n quentin woolf

quotation

” I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. ”  - Maya Angelou

r.i.p.p.c.

Sarah Ruff

As any fool knows, a system is only as strong as its weakest part. Combine that with the inherent weakness of any system in which one part is of exponentially greater value to the process than all the others – the P.A. who knows where to find everything; the specialist part; the secret ingredient that gives the dish its tang – and you have a functional formula for disaster to which the radio station would have done well this week to pay heed. We’re very much in the territory of eggs and baskets, here.  In short, the station’s computer broke.  Yes, I know what you’re thinking. One computer for all that output? Well no, not exactly. The bedroom of the average child of five has at least fourteen computers in it of one sort or another; clearing out any domestic closet is, in my experience, a lesson in the evolution of technology (the further into the darkness one delves, the increasingly bulky, and simpler, the instruments become, until, somewhere towards the back, you start running into 18th Century loom computers driven by holes punched in bits of card, piled up underneath half-empty tins of Dulux and that bit of carpet you’ve been saving for a rainy day).  But the station has computers. It has them in abundance, and yet for some reason a sort of informational drift had occurred and everything that was of any importance to the broadcasting of radio programs had wound up on this one particular machine, a fragile old-timer from the mid-nineties: an object more closely related to Turing’s code-breaking hardware than Jobs’ I-pad.

Three Colours

Such technologies become diva-ish as they age. I’m minded of certain of my relatives who were  perpetually convinced of the imminence of their own demise and would refuse to make plans beyond the Wednesday after next, on the basis that they probably wouldn’t live that far into the future, despite there being nothing actually wrong with them. So it was that The Computer had an extravagant fit of the vapors as we got ready to start recording on Monday morning; and so it was that we ignored it.  Turns out we should have listened.  As if to spite us, The Computer, most indecently, dropped dead on the spot.  With it went the software we used to record the Arts Show, all the station idents, the music for the start and end of the show, the components used to make the weekly events listing, my notes for the interviews and our connection to the World Wide Web.  I stood with several station techs, immobilized and horror-struck by the realisation of what had happened. As we stood there, a knock came on the studio door.  ”Hello,” said Sarah Ruff. “I’m your first guest.”

Lovescandal

If somehow the Arts Show does reach you this week, you can rest assured that this product has been worked for.  Every noteof music you hear will have been the result of jerry-rigging and making-do. The words you hear will have been transferred from system to system, program to program, and divided by the number first thought of.  It was thought best not to photograph our guests in the studio this week, on account of all the boogle-eyed perspiring technicians who would be clearly visible in the background, clutching spanners and bits of circuitry, so the photos you see here will be from the guests’ personal collections instead.  If you want to capture the true spirit of this week’s Arts Show, dear Listener, rush out and bag yourself a wind-up transistor radio, hole up in your coal-shed and listen by candlelight. Our systems are down! Long live the system!

In the midst of all this, some guests came and talked about their art. What a lovely bunch of people they were. Sarah Ruff had plenty to say about being a clown and I was sorry we didn’t have more time to unpack the art form.  Some of what she’s doing sounds distinctly un-clownish, and whilst it doesn’t bear reduction sufficiently to discuss it here, it is conceptually intriguing – perhaps even a little demented – and growing in stature over time. Her show, called Hairy Mary, for reasons we did not establish, does not sound like easy entertainment, but that’s the whole point of Ruff’s work: it sits between genres and doesn’t allow one to be complacent – like a dark Bobby Baker (and Bobby Baker can be dark enough).

Lee Berwick

Lee Berwick (who I realise, bears more than a fleeting resemblance to John Locke from Lost) is an audiophile. Not an .mp3 or a .wav, you understand: he likes listening to things make noises – bridges, oil storage tanks, rivers – the bigger the better.  His eyes light up when he gets to talking about listening to engineers taking angle grinders to the doors of a tank in Sweden which seemed to be his auditory Mecca – he makes regular pilgrimages there. Have a listen if you want to hear how to turn a bridge into a piece of music.  Lee’s Damascene moment came when he realized the uses of computers in making music. He hasn’t looked back. As we talked, I found myself unable to resist reflecting that we appeared to have come full circle on the ability-to-make-music-with-computers front. Our own PC was now producing a plume of smoke.

Carmina Masoliver-Marlow

It was a pleasure to meet Carmina Masoliver-Marlow.  We don’t often invite people onto the show who are at the very beginning of their artistic careers, for obvious reasons.  But the integrity of Carmina’s poetry persuaded me to make an exception. I’m hoping to get at least one of her pieces loaded onto this blog so that you can check it for yourself, and so that in the event of our technological ship going down there’ll some fitting tribute by which to remember this edition of the Arts Show. So, fingers crossed. With a pinch of luck we might get the show out to you.  Our show this week made about people, by people, using their ingenuity to work around computers.  Who would have thought?  Humans: The strongest element of the system.

Listen to this edition of The Arts Show

making changes

Elephant Foot

I went for a wander around the Olympic site in Stratford before this week’s show. It was a sunny day, a glorious taste of spring, and rather than scurry to the studio, running a neck-and-neck race with the second hand of my watch, I instead left home an hour early and strolled. If you haven’t been over that way yet, it’s well worth a look. The main structures are in place; it seems like they’re putting on the finishing touches already (although with two years still to go, there must be plenty more to do). General consensus seems to be that the works are ahead of schedule, much to everyone’s surprise. As it is, you can wander around a pedestrian track and get a close-to view of the giant cranes, the peculiar industrial beasts, and the army of workers dressed in fluorescent clothes who remind me of the Dozers from Fraggle Rock. We’ve been off-air for six weeks and I fear that this jaunt is the sort of thing one only does when one is coming fresh to the work routine; it’s frightening how repetition makes you blind. So one of my resolutions for this new season of The Arts Show has nothing to do with the show itself at all, rather that my tos and froms won’t be conducted in the tie-over-the-shoulder fashion of season one.

We kicked off in our new slot (6-7 on a Tuesday evening since you ask) with a selection of guests each of whom is contributing something important to our understanding of our fellow wo/man. The directors of Elephant Foot, Ben Charland and Laura Burdon–Manley, are opening their new show “Wealth” in the coming days: it’s a show about nothing less than the end of money and about the effects of wealth and indeed greed (which recent economic events may have allowed us to forget are in fact very different things). They take, as one of their characters, someone who’s been directly affected by the Rwandan genocide, a topic which must be handled skilfully and with great sensitivity if one is to avoid accusations of exploitation and sensationalism. Having spoken to the Elephant Foot guys, I’ve no doubt that there’s an intellectual rigour behind their use of this event and that they don’t select their themes fancifully. It seems odd then, to remark that we had a lot of fun making the interview – which had more to do with my inability to deliver an introduction line (oh boy, how fast one gets rusty) than the subject matter of the interview itself. Laura and Ben are both well able and keen to articulate their art form (handy for a radio show) nor have I seen two people better able to provide a selection of dramatic tableau when asked to pose for a picture. If you’ve half a mind to go and see “Wealth”, give it a go and expect to be challenged.

Roisin Murray

We’d tried to get Roisin Murray onto the show last year, and had booked her in just moments before learning that the station needed some revamp time. She made her belated appearance this week, and it was well worth the wait. All of this week’s guests had uncomfortable truths to discuss and all of them emphasised the connection between the large scale of the topics they were examining – from the Rwandan genocide to Downs Syndrome to the Palestine-Israeli conflict, and the personal aspects of these various challenges and tragedies. Roisin talked about the immediacy of the act of telling a story, the importance of being able to look your audience in the eye; her words resonated with the observations of the others – Ben Charland’s that a theatre actor is playing his part just a few feet from the audience, Fiona Yaron-Field that healing can come from looking in the eyes of your supposed foe and seeing that he is indistinguishable from you. I was struck by the way that irrespective of the age of the art form, from new-fangled photography to the age old oral story form, these people are using art to engender understanding where other modes of communication have broken down.

Fiona Yaron-Field

I guess I’m predisposed to finding an earnestness for one’s art charming. Roisin, I found, had something of the worldly, quirky charm of Pam Ayres, although she looks and sounds nothing like her; Fiona Yaron-Field’s charm works in a very different way. Unlike Roisin, Ben and Laura, who are forever in the lime light, Fiona shudders at the thought of being in front of the lens rather than behind it – she just about tolerated me taking a publicity shot for this page. Fiona has, for me, the air of someone with a mission to accomplish from which she will not be deterred, but there is none of the steeliness that that observation could imply, nor do I think  she conceptualizes herself in that way – she is much humbler than that. Fiona’s photography is stunning. I would definitely recommend you get hold of a copy of Uncertain States - you will be impressed. The pictures from the Shifting Perspectives exhibition, too, are captivating. I recall that one of Fiona’s influences is Nan Goldin; a leaf through the images here shows that influence at play in one of two of the portraits, to exciting effect. Fiona’s current show is on the South Bank, which would make it an easy diversion the next time I’m wandering back from giving a class near Waterloo; indeed, it could form part of my new project of being a little more alive to what’s around me. As this week’s show reminded me, what’s around us is at times truly remarkable.

Listen to this edition of The Arts Show

material issues

Silvia Ziranek

It feels like no sooner are we back from our Christmas holidays than the Arts Show comes to another holiday; this time because the station is about to undergo something of a transformation. Xstream East is upgrading both its equipment and its output, and in order to prepare for the changes, the station’s closing for all of February. Thus, this week’s show was our last for a few weeks. We ended on a high note: the calibre of guests and performers alike was exceptionally high.

I am what I wear

Silvia Ziranek, whose form of live art is not easy to explain, even after an hour-long interview on the subject – it involves clothing and costume - was by far the day’s most colourful visitor: a glance at her picture from the day should suffice to make the case. Silvia is a polished act, and a veteran one, too. I chose not to push the question about the span of her artistic career – we had quite enough ground to cover already – but there were enough clues in the conversation to suggest a good few years of sartorial art being behind our conversation. I’m afraid it could be tempting, on first sight, to be dismissive of Ziranek; is her all-pink wardrobe not somewhat flippant? Well, no; in fact there is an authenticity to it. My guest quickly established a heredity for her clothing-centred form of expression - her mother was a tailor – as well as a deep-seated belief in one’s ability to wear one’s history, one’s selfhood. Ziranek (the name is Polish) read out texts that left one in no doubt of her sincerity, and in her belief of the power of clothing. I enjoyed our conversation, and found Ziranek herself at times nothing short of inspiring. She was at her most captivating when swept away by the theme of the plight of the live artist, on which she spoke with a passion. She was indignant that a gallery cleaner should receive better remuneration than the artists whose work inhabits the space. And yet, the cleaner must wear overalls.

As with my first guest, Alexander Wendt’s interview explored an area we’ve never previously covered: this time, sonic

Alexander Wendt

art. Often not music, you understand, but rather sounds created or sampled and mixed to form pieces that challenge and surprise. Wendt, a lecturer in the subject, talked easily and in depth about the techniques that allow him to create, marshall and purvey these sounds; from Californian architecture to micro-engineering; vinyl recordings to classical instrumentation. His knowledge is clearly encyclopaedic; his commitment complete. The comment I thought most telling, though, came before we started recording, when I asked him what his current project was. Bringing up two children, he said.

And then came Jennifer Kavanagh. I have to say (and here I run the risk of making my guest blush) I find Jennifer Kavanagh extraordinarily attractive. There are some people – very few, I think – who are both the centre of gravity wherever they happen to be, and who radiate a sense of calm and positivity: Jennifer Kavanagh is such a person. Whether this aura is a product of the many important community projects with which she has been involved or vice versa, I don’t know. That she is writing about the importance of home is entirely appropriate, however. It is a topic of great importance, whose complexity and subtlety neccessitate similar attributes in the questing author – these, she has. Also, Kavanagh, an attentive listener, has experienced very different sorts of home, has worked among homeless people, and has helped eastenders, both new and established, to a better standard of living: she has a range of reference others may lack. Her book – The O of Home – and the talks and musical gigs relating to it, are created by someone who not only knows her stuff, but has processed the information with sympathy for its sources and without the slightest condescension. I urge you to catch Kavanagh if you can.

Jennifer Kavanagh

The show was already my favourite ever, and that was before the wonderful selection of music it was my pleasure to be able to share. No description offered here could substitute for giving the tracks a listen. The acts performing on this week’s show – Halogen; My Second Head; The Penny Serenade – each has an idiosyncratic, rich, sophisticated sound; I’m hoping to get to play them again when The Arts Show returns, in March.

Listen to this edition of The Arts Show

books

THE WRITER’S NOTEBOOK by n quentin woolf

Here is a fluff-free collection of pointers and reminders for the aspiring writer of prose fiction. It’s a handy way to keep in mind both well-worn and time-proven ideas (like showing rather than telling, and deepening conflict), as well as comments that will help you avoid some common pitfalls (mistaking real dialogue for representative dialogue, or writing a movie instead of a novel). Full of useful nuggets, the book is entirely hand-written.

This 90-page book is small enough to slip into a back pocket and makes a great gift for the writer in your life.

£6.50 – order below

THE BOOKSHOP IN BRICK LANE various; ed. n quentin woolf

In 2007, writer N Quentin Woolf founded a literary circle in Brick Lane, East London. The group has met every week since then, creating and critiquing a vast, diverse range of plays, poetry, novels and short stories. This, the group’s first anthology, is a celebration of their meeting place: Eastside Books.

In The Bookshop On Brick Lane, fiction and non-fiction interweave to form a tapestry of Brick Lane at the start of the 21st Century. Marybel Moore combines history with memoir to reveal some of the curiosities of the area, while stories by nineteen different authors, ranging in subject and style from fifties detective fiction to the reminiscences of a holocaust survivor, from obsession stories to love affairs, are anchored by the solid presence of the bookshop.

With a foreword by Russ Willey, author of Brewer’s Dictionary of London Phrase and Fable, the variety in The Bookshop In Brick Lane makes it a great book for dipping into, whatever your mood.

ISBN – 978-0-557-47265-9

£7.99 – order below.

WEDNESDAY various; ed. n quentin woolf

A collection of stories, memoir and poetry from the writers’ circle that met each Wednesday in 2009 at Eastside Books in Brick Lane. From stories of the old East End to tales of US counter culture, poems of mountains to tales of people with secrets, this anthology has something for every taste.

Includes work from:

Helen Bond, James Mansfield, N Q Woolf, Ross Hopkins, L J Mountford, Donna F Collier, Sara Bearman, Melanie Venables, Steve McGregor, Elizabeth Carola, Kerry McCarthy

ISBN 978-0-557-37879-1
Soon to be available on Amazon U.S.

£7.99 – order below

books

The Writer’s Notebook £6.50 The Bookshop In Brick Lane £7.99 Wednesday Anthology £7.99

your phone for order queries

tune in

This week’s edition of The Arts Show was a musical extravaganza. It’s the first time on the show’s history that music has featured as part of every guest’s interview and it’s not something we’ll be doing every week – there’s

Mikey Kirkpatrick

to much else going on in this fine city – but this one-off was a huge success. It was such a treat to have a one on one with Mikey Kirkpatrick, the flautist composer/producer whose control of several flutes (yes, at one point flutes plural, one each side of his mouth) was breath taking. He demonstrated techniques such as over breathing – the thing you’re not supposed to do during recorder lessons at school – and, to my surprise – this is a classically trained musician after all – used the recorder like a kazoo, singing into it, humming into it, playing the side of his face with his hand whilst producing nuanced and exciting music. The same is also true of his Native American pipe (no, not that kind); he explained that it’s possible to bend the sound by passing the fingers across the hole in the top – instead of a clean note you hear a phased one, and very beautiful it was too. The audio treats on pre-record were just as exciting and include a drum and flute combo that achieves things you’d never have thought possible. I’d urge you to give it a listen. Mikey himself was about as enthusiastic as they come; whilst his explanations and explorations of his craft are comprehensive and delivered with a gusto that could almost become overbearing, it keeps his passion in check and offers some of the most engrossing contextualisation of an instrument I’ve heard.

A very different sort of music forms one half of the partnership between choreographer Mel Simpson and guitarist Sean Bright of The Penny

Mel Simpson and Sean Bright

Serenade. Their partnership which has its roots in Mel performing with the band as tap dancing sheep – yes, you heard me right – is about bringing an old style of entertainment up to date. In the interview Sean wondered if there wasn’t some question over the artistry of entertainment, whether stuff that’s made to be fun has any artistic value. The debate is an interesting one. I’m glad to see that both Sean and Mel seem to be comfortable with their form and are engaging and funny when talking about it. On The Arts Show I get to see lots of partnerships in action and it’s clear to me that theirs is solid; like some of the musical techniques employed by The Penny Serenade, the 13 person line-up looks built to last.

Penny Pepper

The musical aspect of Penny Pepper’s act is an accompaniment, an extremely important one, perhaps even a fundamental one, but as Penny herself says, the words come first. Jo Cox’s cello sounded really good, but then I’ve always had a soft spot for the cello. There was also plenty of tambourine rattling and whooping adding dimensions to Penny’s performance. Formally, they seemed to sit somewhere between songs and performance poetry and I enjoyed the sardonic wit that kept resurfacing in Penny’s pieces as well as the naughtier sides and the twinkle in her voice. Can one have a twinkle in one’s voice? Listen to Penny’s work and you’ll be convinced that the answer is yes.

Then, in between the guests talking about music, playing music, extolling the

Jo Cox

sublime recollection. I’m a huge fan of Jack Hurd’s music – I’ve worked with him before, on performed works for which I’ve written and he’s composed, so the revelation of his CD Obvious – an album of great variety in the pop/rock mode of The Divine Comedy is, by turns, hilarious and poignant, angsty and brash and very much about the stuff that goes on in Jack’s head. The track that we played on the show was one of the slower paced, pensive, nostalgic tracks and also my favourite from the album and perhaps a good counter point to the drum thrashing and tambourine shaking elsewhere on the show. Once again, I had the opportunity to meet a diverse bunch of artists and talk to them about something close to their heart, for which privilege I remain grateful. If our broadcast hadn’t been delayed due to technical issues at the studio, we would have had, I think, complete harmony.

back story

“The provocative words of N Quentin Woolf ring out” – Michelle Harris (reviewer, Landing)

I try to keep track of what’s going on… here’s the (usually slightly out-of-date) story-so-far:

JANUARY 2010

• Founded a new group of writers on the Thames’ South Bank.
• Agreed a longer format for The Arts Show

DECEMBER 2009

• Hosting a day-long workshop on contact improvisation in dance and words
• Launched ‘The Bookshop In Brick Lane’ anthology

NOVEMBER 2oo9

• Hosted live debate between Pen Pusher and Smoke magazines
• Edited two short fiction anthologies
• Have become regular contributor to Bespoke Online
• First translated piece accepted for publication (in both English and French)

OCTOBER 2oo9

• Preparing contact improv/ contact prose workshop
• Published non-fiction book on creative writing

SEPTEMBER 2009

• Have accepted offer to become a regular writer for The Londonist (www.londonist.com); weekly arts feature should start to appear before end of month.
• Writing on occasional basis for the Hackney Citizen (www.hackneycitizen.co.uk)
• A new term of creative writing classes advertised and quickly over-subscribed.

AUGUST 2oo9

• Launched The Arts Show on Xstream East Radio (www.xstreameast.co.uk), an arts magazine show with an East London focus
• Offers made, and gratefully accepted, on short stories by literary magazines including Carillon, The Interpreter’s House, Bespoke, The Reader and Stingray.

JULY 2oo9

• The Brick Lane creative workshops enter their seventh and eighth series simultaneously; we’re enjoying a new collaboration with 93 Feet East in Brick Lane.
• Approaching the final phrase of compiling an anthology of work from the long-established critique group which meets each week in Brick Lane.
• Lionel Shriver, Beryl Bainbridge and Sarah Waters have all confirmed they’ll be appearing at events.

JUNE 2oo9

• Entering the final phrase of compiling an anthology of work from the long-established critique group which meets each week in Brick Lane.
• This month saw the highest ever turnouts at the Brick Lane Book Group and both critique groups.

MAY 2oo9

• Working with Polly Rogers on a non-fiction creative writing book.

APRIL 2oo9

• Churning out short stories.  Big Man, In The Bucket and Man Walks Into A Bar have all gone down well in critique groups.
• Invited to Wilton’s Music Hall to write critique
• Happy to be involved with launch of Bespoke magazine, by Ade Bankole

MARCH 2oo9

• Another new term of creative classes begins, the students stronger than ever
• Collaborating with new magazines UK-wide to set up a showcase in London later this year

FEBRUARY 2oo9

• Structuring a new, international collaboration between writers in Europe and North America.
• Two new performance prose events booked

JANUARY 2009

• Some of my poetry used in a performance at the Robin Howard Theatre, London.

DECEMBER 2008

• Debut of Landing, at the Cockpit Theatre, Marylebone, as part of Cloud Dance: Trilogy.
• Live prose event in honour of Dan Nicolai at Brick Lounge, E1, with readings from poets and prose writers from the USA, UK, Italy and Ireland.
• Groundwork completed for new novel (working title: Complicity).

((picture on its merry way))

Above: Landing at the Cockpit Theatre

(performer: Jordi Calpe Serrats)

NOVEMBER 2008

• Audio recording of a piece of my poetry with Warren Davis

OCTOBER 2008

• First meetings with composer Jack Hurd for collaboration on Landing, a short piece about pioneers, for performance at Evolution / Resolutions in January.

SEPTEMBER 2008

• The Work In Progress critique group has been so popular I’ve started a second group, meeting Thursdays.  Also started a publication workshop for newer writers looking to see their work in print.
• Collaboration with dance company confirmed for stage production later this year.

AUGUST 2008

• New novel begun in earnest.  I’m using a new-to-me scene-building technique based around music; results promising so far.

JULY 2008

• Brick Lane Book Group re-established, with lots of keen readers attending

JUNE 2008

• Writing classes begun in Shoreditch
• Co-operation secured between Shoreditch literary festival (September 27th) and Eastside Books

MAY 2008

• Writing workshops in Wood Green begun on May 21st
• Preparations begun for piece of microtheatre, set in East London.
• Poetry Exchange in preparation for mid-July launch
• Preparations for series of performance readings for July

APRIL 2008

• Weekly writing workshops at Brick Lane launched.
• Oxford Literary Festval – introduced to Philip Pullman

MARCH 2008

• Collaboration confirmed with Tempered Body Dance Company for a series of language-based educational workshops in Canada later in the year.  I will also be writing for a performance piece to be staged in London and Toronto in 2009.
• Preparations to take Not Me Now to Ediburgh
• Some short non-fiction pieces written.

FEBRUARY 2008

• Two performances of the four-person piece Not Me Now performed as part of the Dance Collective showcase at Chisenhale Dance Space, Bethnal Green.
• Excavation of basement in Brick Lane begun, ready for workshops later in the year.

JANUARY 2008

• In Ontario, Canada, my fictive monologue Not Me Now, about a lucid, elderly Alzheimer’s Disease sufferer, was recorded by Laurie Lewis and scored by composer Jack Hurd.  It debuted as part of a collaboration for the Resolution! Festival with choreographer Maddy Wynne-Jones at The Place, King’s Cross.  Reviews were positive.  View it here.

DECEMBER 2007

• Exhibited several short pieces including Five to Birth and On The Folly Of Presumption at Fucking Cool Art, Deptford.

((picture on its merry way))

Above: Not Me Now at the Robin Howard Theatre

(performer: Amy Matthieson)

what i write and why

For years I wrote and wrote, and for years I didn’t think about why I was doing it. If you’d asked me, I’d have said the ‘why’ wasn’t important. (In hindsight, this was probably an avoidance tactic – I didn’t want to pick at scabs. I’d started writing as a kid during some pretty testing experiences; writing had been about inventing better places to be. I didn’t much care to revisit that stuff.) I wrote for years and didn’t try seriously to get published. A couple of agents were moderately interested; it didn’t go anywhere. Then, not long ago, and with nearly fifteen years’-worth of material on which to draw, I decided to give it a proper shot. Well, why not?

It occurred to me that I might be asked about my motivation for writing, so I figured I’d better get over my reluctance to think about it, and work out something to say. Here’s what I wrote, back in 2007.

I is the big achievement of free market economics. It’s very easy to buy into I. Individuality is, of course, a big seller, which is why it’s mass-produced: a mega-industry, with everyone owning a franchise on the retail park where the church once stood. With religious assiduity we cultivate minute differences and wait for word of our uniquity to fill the store – but the other shopkeepers are too busy dressing their own windows. We consider changing our price. Should we stick, or should we twist? Only the weak price low… and my I is valuable. I am worth it. We are experts in selling, but the mall’s cavernous silence seems not to feel so great, right? Some days it feels like we might be alone in here. For comfort, we snap up and shit out increasing numbers of people (some of them real) and wonder who we are. Everyone else knows, apparently. We are dead authors, being written by one another; unheard trees; our avatars live the lives of Riley while we commute in silence, we bleary little cyborgs, swapping airborne pathogens as our i-pods shuffle. The imperative to commodify has long turned on us; we doublethought doublethink into being, and now watch the world falling apart, wondering what we can buy to make it better. I am just yet more I, of course. I’m inside, looking out, my face pressed against the shop window. I don’t think I’m clever enough to write a revolution, so I write about the loneliness in our collective I and the prosaic horrors it must witness, my self bound up in books: page after page of that single, sightless letter.

My reasons for writing are manifold, intermeshed and in a constant state of adjustment. I write as self-harm, as love-making, to remember; I write because I am a thief, a hoarder, a glutton, a slut. I believe in the beauty of order and am hopelessly hooked, as a human, on pattern-recognition and symmetry: I’m a sucker for the printed page. I write because it beats being dead. I write because I’m more than one person, and always have been, just like everybody else. I write because I’m a liar. I write to get at the truth, all the while knowing there’s no such thing. The exhileration of the perfect phrase clutches at my heart like a first love, to a musical swell: that’s something to be taken very, very seriously – it is close to the core of life. I write for victory! I write owing to circumstances beyond my control. It is maybe due to some low-level survival instinct that my reaction to most stimuli is internalisation, aggregation, incubation, and finally representation on the page. I guess I’m writing for my life. I write everyday horror and ugly humour – pain is comedy with the lights turned down. I write the words in between the spaces, but it is the spaces that interest me most. Words are never the thing itself; it is between them, in the omissions, that one finds meaning. I write, ultimately, because there is an I at the controls, and he isn’t done with me yet.

As a first attempt to understand why I’d been doing what I’d been doing those last fifteen years, it seemed like a start. It’s rather overcooked, of course, and I like the first paragraph much better than the second, despite the way it wanders way off-topic. I posted it to my website and thought nothing more of it.

Anyway, recently, fired up by the basis of the piece you’ve just read, someone wrote accusing me of thinking myself superior to ‘mere mortals’. They thought I was saying that the ability to write is a God-given gift, and that I was delusional enough to think some ethereal power had bestowed it upon me.

Oh dear. Well, let’s try and clear that up. I don’t believe in God, and I don’t believe in some silly concept of the writer being superior by dint of writing (or anything else). You occasionally get great people who happen to be writers (or bus conductors, or travel agents, or nuns, or whatever), but I’m not one of them – I’m at least as fallible as the next man.

And I don’t think that the right to write belongs to some elite. I don’t believe in there being any such ‘right’. The sole criterion for being a writer, it seem to me, is whether or not you write. Just talking about writing doesn’t count, nor does writing one thing and then dining out on it forever. Even publication, which marks the start of the professional phase, doesn’t actually make one a writer as much as simply writing does. In my various activities – buzz, buzz – I meet a lot of people who are passionate and serious about their writing, but who aren’t necessarily published. I have myself been in that boat for a good while. It’s a period of great vulnerability, with no timetable and no end-by date. The first question, the one you dread being asked, is ‘are you published?’ Irrespective of anything else – how much you’ve written, whether it’s any good, and so on – this single question is the binary upon which many people will decide whether you are allowed to hold opinions on writing. I was speaking to a soldier recently; he said you can do a tour of duty, be shot at, witness atrocities, suffer all manner of illnesses, but in many people’s minds you’re not a proper soldier until you’ve killed someone. Different fields, but odd validation issues, both. It’s quite a relief to me to be on the safe side of that snare, now. It doesn’t change the way I think about writing, but apparently it legitimises me, somehow. If the concept of ‘the right to write’ exists anywhere, I’m afraid it is in the minds of people who still imagine, in this age of blogs and tweets and short story sharing websites, cheap print-on-demand services and a collapsing publishing industry, that the validity of a writer hinges on print publication – or is a gift from on high.

It’s a rich topic, but I’ll leave it there for now. I’ve got some writing to do.

portraits of the artists

landscape by David Harker

The first day back at work is always a sobering affair. Those oh-so-familiar surroundings, the problem with the desktop you hoped might have done the decent thing and gone away over the Christmas break, but for all my bleating there is a reassurance in the solidity of objects; the heavy presenter’s mike on its articulated arm, the frequency graphics on the computers, the (squeaky) office chair. The station was a buzz with an early spring clean underway. There is a glass panel through which I can see into another studio and I was treated to the sight of one of the station techs, a fairly burly fellow it must be said, hoovering to Queen’s I Want To Break Free.
Our first show of the year started as I hope we’ll carry on. The musical contributions were as varied as they were original; I particularly enjoyed Model Society’s ‘City of Romance’ a salute to a variety of British influences from the past 20 years and yet idiosyncratic and full of energy. It reminded me a little of the Stone Roses epic adolescent lust for life and the Smith’s Urban spirit was in the mix as well. I am looking forward to hearing more from this band. ROPHONE, meanwhile, offered an entirely different musical experience. I like being challenged – I don’t mean trying to get past piss-poor pop lyrics (the linguistic contortions song writers put themselves

Telegraph by David Harker

through to come up for a rhyme for ‘self’ are usually hilarious and pitiable, and invariably result in some variation of ‘don’t leave me on a shelf’, a weak metaphor if ever there was one). No I mean coming ear-to-track with a piece that doesn’t do what you want it to, makes no apologies for the situation. ‘ROPHONE Raveup’ is a harsh alarm of a piece which seems to test the listener, and yet I found myself liking the subtleties of the evolution of the song. I remember Bjork singing along to a car alarm; that piece shared some of this track’s qualities. I am looking forward to more from ROPHONE. Geoff Cotton gave us a comic swipe at anglo-franc relations, which I must admit had me on the edge of my seat somewhat. Was he going to cross the acceptability line? Was the talk of mistresses going to be suitable for broadcast? Where was it all going? Happily there were some very funny moments in Geoff’s track, not least the invitation from his Gaelic alter-ego to f-off on the Eurostar (context is everything for that gag) and I was really rather taken aback by the authenticity of his French accent, which seemed all to plausible. You could almost hear the Gaelic shrugs.
The guest list was one-third shorter than usual, owing to a snow related

David Harker Himself

disaster in the West Midlands; happily this resulted in a longer interview with artist David Harker. It’s one of the most satisfying I’ve done so far for the show. At the beginning of the interview I knew embarrassingly little about the genre of landscape representation and through considered responses and careful explanation of his craft, Harker led me through perspective, pointillism, Peter De Wint, Constable, architecture, Japanese and Chinese graphic art, and the challenges facing the emerging artist. I

landscape by David Harker

found him thoughtful and engaging. Some of his work, including the picture ‘telegraph’ which we discussed on the show, are included here. Harker, resident of Pinner, is planning exhibitions later in the year, I will keep you posted.
The big project for Fat Content Theatre’s Daniel Holme is The Man I Cure. My imagination has been captured by the idea of using a smell in theatre and also by the concept of institutionalising the theatre audience prior to the performance. For a show set in a hospital these seem like both clever shortcuts and powerful locators; oftentimes a smell can act as a memory trigger in a way that no

Daniel Holme

other sensory data could. You’ll have to listen to Daniel’s explanation of the show to learn more as its complex plot and ambitious thematic concerns don’t bear summarizing here. Suffice to say that The Man I Cure sounds as though it should be a thought provoking, diverting and surreal experience. I wish it the sweet smell of success.

And so 2010 is underway, I hope you’ll join us through the year as we probe the arts world and bring you the inside track.

Listen to this edition of The Arts Show

what people have said about recent workshops

I have been consistently inspired and motivated by the creativity of the writers in the group. Having flitted between other writers groups, this is easily the best one I’ve been to – SHUAB

I really enjoy this group and the different characters and writing, and I think you are great at running it and are very simpatico! – FRANCES

Thank you for all the emails and for running the classes. They were fantastic and I loved all of the activities and meeting interesting people with wonderful ideas. – BRYONY

Have to say – both of these [short stories] have come as almost direct produce from my Tuesday Write Club sessions. It’s started to give me enough of a buzz to want to get home and just write my socks off, which was something I’d lost since April. Ta! – TIM

You’re doing a smashing job, love the book choice at Eastside, keep it up. You’re a natural faciliatator in the groups as patience is most definitely a virtue … – DAVID

I value your insights, expertise and kindness enormously. – AMANDA

Thank you, and all those present, for the helpful comments, criticisms and encouraging responses last night. You obviously have a gift for leading writing groups which I admire.  – MARYBEL

It’s a brilliant group Nikk, and rapidly becoming one of my favourite nights out – SARAH

Thanks, I really loved the classes & hope to join in again next term/time – JO L

Nikk’s words are amazing: powerful and primitve – they’re very raw and have an understated power – sort of taking seed in me – JACK

Just wanted to say thank you for all of the competitions – it’s very useful to have an up to date compilation of them – MEL

Thanks again for a great writing course. :) I cannot believe how quickly the weeks have passed. – SHAUNA

This has been really important for me – DAN

last nights story/poety evening was great – really enjoyed it. Actually so much so that I found myself sitting at my desk today writing something that was sort of inspired by it. Thanks for getting this writing group together in such a constructive, supportive yet relaxed way – JANICE

I loved the workshop – MERIBETH

The first workshop was great.  I really enjoyed it, thanks a lot for organising it so well, I already feel like I got a lot out of it.   -  JILL

The class was great, exciting about more & already have some great new words! – JO D

Just a quick email to say how much I enjoyed last week’s session – BRYONY

As always I loved the class…  Thank you Nikk for sharing your creativity. – DESREEN

I am absolutely loving the course and learning so much each week as well as having a set time each week to indulge myself in writing and talking about writing with others. It took quite a lot for me to actually start coming although it is something I have wanted to do for a long time and I am really benefiting from both learning structure and technique as well as meeting and learning from like-minded people. Plus – who wouldn’t want to spend an evening huddled around surrounded by books and talking about writing!! I am already worried about what I will do when the course ends, although I suppose the point is that I should be using my time to write then. – SOPHIE

I’ve been really enjoying the course. I find the on-the-spot exercises done during the session really helpful – immediately applying the ideas we discuss certainly makes them sink in more.  It has been really helpful so far; when I sat down to write my first piece I found it a huge struggle; I wrote the same sentence over and over and had a sort of screaming noise in my head! Now – much easier! – MEL B

Nice job – you’re a born leader. – MARK

I just wanted to say thank you for your input. The inspiration from the group has been great – CHAZ

These Tuesdays are really special and I think you have created a little bit of magic there – many thanks – GERRY

I’m coming to the class tomorrow, inspiration is required & I know the class has that in abundance. – MARK

I’ve very much enjoyed the sessions – FRAN

Yesterday was brilliant – thanks. I did not know what to expect, but I came away with some useful advice. I am looking forward to learning more! – ANDREW

I would like to wish you a very successful future. Your students and members – I can already tell – will be in very good hands. – JILLY

That was a very good constructive session last night. I, for one really appreciate your help and guidance – and I really enjoy the openness and informality of the sessions – LINDA

I really enjoyed tonight’s session -  HARRIET

Well I guess the class ends in a week or so and I must tell you that I have learnt a lot and and have hopefully embraced enough for it to filter through to my writing… I love writing and I love that I attended your class…Thanks again for sharing your creativity. I wish you happiness and more colour to your canvass… – DES