Wayward Lady

Bonds Skin Instantly

2011-06-15T18:30:00.000+01:00

The secret price of fashion

I am pleased and relieved to report I have finally managed to prize my thumb off my big toenail. No, this isn't, in fact, the reason why I have been absent from the world of blogging and social networking for the last two weeks. Other, deeper, more personal and arcane reasons altogether are responsible, so being glued to my toenail probably stands as a useful sort of metaphor and readers will have to ponder the real reason (if they could ever be bothered ...).

But why such a predicament in the first place? The story is (as you might expect) long ... or at least has its origins in the mists of time, back when I was a girl and one of my aunt's horses trod its heavily shod hoof upon my hapless toe, seriously damaging the nail. And, be it years later, off it eventually had to come. But although losing a toenail isn't really such a big deal (there are many worse things to lose as we all know), in summer, with open toed shoes and sandals, it does pose a problem, if only cosmetically.

I think I must have been one of the first people to dream up applying stick on false finger nails to solve the problem (now you can actually get false toenails too). My sister - a podiatrist - applauded the solution and now even recommends it to those of her patients with similar problems. It's very effective! Painted over with colourful nail polish no-one ever knows. Of course there have been the odd awkward occasions when I have tripped over something and then the nail flips dramatically off, to the clear horror of uninitiated observers: "Oh my God, your toe nail ....!"

But real the problem is applying the nail in the first place, which brings us to the sticky world of Super Glue. I never know how much is enough (even now) and usually apply too much, which then oozes everywhere and, as you have to hold the nail down firmly with your thumb for several seconds to get it to stick, there is always the scary moment when you realise that your thumb and the nail have bonded - in perpetuity. Sometimes (as today) you even get stuck to the floor ...

There has to be a tale in this somewhere, some deeper underlying significance, which I will leave readers to ponder, as it eludes me. In the meantime I continue with nervous panicky feelings every time summer (or open-toed shoe occasions) present and a new toenail application must be contemplated. Being such a slave to your image comes at a price I guess.

A sticky end

Acknowledgments

Images of painted toenails and Super Glue were both taken from the web.

Versatile Blogger

2011-05-29T10:30:00.000+01:00

I have Jane Lovering (From Behind the Keyboard) to thank for this. She has nominated me for a 'Versatile Blogger Award'! Here's what it looks like:

Now apparently all I have to do is this: tell you seven things about myself of interest, generally 'not known' (intriguing, shady, weird etc) and nominate seven other bloggers to pass this onto.

What has been holding me back is finding seven previously un-nominated bloggers from the list of those I do follow, several of whom already have the award (like Jane herself). This includes:

and somehow I can't imagine that, at some stage, the inimitable Derek Haines hasn't been awarded a 'Versatile Blogger Award' himself, being, manifestly, a 'Versatile Blogger'

However, finally, with patience and persistence, I have come up with seven lucky people to name (see below).

The next bit is (relatively) easy. Seven previously unknown/an-admitted (publicly that is) facts about me.

Mercy Stealing

1. First and worst. Very many years ago in the days of my misspent youth, I was a gnome nicker (yes, I do mean 'gnome nicker'). This shady and thoroughly reprehensible activity took place at summer time when I was volunteering 'digging' on archaeological sites in the south of England. After a hard day on site and an equally hard evening down at the pub, we (you see I was just one of several) 'liberated' the odd (very odd) garden gnome which was then ceremonially barbecued. Even though we tried to couch it as 'mercy stealing' it was still 'stealing'. Hangs head in shame ... (have to confess the sight of those silly inane plastic beards, pointy hats and sillier smiles sagging and melting into the flames was rather entertaining though ...).

Hero of a lifetime

2. Altogether more elevating than the above. Having spent much of my life as an archaeologist, I must confess that I always really wanted to be a zoologist. I fell in love with South America as a young girl, but only because I had fallen in love with David Attenborough and his 'Zoo Quest' programmes. He was then my inspiration across years and recipient of the only 'fan letter' I ever wrote (which he graciously replied to). I have ever avidly watched 'Natural World' type documentaries and even latterly, programmes such as 'Big Cat Diary' have the power to make me feel wistful. Never quite knew why I ended up as an archaeologist instead.

Improbable pumpkins

3. I once had the surreal experience of telling the story of Cinderella to an Ecuadorean port official on board a banana boat crewed by a Chinese crew with a Geordie captain in the port of Puerto Bolivar, Machala, Ecuador. We were both a bit drunk at the time. I don't think he ever realised it was actually a fairy story I was telling him. He particularly didn't get the bit about the pumpkin.

In my dreams

4. Although I fell in love with flamenco dancing in Seville, Spain, I actually learned (well nearly) to dance it in Edinburgh, Scotland (where else do you learn to dance flamenco?!). No Highland Flings for me (despite being half Scottish)!

In my dreams (the karate, not the man)

5. I am not a fan of sport, but have been known to 'dabble' in martial arts. I once gained a 'belt' (of the lowliest order) in Shotokan Karate ... until a severe case of 'archaeologists' knee' intervened and prevented me from continuing (well, a good excuse at the time).

6. I have always wanted to be able to be able to play a musical instrument, but specifically the saxophone. In fact, I can't play any musical instrument ( a 'regret').

In my dreams

7. From time to time I have 'dabbled' in a little shamanism (of the native South American sort mostly)!

Amazonian Shaman

And that's about it! So now, my nominees for the 'Versatile Blogger Award' are:

My apologies to these lucky nominees, who may, in fact, not thank me for so honouring them!

Now, hopefully, I have earned my 'Versatile Blogger' award. Onwards and up ....

Acknowledgements
Photos and Images used for this Post:

All images used in this post are, for convenience, taken from the web, excepting the Amazonian Shaman, who I was able to take in person (Cuyabeno Reserve, eastern Ecuador).

First Love: Come to Peru!

2011-05-22T19:45:00.000+01:00

Peruvian girls

How many of you have ever visited South America or Peru, or have ever wanted to? Yet since I was a very small child this was my one dream: that one day I would go the South America and more especially to Peru. It was the land of my dreams!

So now, the first of my Travel Pages - the Big Apple - is 'up and out'. I hope there will be many visitors to the Page who will want to read and add their own views and experiences. But this is just the beginning. The next in my new Wayward Travel is Peru and Lima, to be followed shortly by Peru and the Incas.

Peru, I must confess, was my 'first love'. Since a young girl I fell in love with the thought of South America, but particularly of Peru, of the Incas, and all that meant. And although one day I dreamed I would go there, I never realised how long it would take to realise this dream. Later I went to the University of London to read Archaeology and to specialise in South American archaeology, always with the aim to end up in Peru, but I was rather swept off course and ended in the country just to its north - Ecuador. And there I stayed over many years, carrying out programmes of archaeological research there instead.

Elusively, teasingly, Peru remained just over the borders; always there, but never the time to be able to take to visit. How it beckoned across those years! So, finally, I got to Peru just two years ago.

I hope this new Wayward Travel section will offer a taste of Peru as it is now, through some of my personal experiences of the country, and also through the experience of a genuine 'Peruano' - Peruvian Victor Roman.

At a traditional market, on the road to Titicaca

This first in the Peru double bill is devoted to the capital Lima. The next will focus on the Inca heartlands of the 'Sacred Valley' sites of Cuzco and Machu Picchu (and others); and of the Peruvian Altiplano and Lake Titicaca.

As they say in Spanish: 'que tengas feliz viaje' - 'enjoy your journey'!

Flying to the land of dreams ...

Bad Hair Days

2011-05-16T17:15:00.000+01:00

Alpaca of the Peruvian Altiplano

I'm having a bad hair day; several actually. If you want to know how I feel, then just look at the alpaca above and you'll get a fair idea: sort of bad tempered and shaggy! The problem is too much to do, as ever. I have a major revision of an academic paper to do - back from the submissions stage with all sorts of 'helpful' comments that need attending to and, in short, no acceptance until they are seen to. And then of course there this.

Having harassed my blog contributors to produce their own pieces, I need to do mine! The New York City page is now up and running (and getting sort of settled in there, no longer so 'new') the next in line is Lima and Peru. But what a vast area and so much I could write! My good friend from Lima - Victor Roman - can afford to relax and feel pleased with himself as he turned in his piece as the 'native Peruvian' several days ago. So now I'm caught between a review of turnover in the nursing workforce (no, don't looks for pictures of this!) and the wonders of the Inca Empire. In short you can see why I feel a bit like the bad hair day pictured above! The Inca Empire will probably carry the day though (as in fact it did, right up until the time that Francisco Pizarro turned up in 1534). But to fill those ever hungry 'empty spaces', here are some 'teasers' below against the Peru page itself.

Inca terraces at Pisac, Peru

Yes I did actually walk most of the way up these too, gasping for air at an altitude of some 3,000 meters. Below, at sea level, it was rather easier at the huge archaeological site of Pachacamac on the Peruvian coast not too far south from Lima.

Blogger at a ruin - Pachacamac, Lima, Peru

But not all camelids (llamas, alpacas) have bad hair days. As pictured below, others take leisurely meanders back through time, and spectacular archaeological landscapes. So I hope shortly to recover and soon be in a position to take my own readers upon such a journey, with the help of friend and fellow contributor, Victor Roman!

The way to Machu Picchu

The Sting

2011-05-07T13:58:00.002+01:00

The road to nowhere

“I’m having an accident ….. I don’t have accidents …. I’m having an accident …”

In the split second it had taken me to observe that the bee that had dropped on my head through the sunroof was, in fact, a dead one, I glanced back to see the car careering off the road – to the left. I swerved – too sharply –and there I was careering off the road to the right instead. I slammed into the concrete conduit at the roadside with a loud crack, sailed through the air and hit the field that lay beyond, rolled twice and finally came to a halt, the car on its side.

The seat belt held me locked fast, also on my side; the fans were still blasting out air. It was an old car, well past its sell by date, so the open sun roof and fans were all that I had had against the relentless heat of a July afternoon, on the northern plains of Spain.

I reached out and turned off the engine, very conscious of the full tank – I had refilled only a few miles back. An all consuming feeling of being immensely pissed off overwhelmed me. That was that then. My much vaunted solo jaunt through the Iberian peninsula had come to an abrupt, very rude end.

I grabbed my bag, fumbled around, released the seat belt and managed to claw my way up to the car door – now the roof – and struggled to open it – upwards. It was very heavy. As I hauled myself up and out, the door fell back closed, pinning me by the thumb which I wrenched free; drops of blood spattered impressively everywhere. Then I made my way back up to the road side – bleeding – and hopped up and down, waving frantically to the passing traffic. It was a B road in the back of beyond, so traffic was, in fact, rather scarce – probably one of the reasons I hadn’t perished in a major collision as I lost control of that bend earlier.

The first vehicle – a lorry – sailed on past, but the next two cars both stopped to help. Fortunately my Spanish is good and I was able to describe what had happened. The police were called and duly arrived – also very concerned and solicitous. They wanted to take me to hospital and only with some difficulty was I able to persuade them that I was, in fact, (apart from the still copiously bleeding thumb) quite unhurt. Angry and pissed off certainly, but nothing more. Everyone – the two groups from the two cars and the police – all agreed it had been a ‘milagro’ – a miracle. Certainly it had!

As we waited for the ‘grua’ (the crane) to arrive and haul the wreckage of my car from the field, I engaged in the surreal scenario of calling my car insurance from the Spanish roadside back to the UK and listened with impotent frustration as the menu system and then prerecorded messages ground slowly through, and I mentally watched my bill get higher and higher. It was an old car with little reclaimable value, even with the comprehensive policy I had. I would have to wait for at least three days whilst an agent was contacted and sent out to assess the wreck and its write off value. No option …

My solicitous roadside helpers, after reassuring themselves that I was in good (police) hands, bade me farewell and good luck and then left. The grua arrived and – eventually – my hapless car was hauled out of the field, its front wheels all awry and all shook their heads sagely and confirmed it a write off. It would be taken to a local garage and there I would be able to recover my luggage and complete the required paper work to turn it into fodder for baked bean cans – or artichokes in this part of the world perhaps. Shame I had spent all that money just a short while back replacing battery, tyres, filter systems etc..

Later, from the hotel where the police had helpfully left me, I called my mother, starting the conversation with that always tale tell reassurance that – really – I was perfectly alright; however … And later that afternoon, feeling caught in some otherworld reality – I watched the action replays of that morning’s running of the bulls incident from the fiesta of San Fermin in Pamplona, when a bull had turned upon some fallen pursuers and pitch-forked one of them like a bale of straw. As I had watched, horrified, earlier in the day from my hotel in Madrid, I hadn’t realized that by nightfall, it would, in a strange parallel scenario, so soon be all over for me too.

The next day, at the garage, I unloaded the car of all the goods I had brought with me on this trip – including my photographic printer, books, camera tripod – everything for an artist in transit in fact. The idea of trying to get it all back to the UK by plane was not a happy one. I eventually divvied everything into two heaps leaving one with the hotel staff – whoever wanted it could take it. The rest I would have to get back – somehow – to England, because – clearly – that was where I was now headed.

But, as I had cleared the last of the gear from the car’s back seat, I came upon a poignant reminder – there, dry and brittle lay the corpse of the bee that had been my undoing – evidently dead a very long time and simply stuck somehow up in the sunroof, until finally dislodged, to fall onto my head …. The rest was, as they say, already history …

Nemesis

New York City Page

2011-05-05T14:22:00.001+01:00

The 'Big Apple'!

As promised in my post of yesterday, I am happy to announce the very first of my planned series of 'Travel' Pages: New York City.

The New York City Page presents two very distinctive and personal views, first by a native New Yorker: Peter Salzman and then by a British visitor: Jessica Steel.

Visitors to this Page (and to subsequent pages) are invited to post their own views and experiences (and recommendations too) of New York via the comments. In this way I hope a collage of impressions will develop over time.

Eventually, as the Travel section of 'Wayward Lady' grows with new countries/places, I may have to 're-pot' it, which is to say, to develop a new site altogether perhaps, more sophisticated and capable of allowing further growth into that final (and still unpredictable) whole.

Images of Freedom

Forthcoming Pages are planned to be: Lima/Peru; Quito/Ecuador; Istanbul/Turkey; Bangalore/India and Barcelona/Madrid/Spain; and others too in time!

Finally I would like to thank Peter Salzman and Jessica Steel for finding the time, interest and energy to offer their distinctive contributions, and for helping me inaugurate the Wayward Lady Travel section!

Wayward Travel

2011-05-04T18:00:00.001+01:00

New Beginnings

I first had the idea of developing a Travel section probably a couple of months ago. After all, 'Wayward Lady' is about travel and the inspiration that travel has had in my life. I'm not quite sure now how it came to mind originally, but I found myself thinking that it would be good to be able to present a kind of 'distinctive perspective' on many of the different places I have ever been to, lived in, travelled through; but nothing like a conventional travel guide (there are so very many of these anyway, geared to cater for just about every taste).

As a start therefore I thought it would be good to have each selected place/country/city as seen through the eyes and experience of a 'native' - someone who lives there, complemented by the views and experiences of a visitor, in many (though not all) cases me.

Little by little the idea grew, I contacted people I knew around the world and presented them with the idea and invited them to participate. Certainly this places some pressure of obligation on people. From seeming like a great idea, suddenly they have to sit down and think, organise those thoughts and come up with something constructive. Initially I have invited six people: in New York, Spain, Turkey, India, Peru and Ecuador. Certainly I can think of other places too, but this is a sufficient challenge for the first stage.

Also I hope that as each new Page/Section is presented, visitors to the site can post comments about their own experiences of/anecdotes about those places. In this way, a patchwork or collage can develop over time and become richer and more interesting. Visitors can therefore be active participants in the development of the Travel section!

At present I can't really what will develop from these new beginnings, but, hopefully 'big oak trees from little acorns will grow.' Exactly what species we have here I can't say though; maybe it will be something altogether new!

So, in a few days I hope to be able to announce the New York City page. And it should all start from there!

Empty Spaces

2011-04-25T17:14:00.000+01:00

Look or feel familiar? And yes, it is spring too. As ever, time teases - as it passes. The world - and the demands - of social networking and blog keeping have materialised into my life like a nest full of fledglings permanently cheeping to be fed (well named Twitter!) My poetry blog 'Poetry in Motion' now makes its own legitimate demands on my time; and, too, the seemingly endless process of checking of new sites, links, new blogs, comments, more, far more actually, than can be readily kept pace with. Sometimes I fantasise about letting it all go and sinking back into the world of virtual isolation so recently emerged from! When I tentatively entered this world three months ago, I never realised how life transforming (and high pressure) it would rapidly become.

The two principal demands to be reconciled here are quality against regularity. I don't want to be blogging any old thing - the musings of the mindless - but then too, as one day succeeds another, as a whole new week dawns, I know I need to be making a new post of something timely, well considered, and hopefully of sufficent interest. I am sure all the many people I know who write blogs feel the same. And because I do actually enjoy writing it is less of a trial than it might be, and, like regular exercise of any kind, important to keep the skills supple and practised. Also, if the space stays around for too long then people stop bothering to watch it! After all, there are so many other shop windows to be looking in, so many other fairground rides to take, people to talk to, tapas to be tried.

But the good news to report is that my proposed 'Travel' section will soon emerge from the parking lot and become viable (excuse me if I am flirting with mixed metaphors here). I hope sometime in the coming week (or two) I will be able to open the Travel section with a page on New York City, written by a friend of mine who lives there, complemented either by me or my daughter with our tourist/visitor perceptions. I think it should work well and be very entertaining. So that, I hope, will definitely be a space worth watching and not for too long!

In the mean time though, please excuse me while I fly off and look for some more grub(s) to stuff into those ever-hungry beaks!

In Search of Beauty

2011-04-20T16:07:00.001+01:00

Well, it’s nearly a month since I left York for Paris; and easily three weeks now since I returned, all stirred up and inspired by notions of art and representations of those notoriously difficult abstract concepts of ‘truth’ and ‘beauty'. I had started to research and write a whole post dedicated to it, but the ideas have fizzled and popped a bit I must admit, rather like that sparkler in the caiparina I had in a downtown Parisian cocktail bar one night (the one with all the bras suspended from the ceiling! post for 02/04/11).

Sparkler

It is true I have been 'overtaken by events', which is to say the demands of several other competing ventures. I have just contributed a guest blog to Tony Riches 'The Writing Desk' at: http://www.tonyriches.co.uk/ about my reasons behind self publishing my work: "A Self Publisher's Tale" - a much appreciated and welcome opportunity not to be missed. The new Wayward Lady Travel section idea has, too, been gradually taking shape, although that may well take rather longer to appear 'formally' upon this blog.

So in all I can see that that inspirational, well-researched post on notions of beauty and art are slipping ever more elusively and mirage-like ahead of me. To be sure, the recent spell of really beautiful spring weather here in the UK also makes it harder to sit for long hours at the desk too!

My alternative poetry blog 'Poetry in Motion' http://waywardladypoetry.blogspot.com/ has (finally) taken off well, having spent the last several weeks since I first set it up being rather like a neglected child. I have completely revised and updated it with new poems, and it has now become a viable venture all of its own.

But it was in searching for suitable web images to use for the poem 'Stripper' (post for Wed 13th April), and in checking over some web links to commercial photographic modelling sites that decided me on exploring ideas of beauty (originally drawn from my Paris trip) further and particularly the erotically beautiful. There is so very much 'out there' (particularly on the web) that is very far from being either (erotic or beautiful). The 'erotic' is too frequently misidentified with the pornographic or the salacious. But it's such a large and complex subject and to say much more on it would be to anticipate that planned post 'Model Art' and, once more, plunge me back into wrestling with those difficult concepts that I finally decided I had to defer (for a while anyway).

I need space - to clear my head, to get some sort of saner working routine under way (it all feels like herding cats at present, which is to say, all over the place). And think better on how to present and develop these themes. In the meantime, I'll leave you with a final reflection of Paris.

Springtime in Paris

Just in case this becomes yet another shaggy dog story!

Hair

The Look of Love

2011-04-10T23:26:00.008+01:00

There is an old and famous song entitled: 'The Look of Love (is in your eyes ...).' Many of us know it. How do you describe the look of love: that sweet, soft glow, that aura? How, too, do you begin to describe its antithesis, when love has gone?

Proclaiming Love

Paris (night 2 in my short itinerary), 9.15pm and I had waited over an hour out in the street of Rue de la Huchette, outside the Caveau de la Huchette Jazz Club (http://www.caveaudelahuchette.fr/index2.html). This is so close to where I stay, my hotel is, in fact, just down the same street. I had lucked out big time when I first happened upon this place at the start of my ventures, to find one of the best jazz clubs in Paris literally about a three minute walk away.

Rue de la Huchette, Paris

But, as ever, I had come way too early. Everywhere around me the narrow little street, improbably full of Greek restaurants, 'Happy Hour' bars and kebab take-aways, was steadily filling up with the seething night life that this quarter of the city attracts from the 'budget' tourist trade, and also, importantly, from close proximity to the illustrious Sorbonne University. Steadily, a queue of buoyant and expectant patrons formed behind me, all of us looking forward to seeing the Scott Hamilton Jazz Band play. After getting a drink, I finally made my way down into the depths of the cellars, once an old church crypt, but home now to the famous jazz club for some sixty years. I found a good seat and settled to wait. Normally the small dance floor is just for that - for 'swing' - but tonight so many people came the dance floor was soon packed with people, sitting wherever they could.

Scott Hamilton playing at Caveau de la Huchette Jazz Club, Paris

Then I noticed a young man walk across right infront of where I was sitting. He stood for a moment with his back to the cellar wall, and then, slowly and deliberately, let himself slide down until he sat upon the floor, wine glass in hand. I was struck by the look of him. He was an attractive guy true - quite tall and with a look that made me think he might be 'Latino', Peruvian even. But, more than anything, I was struck by the look on his face, and in his eyes. It was almost completely expressionless - a 'dead look'. A look that tells you that all outer emotion has withdrawn deep inside to deal with a crisis, leaving the exterior, well, just blank.

The band had yet to appear, so we were all listening to the piped music still. A short while later a young woman walked over to where the young man was and sat down upon the steps next to him; clearly they were a couple then. A minute or so after her came a third, another girl, who sat behind her friend on the steps, forming a strange, compelling and awkward looking threesome. Still the expression on the young man's face hadn't changed. He appeared not even to notice, much less care about the arrival of the girl or her friend, staring as ever straight ahead, into some other dimension.

The girl was actually very pretty; she was slim and dressed in tight fashionable jeans and matching jacket, and she held a small bunch of flowers. Setting her drink down, she leaned over the young man and kissed him long and extravagently, then sat back again, with that awkward terse set sort of smile on her face as he remained completely impassive. The band had started to play, but by now I had become absorbed by this strange impromptu drama playing out right before me. I am a writer and so observer of people and life. I disliked the idea of being somehow a 'voyeur', but nevertheless the scene was far too compelling for me not to want to watch it - albeit via discreet and fleeting glances. She leant over again and laid hold of his arm, which he snatched abruptly away.

The threesome sat on for awhile; then followed a brief tense verbal exchange between the man and girl, which, across the dense hubbub of music and voices I could just make out as being in French. The girl sat back again, her face still set, but now looking strained. Her friend behind her stroked her hair from time to time as though in consolation. Then the young man took a short sip of his wine, and appeared to settle something in his mind through the strange action of tapping the glass several times on the floor. He set it down finally, got up and walked away, across in front of me as he had come and disappeared through the crowds. A short while later, the girl got up and followed him; she returned alone and sat on as her friend continued to stroke her hair and whisper to her. Five minutes later she left again, presumably to check if her lover had returned, before returning again without him. Slowly her face had settled from the earlier terse irritation into a haunting mournfulness, staring ahead of her at nothing. In another ten minutes, both she and her friend got up and left, leaving their unfinished bottle of rose wine on the floor as a sole commemoration to their doomed evening there.

Scott Hamilton played on to the rapt audience, all equally oblivious to this private drama played out before me. Dreamlike the tense vignette seemed to have taken place over an age, but in fact could have lasted fifteen or twenty minutes. Whatever had happened? This seemed way beyond a lovers' tiff; something that would resolve in a night, or even a day and a night. The expression on his face and in his eyes to me seemed to convey something far more profound; far more final. And she seemed herself to have slowly recognised that something vital between them had broken. Whatever was it? There had been no overt emotion shown at all; the complete reverse in fact. Just a deadness. The look of love had left his eyes.

In just the three years since I had last been to Paris, on the many bridges over the Seine, a quaint new tradition has sprung up: the fixing of little padlocks to declare a couple's love. There must be many thousands of these now.

Harmonium. Bridge over the Seine with locks

Padlocks of Love

I found myself wondering if this couple too had, at some time, fixed a padlock to one of the bridges to declare their own love. What now then? What happens should that love die? Has someone kept the key, to go back and unlock the love declaration? Or did they, with that fresh hope that love so often begins with, throw the keys into the river below, confidant that this would be, if not 'forever', then surely long enough?

It was sad, but compelling too. Inevitably it reminded me of some of my personal experiences from deep in my own past.

I left the club around midnight and made my way back along the Rue de la Huchette, by now with that late night slightly seedy feel to it. A stack of broken plates lay as ever outside the entrance to one of the Greek restaurants. Some young waiters hung around outside another and laughingly asked me where I was going and offered me free ouzo to go in and join them! I was hanging around, not to 'loiter' but take photos of the strange and compelling. But of course the real strange and compelling imagery of the evening lay, unrecorded, with the young couple in the club.

Greek in Paris: broken plates outside a restaurant

But is it 'Art' (and would Gandhi have approved)?

2011-04-05T17:39:00.005+01:00

There can be few places better suited to inspire a debate on art than Paris - home to some of the most famous art movements; home too to some of the best known artists. But what is art and where do you find it? Just about anywhere. Anywhere where there are (or were, people), as art is the expression of what it means to be human and the human response to their world as perceived. Although often becoming a public heritage, art is primarily a personal experience. As a sometime archaeologist and cultural anthropologist I have been able to study the artistic heritage of many different cultures in different ages and parts of the world, from the wonderful cave paintings at Lascaux onwards. Art at its best is primarily an expression of truth, therefore, as well as being beautiful it can also be ugly, as truth, too often, is ugly.

Horses on the cave walls of Lascaux ca 17,300 bp.

But before I lose myself and my readers in the multi-dimensional immensity of such a subject, I will rein the parameters tightly back to the venue of Paris again. From the fine art of great galleries such as the Louvre or the Musee D'Orsay, to the impromtu canvas of the graffiti artists' daubed walls, there is no shortage of an opportunity to engage with the challenging, the perplexing, the inspiring, the entertaining, or even the downright weird. Here I was able to sample a whole range of the artistic experience and expression, certainly enough to inspire the ideas which I can now explore in this blog series. It is relatively 'easy' to wander through the famous galleries of such as the Louvre or the Musee d'Orsay, and, whilst not necessarily enjoying or understanding (whatever that is) all the range of different works presented, at least to feel that you are looking at 'art'. However, whilst there, I had also determined to visit some of the very many private galleries in the Saint Germain de Pres district (close to where I stay) and see if I could interest any in my own small selection of Paris paintings. It was a salutary experience. I must have visited around twenty or more in a relatively small quarter, to find only three that came even marginally close to the more 'conventional' kind of work that I engage in. Most were too highly specific, exhibiting the truly vast (in terms of canvas size), the ultra 'modern', abstract, fantastical or downright bizarre. To demonstrate my point, I found myself at one point examining the 'exhibits' in one chic looking shop window that appeared to be an interesting mix of modern sculptures and photographs, just to realise, slowly, that it was simply a very up-market heating and lighting gadget store! Perhaps I just need to re-examine my style. Moving on from the lofty if strange world of the Parisian private galleries, up to Monmatre, you find yourself confronting a very different 'art experience'. Here it was that many of the Impressionist and Post Impressionist (and later) painters hung out, exchanged news and views and generally inspired one another (carousing in this or that cafe or bar). Now it is the haunt of a diverse array of street artist hopefuls and instant portrait artists, all jostling together cheek by jowel, mostly in the small and very crowded Place du Tetre. Certainly it felt vibrant and interesting, but much of what I saw seemed the exact antithesis of what was on show in the galleries of Saint Germain (certainly the Musee d'Orsay). Here were the pseudo Van Goghs, the Tour d'Eiffel produced in a dozen different colours; the pouting portraits of films stars, the caricatures, the wild Mona Lisas and the mass produced views.

Street Artists' Work, Place du Tetre, Monmatre

And if you stopped too long to try and take it all in, ten to one you'd be accosted by a man (always a man) determined to sketch your portrait for you. But here, even as with many a gallery, there was the same sort of range from that which appealed to that which didn't; personal interest and bias allowing. And the many tourists overall seem to love it and clearly the dozens of local artists are (mostly) doing a sufficient business to make it worthwhile to be there at all.

Instant Portrait Artists in Monmatre

From the paintbox-bright brashness of Monmatre, on another morning (one of those where you wander to lose yourself deliberately in the intriguing backstreets of some unknown district) I found myself confronting instead a range of different graffiti art. Not the depressingly ugly daubed names or statements that are now spreading in epidemic style across the city (indeed many places world wide) but bright, interesting, entertaining images. In one, a group of lifesize photographers, another, the 'Philosopher's Cat' (see previous blog for 2nd April). And others.

Colourful graffiti on a wall in the Latin Quarter.

But what is art, and what or where is a canvas? The cave artists of Lascaux used rock surfaces (walls) for their art, as now do Banksy and his generation. But of course people have been drawing and painting on walls - and just about anything in fact, including themeselves - throughout all generations and just about everywhere. Art is about being human and about expressing that in its many different ways. But any neat common definition that might satisfy a more scientific mind and view remains (mercifully) elusive...!

And what would the Mahatma have thought about it all?

City of Lovers

2011-04-02T15:07:00.003+01:00

St. Pancras International, London: the Eurostar.

Well, here I am back in York and, as is the way with such trips, Paris is already fast receding into the past, as a distant memory, as a dream. It is the sort of city that lends itself to memory and dream anyway. In a poem entitled 'City of Lovers' I once wrote:

"I would leave you behind, but your memory haunts me,
City of Lovers, of life's dreamed moments ..."

Yes, it is kind of like that. Paris for me is like a remembered love affair. And there is so much of love (and of life) to find there ... In fact I was there only for four days in all, not long by the standards of many of my trips, but yet somehow just 'right' too - not too long: to start wondering what to do with my time; not too short: to be worrying about how to 'fit it all in'. For one thing, this time I was determined to leave out the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, both well and truly visited and photographed in previous trips. Monmatre now, with its windmills and views of the distant city and the Seine, well, as someone who claims to be an artist, writer, poet and photographer, and as a committed lover of Impressionist painting and 'the naughty nighties' you always want to go there! That is, until once again encountering the vast swarms of pavement artists and tourists in the Place du Tetre, all mixing improbably like some awful abstract canvas of their own, the fauxness of it all strikes afresh. No matter though, there is plenty more. And, in fact, it provided me with a distinctive blog theme all of its own.

Place du Tetre, Monmatre, Paris.

I was so lucky with the weather this time, which was beautiful: sunny and warm, definitely 'Paris in the Spring'. This is my sixth visit in all; but Paris ever retains its mystique, an aura of the transcendent inspirational, all alongside (or perhaps floating above) the hum, the bustle, the sheer vibrancy, the charm, the graciousness, the grand scale, the squalid, seedy, outright sordid even; certainly the blatantly commercial.

Perhaps, for that reason it is so much an allegory of Life; which is probably why cities like Paris ever hold this sense of somehow being the key to some deeper meaning, some vital mystery. Cities are where people are, and so, where 'all of (human) life' plays out. There is always so much to see; so much to experience: so many ideas generated, interest tweeked, questions asked, rhetoric excited, yet all somehow centering around those great timeless themes of Art, Life and Love, the first of which, if it is doing its 'job' properly, is such a vital medium of expression for the other two anyway.

Although ever the same, nevertheless Paris is never the same; each visit has offered some different view, some new insight, some unexpected way of advancing my personal philosophy or creed. I took many photos, but as much for the ideas they encapsulated as for 'photo art'.

Philosopher's Cat

(well we are close to the Sorbonne University here)

There was the zany, the anarchic, the sorrowful, the bizarre, the gracious, the gorgeous, the ... you get the idea! But instead I will leave this as a brief introduction to the series of articles I have planned, to develop the ideas alluded to. Here are three which I want to write about:

1. But is it Art (and would Gandhi have approved)?

2. The Look of Love

3. Pictures at an Exhibition

But there may well be more! So watch this space ...

Night life Paris style 2011

Time to press the refresh button

2011-03-19T15:08:00.001Z

The Pont Neuf, Paris from Ile la Cite

Here is where I hope to be next week; or thereabouts. As usual I shall be staying in a small hotel on the Left Bank between Saint Germain des Pres and the Quartier Latin, with views over Notre Dame, and close to Shakespeare & Co. and to a fantastic jazz club! The oil painting of the Pont Neuf above was inspired by imagery taken from my last trip to Paris in January 2008. It seems along time since I was there last. I have been to Ecuador, India, Peru and Turkey since then, all rather further afield, but Paris is always close to my heart. It is where I go to touch 'creative base', to press the refresh button on my life. It is where I went after I sold my house in March 2004, seven whole years ago now and 'took to the road'. I started that major life phase in Paris, so now I want to go back and, hopefully begin the next life phase back there. I am planning to go to some galleries in Saint Germain des Pres to see if I can interest any in my art work, as I have a small collection of oil and gouache pictures of this area. And, too I plan to take a new series of photographs, and sketches and generally be open to whatever creative inspiration there is.

It had certainly been a busy, indeed stressful few months, since I returned to York from London last summer, prepared for the Treasurer's House Exhibition during November and December, got my website together and on-line, joined Facebook, Twitter and started this blog. It certainly seems like a whole new world. Not always easy; not always enjoyable (in the way of life's 'mixed bag'). But hopeful, and with new possbilities.

Yesterday, finally, I was able to upload my (second) novel 'An Indian Affair', which is now available through Lulu.com http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/an-indian-affair/15155853. When I return from this trip, I shall start to prepare the (first written) longer historical novel 'The Lady of Seville' for publishing via the same outlet. It is a very different book, much longer and much more complex both in characterisation and plot. Then I shall format both for e-publishing through Amazon.com. But that is all still some way off. For now I have to just make sure I get on the early train down to London tomorrow, and take it all from there!

Past and Present: thoughts for the 12th March 2011.

2011-03-12T19:24:00.001Z

I see it’s been nearly two weeks since my last blog of the 1^st March.

Why so long a break?

Certainly I felt I needed to let some time pass, space develop between then and now, rather than feel driven by the oblogation to keep ‘churning them out’. It would be a mistake to do this and feel the daily pressure of coming up with the zany, the meaningful, the philosophical, the pithy ... The posts would very quickly lack any sense of originality and ‘freshness’.

Well ... it’s a good excuse anyway!

But I have been engaged in a number of different parallel endeavours, including developing that alternative website (still hiccuping along and, with present looming 'set-backs', may yet take some time to produce unfortunately); also finalising the editing and formatting stages for uploading my novel ‘An Indian Affair’ to Lulu.com for print-on-demand publishing. This is now close to completion and I have been designing the book cover for it too, drawn from original photos taken during the course of my own trip to India - two years ago now.

12th March 2009 I had just arrived in Mumbai - all jet-lagged, challenged and culture-shocked - to start what would be a six week long trip travelling around the south of the sub-continent. It was to provide me with much of the background research and a lot of the inspiration for the novel that I started writing upon my return to the UK - and to Hampstead - in April 2009.

Image for the cover of 'An Indian Affair': Shiva & Parvati, the Divine Couple: Elephanta Caves, Mumbai, India.

But back to the present: my lovely daughter Jess has been to stay here with me for the last week, and this also and inevitably alters the energy flow of life at home. There is a lot more fun and laughter when she is here certainly, but also rather less time for sitting plugging away at the computer hour after hour too, which can’t always be a bad thing!

I have been able to do some more photographic work lately too, including some modelling work with Jess, which we had long planned and will help to develop both our portfolios: her as model, me as photographer.

Jess through the looking glass ...

In a week's time I am off down to London for the Eurostar connection to Paris ... but that will be another story ...

(Remembering my Mother, whose birthday was on 12th March).

Call of the wild (woods...)

2011-03-01T16:33:00.001Z

Yes, I am certainly getting a little more dilatory in writing my blogs; more inclined to excuse a day or three as I see from the last post! But, as I write, spring is now here, or so it seems: 1st March and a beautiful bright sunny day with birds singing and the first light flush of green on trees and shrubs. Like Mole in Wind in the Willows, whatever little patience I have (not a strong quality of mine) for being indoors has long gone and the temptation to be up and off is now impossible to ignore. In short, the sap is well on the rise ...
I have always been this way. Between end of summer and Christmastime I feel comfortable enough settled down into some homely routine somewhere. But when New Year is past and the air, even so early, starts to take upon it that sort of fresh scent of the fall hills, then I start to get increasingly restless; increasingly wanting to be off somewhere. And so it is now... Many years ago, during one such restless and life-limiting period I wrote:
"I have long recognised that spring is a difficult time for me, and the transition between enforced winter inactivity and change over to summer. Of course this sense of change and rising sap coincides always with me feeling ‘trapped’ in a dull limiting domestic context, full of boring routines and the like. The days start to get longer; the sun starts shining and the air starts to exude that almost erotic ‘come hither’ scent to it that makes you want to drop everything and just rush headlong out to greet it. You feel you could burst with new life, yet here you are, just as much in prison as you ever were. Oh sure - you could go out and do some gardening - after all there are enough weeds, the lawn has become one mat of moss and the roses were never pruned last autumn. Domesticity put out, like the cat, into the garden - buy your free spirit off by letting it do some weeding... "
Well mercifully things have changed for the better in many ways since those days it's true!

On the said domestic work front, progress of sorts continues. I am soon about to uplooad my manuscript 'An Indian Affair' ready for Lulu's 'print-on-demand'. I still have no idea what sort of a cover will be on offer for the book, and so what the final 'product' will look like, which is, I must admit, a cause for concern, but the only way to find out is 'just do it'!

I have submitted another two applications to specialist travel companies. And the new improved version of my website (with integral blog) will, I hope, soon be ready for uploading too.

I wonder, then, if I can excuse myself and make a quick trip out to the Wild Woods tonight and hang out with a few weasels and stoats? I feel it might do me the world of good (bad).

Where monsters dwell

2011-02-26T16:27:00.000Z

Evidently I am developing a more 'relaxed' approach to blogging after the near fanatic determination to put up a post every day.

For one thing I need now to draw a line under the previous period and allow some sort of 'creative space' a chance to develop. My problem is that I ever find it hard to allow a space in my life to be just that - 'creative' and 'space'. I get this nervous foot tapping sort of 'well, what's going to happen now?' sort of anxiety. In part it's the 'western curse', the left brain, beta thinking personality operating. Or possibly even the juvenile mind that, having planted a seed and watered it, then returns every five minutes and laments the lack of an instantaneous plant, complete with flowers too. This is the mentality that 'hot houses' and as we all know, things forced or 'hot housed' rarely have longevity, strength or endurance. It is the curse of those who were at the back of the queue when patience was handed out!

So there is an inclination for my imagination to populate my 'creative space' with monsters instead; none of them seeming in anyway hopeful or encouraging (or they wouldn't be monsters). But new life wont be rushed and everything takes the time it needs to take root and develop.

Our culture does tend to produce a sort of expectation of the 'quick fix', the instantaneous gratification; the immediate appeal. And although happy enough to criticise my culture, I am nevertheless clearly too prone to these kinds of expectations myself. I might be a 'strong starter' but evidently still need to develp more grit (hope and vision) for the rest of the foot slogging trail!

Journeys and incarnations

2011-02-22T15:44:00.000Z

Things are progressing in a general sort of way, even if it’s hard to see exactly what direction.

I have established contact with some travel companies, although the prospect of ‘back to back’ tour leading for several months at a time is neither feasible nor even desirable. I do need some sort of income and this kind of tour leading covers basic costs and offers an even more basic pay, but no more. But it’s a start anyway and an entry point into a world I need to know more about. And at least I appear to have enough to offer to be attracting positive responses.

On the writing front I have made good progress formatting the manuscript of ‘An Indian Affair’, which I should be able to finish in the next day or so, other commitments permitting. And yes, I did grapple with that academic paper and have inched that forward too.

The trip to Paris is now booked (the Eurostar part of it) and is only a month away to this day. A strange thought that this time next month I should be arriving in the Gar du Nord. It’s been three years since I last went back in January 2008; and before then in April 2004, after I had sold my house in York and taken to the road (see Post 1: ‘In the beginning’).

What did I hope to achieve then? A complex question really; a poignant one too in some ways. I wanted to change my life and I wanted to develop myself in my creative life and work; in just about everything in fact. Certainly it has cost me about everything I have, but at least, as I write, I know that that is, in fact, what I have achieved: great personal wealth, if not material!

In so many ways I wish I had started this blog at the outset of my 'travels'; my taking time out and taking to the road. I have so many photos and so many short narratives, odd diary entries recording different events along the way: hopes, dreams, fears; the highs, also the lows (many of these). But starting this narrative so close to the end of this extraordinary seven year long epoch all seems a bit 'after the fact' now.

I have started to develop an alternative blogspot of a much earlier 'incarnation' - of my years spent in archaeology. Perhaps I should consider another for this more recent journey too.

Mixed metaphors

2011-02-21T14:28:00.000Z

Well, the blog slave finally rebelled, so no blog for yesterday – my first ‘lapse’! As 11pm came and went yesterday evening, I knew that to try and attempt a blog was simply beyond me. Not that I hadn’t achieved a lot on several other fronts: completing my LinkedIn profile; starting to format the manuscript of my second novel ‘An Indian Affair’ for self-publishing; revising and fully updating my CV and writing an introductory letter to the kinds of specialist travel companies I have short-listed to target.

When I get the bit between my teeth with something, I can find it hard to let go, even though common sense and just about everything else down to plain exhaustion are screaming at me to stop. Thus it was that I finished the evening determined to create slide show presentations of some of my major photographic series to display on my LinkedIn profile, a challenging enough undertaking at any time, let alone late in the evening after a full day at the laptop already. So the blog, in short, got shelved.

The urge to push on, to keep up the momentum is hard to resist; but having upped the ante on several key fronts to this point, probably it would now be a good idea to let things go for awhile, or I shall burn myself out. And too, letting things simmer away for awhile on their own is often as much a part of the overall developmental process.

I have a trip to Paris next month to plan for, plus a range of other commitments looming all of which will need my full attention. And yes, that academic article is still there waiting, arms folded and tapping its foot in irritation, wondering whenever I will get on with it!

Today I guess! Unless, of course, I get lured back into formatting the manuscript, playing around with book sizes, fonts, line spacings and sundry other arcane things I never thought I’d have to learn about. Certainly better than having to re-write the opening chapter again though!

Re-reading this before the final post I note a pot-pourri of mixed metaphors, liberally scattered throughout. Perhaps I should offer prizes to the sharp eyed for spotting them?

Brain optimisation

2011-02-19T16:26:00.000Z

I must confess to feeling exhausted, having spent the best part of the last two days getting my Linkedin profile up to scratch, and doing a host of other tasks related to this.

It’s interesting to see how the energy/enthusiasm/optimism flow fluctuates from buoyant confidence and hope, to despondency (even borderline despair) as the learning curve of a particular venture progresses. At the outside I felt really quite upbeat about re-inventing myself in the world of travel, given my experience and related skills. Then, inevitably ‘reality’ strikes home: the vast numbers of companies; the relatively limited types of opportunities, many of which are office/desk based (not what I would want). The restrictive types of contracts, the daunting application forms which still have to be sent together with full resume etc. I have just joined Linkedin which, in my naivety, I had hoped would mean I could somehow circumvent some at least of this, by sending the company (who are members too) a copy of my profile directly. But no! It’s like “welcome to the 21^st century, but here’s this five page application form you still have to fill in”, and all of it organised according to the types of ‘norms’ and ‘pre-sets’ the conventional working world assumes we will all neatly fit into. I had thought that ‘travelling people’ which is to say people who have spent as much of their life as I have on the hoof, would not necessarily be expected to conform to the kinds of 9-5, five working days a week lives and career profiles that this form still appears to.

Well, so if I wanted to spend much of my time writing (when not trying to move into the world of travel on a more formal basis) I have certainly accomplished this objective. These days I seem to do little but hammer away on my laptop, a whole diversity of different things, from the academic writing (still required), to these blogs, to developing my new ‘edgy’ under-an-alias blog; setting up new networking profiles; writing emails, tweeting, commenting on Facebook, to say nothing of preparing my two manuscripts for print-on-demand and e-publishing. No, I am not complaining exactly ... but ... well ... I don’t even have the energy to manage a tweet right now!

I have two laptops churning away as I write: one has been engaged upon a day long ‘disk optimisation’ exercise virtually since I turned it on this morning; the other (the one I am currently using) is slowly (very slowly... it’s a slow computer) succumbing to a range of screen resolution, display and other problems; hence my need for number two.

Evidently it’s high time for something completely different. I wonder if it’s possible to set my brain on a disk optimisation exercise whilst I go off into the kitchen and find something else of a more creative and practical nature to do? But given the way I feel right now, it would probably take longer than a few hours ...

New beginnings

2011-02-18T20:28:00.000Z

The pace of change seems to be accelerating; already I have a growing list of ‘to dos’, from preparing my manuscripts for publishing on the one side, to developing my profile in specialist travel on the other.

It does all feel a little daunting I have to say. And of course I must still find the time (more importantly the interest) to do that academic writing that is all I have between me and the wolves at the door right now. But overall, nevertheless it feels a more authentic place as I write than even just a week or so ago, and with real hope too.

One idea just newly germinated and already starting to spring out a few shoots is to put links onto my website to several of the places I have visited and stayed in over the past few years, or perhaps good tours or travel contacts made and promote these through personal endorsement. It would be a positive thing to do and start to develop a small network of some kind as well. The idea came quite out of the blue via contact with one of my friends down in Lima who asked me for advice on how they could better promote their hotel there (where I had stayed back end 2009) as business was beginning to lag. This happened completely coincidentally with my own just day old decision to start developing my ‘travel profile’. In the end I wasn’t able to offer the kind of advice he was asking for, but it occurred to me to suggest I could at least promote their hotel on my website. After that I then realised that there were a handful of such places scattered over the world that I could do the same for and so I shall be contacting these in the next few days to do this. And then see where it all leads to.

My website is currently in the process of being re-developed, both to present a slicker and more professional look but, as these ideas have been developing in just the last couple of days, I am already revising the sort of information it will present, what the focus of my work should be. No longer the artist and writer perhaps but some other sort of animal, and able to draw upon the large corpus of imagery (particularly the travel photography and ethnic series) to promote this side of my work.

It’s all very early days yet. There are the times, like now, when I feel rather challenged by it all; other times (tiresomely later in the evening and often in the wee small hours) when a sense of enthusiasm, possibility and wonder overtakes me. These all seem like the vital ingredients of ‘life’ – not easy certainly, but surely fulfilling and worthwhile.

Out of the box

2011-02-17T20:13:00.001Z

I have spent most of today in a rather different part of my virtual territory, developing another kind of 'professional profile'. In the quest to change my life around and throw open more doors and windows to the world, I have just joined Linkedin to promote my interests and skills in the travel (and travel writing) sector. The difficulty always lies in how you define yourself (and how therefore you encourage others to 'see' you). It also lies in what one of my commentators of a previous blog aptly drew attention to: the limits you set upon yourself and the need to work outside the boundaries (bars) of the 'traditional' box, which is becoming clearer by the day. If I really do want to break away from using academic writing as a means of earning then something else more viable must replace it. And the burgeoning writer/artist in me has not yet been able to do this. So ... what then?
As I have persisted in challenging my sense of limitation, many of the old feelings of being blocked or thwarted have given way to a sense of space and possibility instead. Instead of seeing myself as an erstwhile archaeologist turned wannabe artist/writer, I can now draw upon the transferable skills of an experienced project manager, with auxiliary experience in travel, travel organisation, and international 'culture'. It's a start anyway.
Otherwise, I plan to apply myself in the coming days to editing my several different maniuscripts for uploading to print-on-demand and e-publishing sites.

Raising of spells

2011-02-16T21:36:00.000Z

At last things seem to be getting clearer. From feeling so blocked and thwarted by the conventional publishing route, locked into a limbo of endless revisions and submissions of manuscripts only to see them committed, eventually, to the slushpile, I have decided to follow the advice of many excellent fellow writers (supported by web and blog sites) which have convinced me that self publishing IS the answer. Yes, I shall have to grapple with things like formatting, think about cover designs etc, but this seems so much more worthwhile than the Ground Hog Day scenario referred to above.

So, easy now to think: "Why did I never see all this before?"

For one thing at the outset of writing my first novel, conventional publishing was all I really knew or understood and I was also quite ignorant of what self publishing involved. But the whole puplishing world has moved on a very long way since I first looked at it back in 2006 and 2007. Although there were self publishing companies (I actually contacted Author House for example, to find out their terms), you had to pay them to produce a just a handful of sample books and the cost went into hundreds of £s, with no worldwide distribution at all. But the relatively recent arrival of e-publishing that has impacted the retail reading world as immensely as it has, has also changed all that too. It all looks very different now.

I feel as though I have finally broken out of a loop. Now I can genuinely start thinking of holding not one but both my novels in hand as ‘real books’. They will be produced via the Print-on-Demand process (Lulu has been recommended to me and seems very straightforward and is largely free http://www.lulu.com/). Then there’ll be the e-versions via Amazon Kindle (http://www.amazon.co.uk/) and Smashwords too (http://www.smashwords.com/.

A spell has been lifted and life can go on again.

The devil and the deep blue sea

2011-02-15T20:00:00.001Z

The gasman came today to service the (then functioning) boiler and left with it broken. He’s not due to return with the relevant spare until tomorrow now, so I am here in a cold house and no hot water!

Turning to hotter waters, I have been dipping toes on and off into the Indie publishing world waters to see if I’m likely to be able to take ‘the heat’. Somehow even reading all the many relevant links now saved to my favourites list all seems too daunting.

I know one part of my problem is that I am struggling with two contradictory life pathways here, one professional and self promoting, the other spiritual and therefore predicated upon letting go of narrow ego focussed concerns and developing the higher Self. Since entering the world of ‘creative enterprise’ I have found that these two life courses do not reconcile readily one with the other. Reading just today the advocacy of one self-publishing blog about the mistakes writers make, once again stresses the need to be constantly alert to whatever opportunity arises to self promote, exploit opportunities, be tireless beating your own drum, blowing your own trumpet etc.

I must confess to hating that sort of thing. I can deal with ‘a certain amount’, but the limit is reached really very quickly with me. I feel embarrassed if I tweet or FB a notification of one of these posts more than once in a day, like I am overdoing it and will bore people. Just lately I pulled out of a Continuing Professional Development course designed for people in the ‘creative industries’ because its emphasis was far too commercial/market orientated for me. People think I’m stupid or simply naive when I say that. I recall one participant looking at me strangely and saying “But that’s what it’s for!” Yes I know, but somehow I had hoped (indeed tried to inform myself ahead of committing in the first place) that that wouldn’t be all that it was about; that there would be ‘something else’; something that didn’t leave me feeling compromised with my sense of integrity under assault.

I really don’t mean to sound ‘precious’ but I can very easily become alienated in this ‘in your face’ kind of world. I have, however, asked myself this simple question:

Q ‘Do you want people to like your work and want to buy it?’

A. Yes.

Yes. So what, then is the problem? I suppose it’s a question of style, of degree, or emphasis. For one thing, I really hate the notion of just courting people – ‘schmoozing’ etc – on a ‘what’s in it for me’ basis. It’s like when you’re called up by a salesman with the opening greeting “Hello Ms Currie, how are you today?” Upon which I just tell them to get on and tell me what it is they’re selling me, unless I just disconnect the call first of course. They are not interested in me as a person at all, only in my marketability.

At this same CPD course, one of the earliest exercises we were given to do was to take 20 minutes and ‘speed date’ i.e. to see how many people we could talk to/connect with in this time. Ten was given as a good number. I managed two. I immediately found myself engrossed in interesting conversations with two people: their lives, hopes, interests etc and wanted to know more about them; to share ideas, encouragement an so on. As a strategy for making human contact and friends it worked, but I had ‘failed’ in the business model purpose behind it. I can’t live my life this way. I don’t want to talk with people I find abrasive, awful or simply who have nothing to say I find interesting. If it so happens that I meet someone I like or do find interesting and from that a mutual rapport develops that suggests we might have enough common interests to be able to benefit each other in other more commercial ways, fair enough. Excellent even. But not the other way around!

I really don’t see myself in any way as being a holier than thou, 'goody two shoes' though. I just find business for its own sake and the whole profit motive thing, its methods and ethic unattractive. I know we all need to live; to make a living; to earn money. And we all need things to serve, service and grace our lives which means there being ‘markets’ that sell them to us. And I have made it absolutely clear here that I wanted to be able to become that published author and to earn a modest living from my work. So it cannot be an all or nothing polarity.

Where then does that leave me? In that awkward sort of limbo between those two extremes I just described I guess. But for sure I’m not alone there. There must be very many people there too, all of us just not sure what it takes, where to draw the line, how much to believe in ‘business models’; how far we are prepared to go, at what point we will feel alienated or compromised. There were two bright young lads on the CPD course too. When we were all asked what we wanted out of the course they unashamedly and with a hopeful gleam in the eye said that they wanted to make money; lots of money; millions in fact. Lots of people laughed at this; many people (like me) said they just wanted to make enough (whatever that is: ‘how long is a piece of string’) to live. It seemed so simple though.

As I write the acrid stench of cremated veg fills the (now cold) house. When will I ever learn that to settle down to focussed work (like writing this) whilst waiting for something else to cook is never a good idea. From long experience I know the smell will endure long ... Perhaps in a way it contains some vital symbolic message for me; certainly not half baked though!

Blog Slave

2011-02-14T19:15:00.000Z

It’s evening now. Although I seem to have spent an immensely busy day it’s hard exactly to see what the ‘measurable outcomes’ are (from someone used to dealing with health services and clinical related research where you must have ‘measureable outcomes’).

I have made a new friend (another writer-photographer like me), so that’s certainly a real plus and an opportunity to expand my horizons too. I have also invested more time in developing an alternative blogspot, relating to my previous incarnation as an archaeologist, drawing extensively on ‘private diaries’ of those years (yes ....!). A few emails, a few tweets, some R&D in terms of swathes of different sorts of blogs and websites to study for inspiration. And... um ... what else exactly?

So the day slips past and now I feel a sense of guilt that I have nothing of ‘worth’ to post up on my blog; so, am I already a slave to the blog? Perhaps now is the time to discipline myself not to write ‘whatever whenever’ but to husband only the inspirational and aspirational. Surely that’s not what this is about though? Blogging is another (virtual) human dimension, sharing your assorted ideas and angst as well as inspirations to the rest of the blogging and tweeting world! And since becoming a blogger and a tweeter I have benefitted immeasurably in terms of such professional hints, tips and advice and just a sense of social contact with kindred (and non kindred) ‘others’, which otherwise I mostly lack in a working-from-home world. Certainly it’s a strange new world though. I feel like some sort of virtual Miranda gazing upon the ship-wrecked newcomers to the lonely island “Oh brave new (virtual) world ....” (Shakespeare: The Tempest).

Rainy days...

2011-02-13T17:53:00.000Z

A raw cold dull grey day mid February. No scream of steam from any coffee machine as I write from home today. There is just the light sound of rain pattering on the windows.

A better night last night than its predecessor; certainly more dreams of an erotic nature too, but since I don’t want to turn this into some Jungean dream blog, I have decided against describing this one! I feel better too, since deciding to move on with my life and look at different possibilities in the world of travel and related.

I have been checking over the manuscript of my historical novel for ways that I might revise the introductory chapters, but it’s going to be far from easy. They were written with a very distinctive style and structure with the precise aim of setting mood and context, providing background information about the historical times and setting (16^th century Seville) as well as key characters of the book; in particular the heroine of the story – Maria de Cavalla. It is not a question of simply cutting and re-pasting a few sections, so the whole will have to be unravelled and re-woven into an entirely different sort of fabric altogether, a daunting task.

Otherwise I have spent much (too much probably) of the day playing around with developing a completely different 'blog' - drawn from those days when I was an archaeologist working out in the wild South American west. When it's developed to my satisfaction (this may take some time) I will notify the 'waiting world'. Again, watch this space ...!

In your dreams ...

2011-02-12T16:04:00.000Z

The scream of the steam from the coffee machine .... Here again in Neros Coppergate York, about to start the fifth blog in this series.

So ... ‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again ....’

No, actually I didn’t and anyway you’ll be relieved to hear I’ve since moved on from the slush pile, hopefully into less soggy and disappointing places.

Last night in fact I dreamt I was visited by a stranger. In the dream I was lying in bed when this young man walked into the room, past the foot of the bed as though going into the next room and I can recall feeling annoyed that he did so with no by or leave whatever, as though somehow he had the right to. To make matters worse, he hadn’t even bothered to remove his footwear (I prefer people not to wear outdoor shoes inside the house); such is the logic of the dream ego! At first I challenged him angrily over this, but he seemed quite unbothered and came, instead, to lie down behind me on the bed. In the dream I recall feeling ambivalent about this and then warmed to the idea of exploiting his unexpected visit in more productive and pleasing ways. And so, a consummation of mutual interests took place between us. As this blog is unregistered to display ‘adult material’ I will leave readers to exercise their imaginations at this point! But the unconscious mind is fully able to provide the dreamer with a very accurate sensation of just about any experience if it wants to and so this ‘experience’ certainly seemed very real!

Actually it was rather a tortured night in other ways. I suffer from insomnia and occasionally I can lie awake half the night, tossing and turning as sleep resolutely eludes me. During these dark and sleep free hours, ideas, fears and fancies of all sort besiege my exhausted fevered mind. Sometimes these are inspiring; often not.The future (ever unknowable) frequently seems bleak and uncompromising at such times.

I have spent these last seven years investing much time, effort, money – resources of all kind in fact – in attempting to turn my life around and devote myself to my creative life and interests, to try and earn a living as the writer, artist and photographer I now advertise myself as being and to leave the life of academia definitively behind me. Perhaps naively at the start of this venture, I believed that all it would take was a combination of effort and dedication, together with moderate talent and the application of these and the outcome of this equation would equal some kind of measurable ‘success’.

Certainly I have achieved much in this time. I have written the books and painted the pictures and taken the photographs. Just recently I have developed a new website of my work, started to learn how to network, to blog, and to ‘self promote’ generally (although this still comes very hard for me). But there have been several points during these same last few years (more especially since 2007) when I have been forced to confront the stark truth that I have not achieved what I set out to. For sure I have produced a respectable corpus of my different work. I have recently had an exhibition of my art work and photography; there are the two novels referred to in the previous posts that, with more time, effort and dedication may yet still achieve that elusive published status. But I cannot pretend, in entrepreneurial terms, that the venture has been ‘successful’.

So, perhaps inevitably, I have been wondering what to do with this next stage of my life; probably, in fact, since my return from Peru at the end of 2009. It is clear I can’t go on like this; I have to find another pathway, something different. Not necessarily to give up writing or painting, but to find some other way of making a living that at least gives licence to that self proclaimed travel addict in me. Because as I write this I can see that now this period is over, it will be hard to justify financing the kinds of expeditions I have always been used to. Working from home, writing the kings of academic articles I now do, has certainly served as a means of paying the bills; but I don’t want to carry on doing this forever; may not indeed be able to carry on with it forever anyway.

So, after my troubled night, concluding when sleep eventually took me, the dream encounter with the stranger in my bedroom seemed to provide me with a fresh point of view, a fresh determination and even hope when I finally surfaced this morning. Probably I shall return to Paris in March and formally bring to a close this period that started there, after I sold my house in March 2004. Then I shall try to let go of this need to ‘make something of myself’ and apply my energies to finding new sort of work - possibly in the world of travel, travel couriering or such. I have, after all, an impressive experience of foreign travel and of organising fieldwork projects overseas. I speak good Spanish and some French. And at least it would allow me much needed freedom from the four walls of the world I currently occupy into a broader and more interesting arena again. I can still write; still paint; and, where possible, still promote my ‘work’.

The unconscious mind provides you with powerful guidance via dreams that, if you can only penetrate their exterior symbolism, hold deeper truths and meanings. Coupling with the strange visitor in my bedroom symbolised for me a new if unknown fertile influence, albeit wearing the shoes of the outside world as it were. Amen to that! Time alone will tell whether this new venture will prove any more ‘successful’ than the last!

The Slush Pile Revisited

2011-02-11T17:21:00.000Z

Picking up from where I left off yesterday then, it was my plan to offer a similar critique of my first (historical) novel – “The Lady of Seville” – as I did with the modern romance –An “Indian Affair”. This according to the 25 criteria given for rejecting a manuscript on the basis of its first page/paragraph as listed in 'The Blood Red Pencil' (http://bit.ly/cllumV).

Probably there is little more I can add to what I already observed yesterday :

“.... it’s already clear that probably it is simply too dreamlike and slow getting into the main story line. I have lately added what seems to me to be a dramatic and compelling opening ‘Prologue’, but now I have heard that these can also damn a book too!”

The novel itself is very different from the modern romantic that follows and possibly there are other important factors that damn it too, in an agent’s eyes. It is an historical adventure story and a romance and ‘long’, being nearly 150, 000 words. It’s subject matter deals with a period not perhaps immediately popular or ‘obvious’: 16^th century Spain and colonial South America (the Kingdom of Quito) – including a long sea voyage between the two. It also includes a sub plot which recounts the lot and experience of the native American peoples in the period immediately following the conquest of their land by Spain. The fact that it is a strong story built around ‘believable’ scenarios and ‘authentic’ people (I did my research for this very well) has not commended it, except to trial readers who, as with my modern novel, apparently have really liked it. Well can I imagine the agent concerned frowning as they grab for their coffee cup, glance at the synopsis, back at that damning dreamy scene setting first page and cast it promptly in the direction of wherever the slush pile is in their particular office with little or no further thought.

I have already noted my concerns with this need to craft increasingly more generic formulaic introductory chapter (even whole manuscripts), a point picked up and developed by Derek Haines in his comment to the same blog yesterday. I have also wondered just how many ‘classic’ books would ever have been taken on now.

Just on this point (relating to criteria 6 & 7; 22 & 23 discussed yesterday) I am particularly minded of the classic adventure (also historical) romances of Daphne Du Maurier, of enduring popularity, even to today, and the kinds of immortal introductions she herself was famous for employing. Here (very briefly) are just two:

From the famous ‘Rebecca’: “ Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again.....” and she continues with a description of how the once great house appeared to the story’s heroine in a dream, as a ruin. Certainly it would be amenable to the criticism of having a first paragraph that was straight narration rather than action (22), relating to (23) too much physical description in the opening paragraph, rather than action or conflict. Damned, too, by being a description of a dream, which are also apparently not recommendable.

From ‘Frenchman’s Creek’ : “When an east wind blows up the Helston river, its shining waters become troubled and disturbed ....” A modern narration leading you back into the historical past and context for the story which then develops. Far too much narration before the narrative eventually offers reader those characters and that action/conflict. Both are amenable to (7) ‘not enough happens on page 1’.

There are, of course, many other excellent examples..

I have always believed that such scene and mood/atmosphere setting ‘devices’, marked one good writing method (although certainly not the only one). Now it would seem that only the most cursory nod in the direction of scene or mood is permissible before the character(s) and action/conflict are wheeled on as the ‘hook’.

Things evidently have changed a lot. It reminds me of (some) modern theatre, where as often as not you may find the stage bare of scene and props (a chair or two at most perhaps).When the curtain rises, the actors are either already there, dressed in T shirts and jeans and the action/conflict is enacted without anything more than a cursory attempt to set mood through context (or costume).

In this stripped to basics new world, I can quite see why the opening page and following chapter of “’The Lady of Seville” has damned it. It starts with an elderly woman writing down an account of the traumatic early years of her life (and concludes with same), watching as snowflakes fall outside the window, remembering the hot lands of her youth, in Andalusia, Spain and all that happened then. Long narration, scene/mood setting and background context sketched for the characters to emerge into in the second chapter and begin their action/conflict (certainly enough of this now and from then on...). So, too much narration and certainly ‘not enough happens on page 1’. I have some time since introduced a short catchy ‘prologue’ - a man being burnt at the stake for heresy – certainly enough ‘action’, but now probably too horrific! And, as it doesn’t immediately relate to chapter one that follows, that may well double damn it.

Couple all this with my complete inability to write an interesting sounding synopsis (http://bit.ly/hITvbS 'The dreaded synopsis') and ‘I rest my case’. So do I then follow the admirable example set by authors like Derek Haines down the Indie publishing route, or settle back down to apply the recommended formulae to the offending chapters, gird my loins and prepare for another daunting round of submissions? Groan ...

A Short Cut to the Slush Pile?

2011-02-10T17:02:00.000Z

There are just so many websites for writers now (particularly the hopeful, but currently unpublished kind such as me) all offering a wide range of different views and advice. In fact there is such an overwhelming number of them you could really spend all your time reading them and not actually writing. But looking at one today (http://bit.ly/cllumV), I read through the list of the top 25 reasons why agents turn submissions down, based upon presentation of the first page/opening paragraph alone. It was sobering to see that both of my two very different fiction manuscripts had several of these.

Taking my second novel, the modern romance “An Indian Affair” first, I have made two rounds of submissions of this manuscript. After the failure of the first submission wave (to around six agents) I sat down and deliberately tried to craft a more ‘catchy’ intro. Looking at the cautionary list it now seems that in both the original and the revised versions I had fallen afoul of several sorts of traps.

In the first version it was to open with a first paragraph that was straight narration, rather than action (22), related to the next (23): too much physical description in the opening paragraph, rather than action or conflict - what I had thought, in fact, to be an enigmatic and intriguing half page description of a key figure who appears later in the story, her relationship with the heroine of the story and the reason underlying some of the heroine's later impulses. The narrative then opens ‘properly’ with the ‘action’ scene, that we are, in fact, recommended to have as the ‘hook’, the interest factor, up front. I have to say at this point that the four trial readers of this first version apparently liked the book and never mentioned problems getting into the story, offering favourable responses. Perhaps the agents felt differently though?

After the first set of rejections, I rallied from disappointment and revised the opening page (as though instinctively feeling that perhaps it hadn’t been sufficiently catchy) and fell, instead, into two other specified traps: (2) beginning with a rhetorical question (two in my case): “What is the secret of a happy marriage? Does anyone ever really know?” and then (21) following with a brief description of the heroine as seen through her reflection in a mirror (also ill advised). It is certainly true that even I had felt this revised intro was more contrived than the first, but decided to try it anyway. So failed the next wave of submissions, and a friend reading this manuscript for me just recently said she felt that the intro had read awkwardly and didn’t flow in with the style of the rest. I have to add further that upon re-reading the list, probably the manuscript also met criterion (7) 'not enough happens on page 1'.

It is sobering to think just how much modern fiction writing now depends on what I feel moved to call ‘generic formulae’ (or so it seems); at least for debut authors. We simply cannot afford to ignore these sorts of caveats. However compelling the rest of the narrative is, if the first three chapters (and, indeed, the very first page) do not capture the interest of an agent whose job it is to trawl though literally hundreds of manuscripts in an average working month (one told me they receive 300 a week; another 800 a month); if the thing doesn’t leap off the page and grab them by the throat, then into the slush pile it duly goes. Of course, I realise it may not always be quite as crude or as simplistic as this. But as almost no agents offer feedback, just the usual polite “thanks, but no thanks” there is really little way of knowing (unless you take out a mortgage and pay for author reviewing services – just not an option for me at present).

But to ignore advice such as that offered by this website would be foolhardy. So, it seems, I must sit down and endeavour to re-craft the opening chapter, more particularly the opening page again, paying sharp attention to the suggestions proffered. When I have done this I shall then blog the result and if anyone feels moved to comment upon how they find it, and whether or not they would like to continue with the book, they are invited to offer their views!

Tomorrow I will look at the next book: the historical novel "The Lady of Seville" (actually the first novel I wrote) and critique the introductory chapter too. But it’s already clear that probably it is simply too dreamlike and slow getting into the main story line (criteria 6 and 7 both; certainly 22 and 23 as well). I have lately added what seems to me to be a dramatic and compelling opening ‘Prologue’, but now I have heard that these can damn a book too!

Building Blocks, or Writer's Block?

2011-02-09T15:02:00.000Z

Today I am to be found in my alter-office, which is to say Neros in York’s Coppergate Centre. As I work ‘from home’ a lot it becomes imperative to get out of the house or the four walls just close in on you and morning, afternoon and evening all merge into one ...

I am currently on the hunt for ideas for a new novel, and have been, in fact, since last autumn, one way and another. Sitting in cafes writing little notes, or ‘streams of consciousness’ is often the first stage to developing a theme for me, building upon ideas which have come to mind, rather like seeds blown in with the wind. What are they, what form or species; which ones will take root and grow; do I want them even? These seminal ideas are then developed into what I call ‘vignettes’, which may then form the first foundational building blocks to the new story. My first two novels both pretty much started in this way.

Now, however, I am suffering from a definite and protracted case of writer’s block. Since last autumn I have started with a couple of themes which have hiccupped along before wheezing and spluttering to a stall. There is of course a reason for this. You cannot force the creative spirit, which it has its own life and logic, and takes a dim view of any attempts to harness and control it. It is wild, fickle and wayward. It may strike you at the most awkward and inappropriate time, usually when you should be doing something else. Then, when you settle down with a coffee to hand and the time dedicated to writing, it has done a bunk, leaving you with just your coffee and the cursor flicking on and off upon a dauntingly blank page.

So, the first set of draft ideas, which managed to produce nearly three chapters stalled because of the theme: dark and difficult, requiring detachment and determination to pursue. As soon as it became clear where the narrative was leading me, deeper and deeper into those dark abandoned places, I bogged out, not able to face what I would have to write about, and the way I would have to write about it too.

So I decided to invent a brighter and lighter theme, something more appealingly (and marketably) ‘chick lit’ perhaps. I played around with a few ideas, with characters and scenarios, then started the vignettes. These fizzled and popped and died before they had even made up enough to get to a first chapter. The creative spirits simply weren’t interested in modern chick lit heroines wasting away with ennui for want of that exciting man in their lives that the other part of your head was busily trying to invent for them. Then of course the plot – a mystery, or even something with a supernatural feel to it? No, the dark narrative refuses to leave me and blocks anything lighter or more frivolous.

The cafe world morning has progressed as I write. The coffee machine hisses loudly and there is soft jazz playing away in the background; the chink of crockery, the hum of voices everywhere. Memories of that long past love affair and attendant traumas beckon still from the darkness bringing complex feelings and washes of mood. So where to now?

Back home. And another 'academic' article that needs writing! Both harder, but also so much easier; just piles of reports to read and data to digest to turn into something smart for another 'peer reviewed' journal. The creative spirits are smirking at me from the corner of the room right now, trying to fool me into thinking that if I go with them, they will lead me to that sought after mother-load of inspirational writing - dark, light, or simply a little murky perhaps. I have managed to put it all off again, but this has now been happening since November, and soon it will be March and spring!

In the beginning ....

2011-02-08T20:17:00.000Z

I should really have started this blog many years ago of course. Sometimes I have even considered doing 'retro-blogs' which is to say accounts from those distant days of archaeological yore; when I was working on my projects in Ecuador, those years when, well before the days of 'blogging', I nevertheless used to document the highs and lows of life as an archaeologist in my computer journal entries, through what I then termed 'logs'.

But if I should have started these years ago in the pre-blogging era, then most certainly I should have done so waaaay back in 2004, that watershed of a year, when I sold my house in York and 'took to the road'. Literally took to the road. I put all my goods into storage, piled my battered old red Ford Fiesta full of all my gear (clothes, computer, photographic equipment) and headed south for Plymouth, and then on a ferry across to Santander, northern Spain, to begin my 'adventures'. And in many ways they have never really stopped. And although I find myself back in York as I write this, I am almost always hiving off somewhere (France, Spain, Ecuador, Peru and India) to do the real work of my life - which is what? What indeed! Watch this space, as they say!

"Tilting Windmills"

Ranks of new age windmills

Wheel in heavy silence

High on the windy ridges;

No old Quixote with horse and lance,

just me in my battered red car,

and bright Quixotic dreams

looking for something.

Pools of shimmering heat

Puddle the long hot road

Crossing the bleached blonde plains

of vast Castile La Mancha –

where long ages past

so many armies fought and passed

pursuing the Reconquista

South into the lands of light

And Andalusia.

Heat on my face

Light in my eyes

Cadences of sweet guitars,

Ruby Rioja and lazy siestas

Scent of jasmines on the wind

Like a lost lover

Like music half remembered

Caught on the edge of sound

I dream of you

How I dream of you

Your fiery kiss

And hot embrace

Your turbulent rhythms

Tease the thirst of my longing ...

How much I miss you!