By a man

Should writers be invisible?  As Brian Aldiss said, “A writer should say to himself, not, how can I get more money, but how can I reach more readers? “  I agree with this statement. Money has a way of turning heads and I doubt any writer just writes to make money or to be famous. Writers aren’t like footballers or singers, with their pre parties, post parties, fast cars and faster women. Surely there should be a bit more class or finesse when it comes to writing. Imagine if you will, Jane Austin, coming out of a taxi, with a see through dress on, no underpants, discussing her stint in rehab.  I understand that in order to sell copies of your book, you have to go out, attend interviews and meet the fans. I mean, for most writers, selling books is their way of making a living - even writers need to put food on the table. In saying that, I throw in the Banksy card! A brilliant unknown artist, no-one knows who he/she is, yet, I’m pretty sure he/she is the most famous artist of our time. To end on a snobby note, if Miss A Lady is still famous today (when she was well known in the 1800s)... well, If it’s good enough for Jane Austin, its good enough for me.

Written by Hugh Jazz aka Ben Dover aka Justin Case aka Master Bates aka Warren Peace aka Neil Lee-Dun aka Neil down aka Eric Shon aka Chris Peacock aka Crystal Clear (only on weekends).

What inspires me as a writer?

Inspiration, writes Chuck Palahniuk in a daily telegraph article, "needs disease, injury, madness." Sounds about right from where I'm standing. I've broken my ankle (after getting hit by a car), had to live with an alcoholic father and a disappearing mother; experimented with tons of drugs, had my best friend die in my arms, lived homeless for a little while so as my father nor the police could find me (for reasons I don't deem necessary to proclaim) and last but not least, I decided to come to university, the activity which appropriately stands out. So what inspires me? All of the above, to steal a line from Blade Runner "I've seen things you wouldn't believe". Thats not to sound arrogant or portray the image of an idiot saying " look what I've done in my life you boring nimrods", its just to say, I have lived a particularly full life of someone at the ripe old age of 21. I have been inspired by my mistakes, mistakes which I repeated and repeated until finally, I learnt something from it, stored it in my long term memory with the hope that one day, I would be able to write it down! I don't however, get inspired by books. Sure, I'll be able to learn techniques and crafts of no doubt brilliant writers but, I find myself stuck on my rebel nature to do things my way and my arrogance to say, its been done before, why the heck should I do it?

May I bare my soul to you and get a cheque after?

Should I write with my soul or just write for the sake of it? Should I put emotion in my writing or should I become a robot ? These are the questions which arose whilst thinking about this content. For a piece of writing to be anything, it must evoke the emotion of a writer; it must contain elements of the writers themselves; it must give the reader an opportunity to understand the writers frame of mind. John Cheever, was a bi-sexual man in a heterosexual marriage. He had the works, the suburban lifestyle, the porch, the 2.4 children, but who gives a shit about that? Would Cheever have been as successful if he just wrote about things he knew, or things he was feeling? I believe in the ‘Country Husband’, these feelings are portrayed perfectly. A man, with everything a sensible human would consider perfect, but on the inside a fire burns. He’s a disgruntled soul who wants excitement, who wants the new, so he goes after a young babysitter ( Porn 101) .When I write a narrative I bare my soul; my character although created, is conjured from various parts of my personality. As I stated in a previous blog, ‘art is a copy of a copy of a form’, according to Plato. With this we can establish that although writers create, their creativity is from somewhere not from our own genius intellect ( as sad as it is to admit) to conclude, I disagree with this statement, whilst reading something, I personally, love to think the writers tears and soul are in it, rather than an idea of a holiday to Bahamas or a new car. 

Woopsy

To feed the ducks, he must feed the ducks before they die of starvation. No-one goes to that river any more, the forgotten footsteps are nothing but future fossils and artifacts. The lone bench, the bench which has been sat on by many he is sure, however, Lucien sits there alone. He has been sitting alone a long time now, 45 minutes to be exact. As soon as he awakes from his slumber, he must go and feed the ducks. When he leaves the river, his day has no real shape and routine, it always leads to the ducks.  Today, It rains, the bread, damp and dripping, sticking to the carrier bag where it resides, still appeals to the ducks. He ponders, the ducks, eat the damp bread and provide company, and he provides the food, fair trade for a lonely old man as he sparks up a cigarette.
“Where would you guys be without me?” asks Lucien.
Lucien has become one with the scenery. Today, dressed with his green waterproof jacket, brown felt trousers, green willies, topped off with a green hat. The new smell barely lingers on the now overused green jacket. It was once a green bean green, however, it has now deteriorated into a hunter green, dark and ridged color. Lucien is interested with technology, he pulls out his android, and begins to text his daughter who’s name eludes him. He then checks on the weather,
“Its going to rain”
He doesn’t sound worried though, as he places the phone back into his pocket. The damp grass already, his favourite smell in the world is wet grass, it puts various pictures into his mind; some from his childhood, frolicking in the fields, even though his mother told him not to. When he was in the war, he used to evade bullets, by diving in the grass, now, he evades home, by smelling it. 

Tea, Crumpets and a spot of Tiffin anyone? Or a cup of coffee and a Burger?

What is Uniquely American (yuck...sorry, but hey I can put my own views on here...right? moving swiftly on) fiction? And why are Cheever’s stories described as such. Well, Cheever’s stories tend to narrate the lives of suburban dwellers, although, they normally narrate the dysfunctional side of them and thrive on the ‘nuclear’ family from behind closed doors. ‘The Enormous Radio’ proves  this with Irene Westcott. The gossip and paranoia that ensues from the ‘multipurpose radio’, is typical (I believe) of the suburban life, which is one side of the American storytelling - the ‘what is going on everywhere’ syndrome.  In the stories I have read, (the ones given to us to read... and some more soon) all these people seem to have money, but there is no mention of how they got it. However, they’re all living comfortably. An example of this is ‘Goodbye my Brother’, in which the characters can afford to have a house on the edge of a cliff, yet, the mother never worked and the dad died. The dad must have saved his money well! No mortgage or anything, I’m quite jealous. They’re happy to go to parties and not take their work home with them, unlike the British amongst us whom I see on trains with their laptops, tapping away. On the other hand, what makes a story uniquely British? From lectures in this module, I gathered that stories are usually either about the working class (chavs), or upper class (toffs), without a mention of the middle class (because they don’t exist...damn capitalism).  Also, there is always a ‘hang out’ such as a pub, or a kitchen, corridor, farm ect. As a Maltese native, I’m hugely blessed with an incredible history, and culture (although our history is of pain, misery and invasions; and our culture is of laziness and loudness, it’s a culture nevertheless). However, being raised in England, I’ve been blessed further, with the multiculturalism that comes with this nation. So as you can see, I have tones of cultures that I could identify with.  Why would I want to write about just one type of culture, when there is a world out there, and millions of traditions and societies to learn from?  I wouldn’t want to be tied down to just one!