and breaking box office records for being a woman and doing so. While this is great - and I really loved the movie for all the right reasons - surely such stories aren't helpful in levelling the playing field of gender when it comes to... well, anything. There is never specifically 'man' news about box office records, so why point out this one?
The world has gone nuts. A director is a director is a director and you either did a good job or you didn't. She did a great job. Wiped the floor with the other DC super-hero movies too but equality means you did what you did and then you move on to doing something else, doing what you do some more.
Gender roles should only be pointed out when it either involves childbirth or being able to piss standing up. Normally I would say it must be a slow news day, but in today's climate, that would be an outright lie.
A Bear Rescue update: I can take a few knocks. The black Bear Rescue tee-shirts that were meant to top up the bear fund fell hard on their face and died a death from not meeting the minimum print number requirement... set-up costs and all that. The white variant by Hannah Willison is still up and doing great though. Funny because when they were white, people wanted black but the black didn't sell and the white one is rolling just fine.
Go figure.
It's been an easier ride to point people at the Just Giving page and equally as profitable.
Finally, in the hand for reading this week, is this new collection of shorts - Men Without Women - from Murakami. I would say how good it was, but I don't need to. It's the law.
The Bear Necessities
This was taken a few short days ago and I post it here because... I don't remember it being taken at all. For a pretty close-up shot, how could I not know this was happening? Unless the guy was using a paparazi lens from 100 feet away, surely I should have been aware of such a thing - the man is right in front of my face.
Pic Credit: Marc Wainwright
Today is the last day you can pick up any of the three designs in the Big Bear Rescue store. I think it wraps itself up about 10pm tonight, so if you're in, get it on because I'm archiving these forever and ever after tonight... never ever to be seen again on a shirt. Forever ever.
Thanks for all your support with this if you bought one along the way, it's been very much appreciated... and the other shirt in the store, the white one from Hannah, that will be around for a good few weeks yet.
Do what thou wilt. Swiftly.
I was beginning to despair in the extreme that there was nothing new to listen to this week that would keep my attention beyond a few minutes and just as I was about to hang up my ears on the world, I saw this had sneaked under my radar - and holy mother, is it ever good. It plays like a Real Album from the mid seventies. For maximum enjoyment, it really needs that volume tweaking some.
...and then this evening, I have part three of the monks laying waste to the planet in Doctor Who followed by a late night showing of Wonder Woman - which finally looks like a DC movie worth going out of the house to see.
Right now though, I'm going to play that guitar until its frets bleed all over my fingers. Practice, practice , practice... that's the way forward.
Welcome To The Party
I hear there's a general election around the corner. They always confuse the hell out of me because all parties promise something 'better', but they never mean 'better for everybody', no matter what side of the fence you may be standing on.
What baffles me most is just how many people there are in the ball pool and what they all hope to gain from it. One would suspect money, kudos and power for the most part.
I'd like to propose a little something. I have no idea if it would work or not but I'll float it anyway.
What if, there were just three people in 'power'. For the sake of argument, let's say Mrs May, Mr Corbyn and er... another one (you choose - their names escape me). Surely three intelligent people - and we must assume they all are intelligent no matter what your fingers tell you to type on social media - could fix things quickly and easily?
Three people around a table.
"We have a problem with the NHS..."
Cue whiteboard. Somebody is handed a whiteboard marker and stands next to it.
"What are these problems?"
Between the three, they list all of these items on the whiteboard... and between the three, they come up with the answer that some of the solution is more money, some of the solution is to change things and some of the solution is to let the public know that fixing this is going to cost money.
And between the three, they decide where that money will come from, what those changes will be and in a very short amount of time, together they come up with a plan to fix things and put it into operation.
All of those donations to party politics, all that driving around of buses, all of that time spent on TV (or not)... that's all time those few people could spend doing things instead of telling people what they're going to do and inevitably not end up doing because they didn't 'win'. Maybe all of the other people milling about could be useful in collating figures and making charts of where attention is most needed. I don't know... there's most likely lots of work to do behind the scenes.
I know it's not the same thing at all, but if I spent as much (comparative) time editing the mag as they do on all those things, I would produce a single issue a year if I was lucky.
Is this such a dumb idea? I've seen Conservative governments and Labour governments in my lifetime and all that ever happens is this: those in power at the time make things happen and the other people say they're wrong - regardless of which side you're on, that's exactly what happens year in, year out. Later, when the roles are reversed, they just blame each other for the mistakes.
But all of these people can't be wrong all the time.
If they are, why are they running the country?
The NHS is good example because everybody can relate to it. How come every single person in the country can't afford an extra £1 a month/a week when we can all afford Netflix, phone contracts and coffee at £4 a go? An extra £1 a month/£12 a year from the entire adult population would be er..... £753,114,000 which is a lot of cash from such a small amount. This is based on a loose population search which is currently 62,759,500 - I think my maths are solid.
If you went for it and called in an extra £1 a week (the price of a fat-boy Snickers bar at the moment) you could crank that up to umm... 32,634,94000 ... I can't get my commas in the right place for this one, but I think it's around £32 billion... or is it £3 billion? You could fix a lot of things in that year regardless of which answer is correct... and that's on top of whatever is going on now.
It could just be 'fixing money'.
I am no politician - as is probably obvious to anybody reading this who does have a clue - but a small country such as ours shouldn't be hard to run in the civilised world. A few people - of varying sex, age and ethnicity - can make things work. Of this I'm convinced. Put your ego away, look at the facts, agree on them and stop fucking fighting just to prove you have a place at the table. People would love you... and you would have all the kudos, money and power you ever wanted.
...or is that the script from the last couple of weeks of Doctor Who?
Maybe it's not a fix for everything and some things, like the Trident question would be difficult, I don't get why it costs whatever it costs - do we rent it? It would however get most things done quickly, smartly and sounds like a 'step in the right direction'.
Let's face it though, most people don't care about the reality of the world. Just their own little corner of it. If you never take a train, you could care less about train politics. If you don't have kids, you don't care about childcare problems. The list is endless.
Hmmm. The more I write, the more I see how little I know and when I don't know anything about something I tend to shut my mouth. Maybe I should just move to Copenhagen or somewhere in Switzerland....
Back to Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.
Time. Always Waiting In The Wings.
I went to see Kiss last night. I've been a Kiss fan since 1979 but I think that was mostly because things used to take a long time to filter down the line back then - I could have jumped on slightly earlier with better media at my disposal and maybe a bit of extra cash. Still, it's a fair old whack of time and I have never once regretted my allegiance and still don't. It was good to see them again. Most telling however: I took Rhiannon with me to see what she would make of it and if I say she used up all her phone storage before she killed her battery by taking photos and videos, that's probably a good indication of how that side of it went.
There's a lot of detractors around - as there always has been - to which I say: what will you be doing when you're looking down the barrel of 70?
I also got mistaken for Robert Plant. Twice. I'm sure Mr Plant spends a lot of time hanging out by the doors of large indoor venues. Go figure. Then again, there are very few other people I would like to be mistaken for.
Meantime, this morning I was looking at doing some reviews for a couple of sites I like and saw a request for a review of a movie called A Ghost Story (when it's finally released which I believe is sometime in August) and having watched the trailer (which you can find here) I like the look of this in a big way.
It looks super-smart, elegant, classy and so far up my street, it's in my house.
Yeah... it better be as good as it looks.
My beloved Big Bear Rescue project is slowly grinding to a halt and I don't know how to deal with it. I guess there a million good causes out there and bears don't feature very highly on the list of people who live where there are no bears. When you have a social media campaign that has a reasonable support behind it but it fails to translate into sales of the shirts - which are fantastic no matter how successful the campaign is - well... I'm struggling to see a way to make it work in both the long term and the short.
As I was thinking about pulling the plug after the current run, this landed in my inbox:
Chowti is completely blind. But that didn’t stop her owner forcing her to fight for money. Time and again this small black bear was tied to a stake, and mauled by trained attack dogs. People paid to make bets on whether Chowti, already blinded by abuse and neglect, could be dragged to the ground.
Like most baited bears, Chowti’s teeth were pulled out without anaesthetic. She had little defence against the snapping jaws trained to tear into her sensitive muzzle, causing agonising injuries. But the fight was always stopped before the wounds became fatal – a dead bear doesn’t make much profit, and Chowti would be needed to fight again.
In fact, she was forced to endure this torture almost every week – not even long enough for her wounds to heal properly before she was thrown into the baiting ring to fight for her life once again.
Sadly, the many injuries and sheer trauma of their repeated ordeals mean that baited bears often die tragically young...
Which leaves me somewhere between a rock and hard place. I don't want to walk away from something I started with the good - even great - intentions but I don't mind announcing right here that working this is fucking frustrating in the extreme.
Time to rethink the rethink. I dare say I need a profile of Gaiman-like proportions to catch the attention of the public and make it work. I just never wanted to be one of those people pointing at the fire watching shit burn to the ground while I was quite capable of carrying a bucket of water. Perhaps mothballs are called for.
World Animal Protection has a page here where you can donate some cash to the root of this story if you feel so inclined.
Now... back to work.