I would just like to take this opportunity to plug the BBC's excellent, satirical radio show Newsjack. I have a vested interest in this. I have submitted several sketches to the programme over the last few years. So far, I have had nothing broadcast. Last week, however, I came close. Something I had written (I don't know what) was recorded, but didn't make the transmission. This is very flattering, although I don't get paid. I have just submitted more material and would like all my readers to give the show a listen. I can genuinely recommend the show, and if the producers trace the sudden surge in listeners back to me, it is possible they will pay me for the plug, if not the material.
You're welcome.
Sunday 7 October 2012
Sunday 15 July 2012
Dumbing Down
I recently had a conversation with some colleagues about ITV's deceased show Parkinson. The gist of the conversation was that TV channels don't really broadcast shows like this anymore, because everything has become 'dumbed down'. The only chat shows we have now are comedy shows such as The Graham Norton Show. The particular lament was that there are no shows that feature people just talking. Everything, it was suggested, is 'dumbed down' nowadays.
I feel slightly uneasy about this: it has certain reactionary undercurrent that makes me uncomfortable for one thing - the past was not indisputably better (or worse) the the present; real life is more complicated than that. I have no evidence for this, however, but I do think that TV shows are more likely to feature small chunks of easily-digestible information than they did when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s.
One obvious explanation for this is that TV executives have ratings to maintain and don't like to risk audiences switching over part way through a show. There were only 3 channels before 1982; now, I really have no idea, but the numbering on my Freeview box goes up to 999; we also have games' consoles, a plethora of radio channels, not to mention fabulous websites, such as Twitter, You Tube or even Myoclonic Jerk (no link for obvious reasons).
My one colleague felt that this substantiated his argument about the 'dumbing down' of culture. People get so used to changing channels or surfing to new websites that no one can concentrate on anything demanding. In the past, he suggested, people would watch shows such as Parkinson, perhaps because there was nothing else on, or perhaps because they were only interested in one guest. Whatever the reason, the show was on and that person might learn something unexpected. This is a possibility, but is is equally possible that people had the show on in the background, while they talked about the football, beat up the kids or did whatever people did in the 70s. I'm not entirely sure we are a more stupid society because people can look for something they want to engage with.
There has been some research on the neurological effects of internet usage, but nothing conclusive yet. It is perhaps inevitable that those of us who grew up without internet access and more TV channels than we can easily count feel uncomfortable with it. I'm pretty sure my parents' generation (who didn't really get into TV until adolescence) felt that my generation were stupid because we watched too much TV (but not Parkinson, which was on after our bedtime).
Ultimately, it is not the medium that leads to 'dumbing down' (if such a thing exists). Look at this You Tube Channel, pick a video and watch it all the way through. You might enjoy it; you might learn something; or, you might be bored out of your mind: whatever happens, don't make the mistake of blaming the internet or cable TV for 'dumbing down'. As I said at the beginning of this blog, real life is a bit more complicated than that.
I feel slightly uneasy about this: it has certain reactionary undercurrent that makes me uncomfortable for one thing - the past was not indisputably better (or worse) the the present; real life is more complicated than that. I have no evidence for this, however, but I do think that TV shows are more likely to feature small chunks of easily-digestible information than they did when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s.
One obvious explanation for this is that TV executives have ratings to maintain and don't like to risk audiences switching over part way through a show. There were only 3 channels before 1982; now, I really have no idea, but the numbering on my Freeview box goes up to 999; we also have games' consoles, a plethora of radio channels, not to mention fabulous websites, such as Twitter, You Tube or even Myoclonic Jerk (no link for obvious reasons).
My one colleague felt that this substantiated his argument about the 'dumbing down' of culture. People get so used to changing channels or surfing to new websites that no one can concentrate on anything demanding. In the past, he suggested, people would watch shows such as Parkinson, perhaps because there was nothing else on, or perhaps because they were only interested in one guest. Whatever the reason, the show was on and that person might learn something unexpected. This is a possibility, but is is equally possible that people had the show on in the background, while they talked about the football, beat up the kids or did whatever people did in the 70s. I'm not entirely sure we are a more stupid society because people can look for something they want to engage with.
There has been some research on the neurological effects of internet usage, but nothing conclusive yet. It is perhaps inevitable that those of us who grew up without internet access and more TV channels than we can easily count feel uncomfortable with it. I'm pretty sure my parents' generation (who didn't really get into TV until adolescence) felt that my generation were stupid because we watched too much TV (but not Parkinson, which was on after our bedtime).
Ultimately, it is not the medium that leads to 'dumbing down' (if such a thing exists). Look at this You Tube Channel, pick a video and watch it all the way through. You might enjoy it; you might learn something; or, you might be bored out of your mind: whatever happens, don't make the mistake of blaming the internet or cable TV for 'dumbing down'. As I said at the beginning of this blog, real life is a bit more complicated than that.
Thursday 14 June 2012
Might as well go for it ...
Martin Amis is in the news at the moment: last night, he was even interviewed by Jeremy Paxman. What has he done to get in the news? He's published a book. Ok, the cynicism is probably a little unfair. A new Martin Amis novel has some news value in its own right: it is not as newsworthy as my own first novel will be - no link to that, but you might want another look at this - but that's because Martin Amis has published lots of books before; my first novel will, by definition be unique, at least until the second one comes out.
Martin Amis also, of course, has an efficient publicity machine, which is aided in no small part by his ability to make controversial statements and provoke equally controversial reactions. So far, although the book was only published a week ago, Lionel Asbo has already provoked numerous responses: see, for example, the comments section at the end of the Guardian review I linked to above. How many of these people have read the book, I don't know; to be fair, not many claim to have.
That's the thing, of course, Amis is newsworthy because people talk about him and people talk about him because he's newsworthy. I try not to be too obvious when writing this blog; I haven't read Lionel Asbo yet, although I might, but I do have an opinion about Martin Amis and you're going to read it (unless you click on something more interesting).
I've read a few of Martin Amis's books. The only two I have any time for are Money and Time's Arrow. I admire and (to an extent) enjoy his prose style, which seems to grab the reader by the throat and drag him or her outside for a good kicking. The problem is that, apart from the two books I mention, this seems to be all it does. Halfway through The Rachel Papers - his first novel, but not the first I read - I decided that I'd got the joke, but I wanted to see what he was going to do: the answer turned out to be not a lot.
Time's Arrow I like because it uses a spectacular conceit - the first-person narrator views his own life backwards, from death to birth - to discuss an important topic. To avoid spoiling the plot, the identity of the narrator becomes clear to the narrator at the same time as the reader. The method of the narration raises questions about moral responsibility and defamiliarises an element of twentieth century history so significant (and so horrific) that it is difficult to gain any perspective on it. The only problem with this novel is the ending (the narrator's birth) is clearly predictable.
Money is set in Thatcher's Britain and its aggressive style suits the decade like a ball and chain would suit her son. That isn't its most impressive feature. The novel features a minor character, a local novelist called (hold your sides) 'Martin Amis'. A year before Money was published I wrote a short-story that featured a minor character called 'Jason Jawando'. Far be it from me to suggest that Martin Amis is a dirty plagiarist, but to paraphrase Father Dougal, it is a bit of a coincidence.
Martin Amis also, of course, has an efficient publicity machine, which is aided in no small part by his ability to make controversial statements and provoke equally controversial reactions. So far, although the book was only published a week ago, Lionel Asbo has already provoked numerous responses: see, for example, the comments section at the end of the Guardian review I linked to above. How many of these people have read the book, I don't know; to be fair, not many claim to have.
That's the thing, of course, Amis is newsworthy because people talk about him and people talk about him because he's newsworthy. I try not to be too obvious when writing this blog; I haven't read Lionel Asbo yet, although I might, but I do have an opinion about Martin Amis and you're going to read it (unless you click on something more interesting).
I've read a few of Martin Amis's books. The only two I have any time for are Money and Time's Arrow. I admire and (to an extent) enjoy his prose style, which seems to grab the reader by the throat and drag him or her outside for a good kicking. The problem is that, apart from the two books I mention, this seems to be all it does. Halfway through The Rachel Papers - his first novel, but not the first I read - I decided that I'd got the joke, but I wanted to see what he was going to do: the answer turned out to be not a lot.
Time's Arrow I like because it uses a spectacular conceit - the first-person narrator views his own life backwards, from death to birth - to discuss an important topic. To avoid spoiling the plot, the identity of the narrator becomes clear to the narrator at the same time as the reader. The method of the narration raises questions about moral responsibility and defamiliarises an element of twentieth century history so significant (and so horrific) that it is difficult to gain any perspective on it. The only problem with this novel is the ending (the narrator's birth) is clearly predictable.
Money is set in Thatcher's Britain and its aggressive style suits the decade like a ball and chain would suit her son. That isn't its most impressive feature. The novel features a minor character, a local novelist called (hold your sides) 'Martin Amis'. A year before Money was published I wrote a short-story that featured a minor character called 'Jason Jawando'. Far be it from me to suggest that Martin Amis is a dirty plagiarist, but to paraphrase Father Dougal, it is a bit of a coincidence.
Sunday 13 May 2012
Why I call my blog 'Myoclonic Jerk'.
To be honest, I'm not really sure anymore. I've had this blog for a few years, but so far no real theme has developed; certainly, I had no real theme in mind when I started it. If you've taken the trouble to read my other posts, you'll have found a selection of topics that took my interest when I posted them. I do try to keep themes reasonably current - I don't anticipate posting my opinion of The Beatles anytime soon - but it sometimes takes me a while to decide what I think about a news item.
So far as I remember, the title just came to me while I was thinking up a pseudonym for something I wanted to post somewhere else. I don't remember any details. At the top of my blog is a tagline: "Culture that makes you start; culture that makes you nod off; culture made by jerks". This was my attempt at twisting the title of the blog into some sort of theme - it isn't very clever. In case you're wondering, I didn't use the name 'Myoclonic Jerk' as the blog's URL as it had already been taken. I haven't read this other blog in detail, but it seems to be written by someone from the medical profession: no doubt she or he is more entitled to the name than I am.
Having recently looked at the stats that blogger.com are now handily providing, it seems that some of you might have found me by googling 'myoclonic jerk'. If that's you, then you were probably hoping for something more substantial - sorry.
So far as I remember, the title just came to me while I was thinking up a pseudonym for something I wanted to post somewhere else. I don't remember any details. At the top of my blog is a tagline: "Culture that makes you start; culture that makes you nod off; culture made by jerks". This was my attempt at twisting the title of the blog into some sort of theme - it isn't very clever. In case you're wondering, I didn't use the name 'Myoclonic Jerk' as the blog's URL as it had already been taken. I haven't read this other blog in detail, but it seems to be written by someone from the medical profession: no doubt she or he is more entitled to the name than I am.
Having recently looked at the stats that blogger.com are now handily providing, it seems that some of you might have found me by googling 'myoclonic jerk'. If that's you, then you were probably hoping for something more substantial - sorry.
Sunday 6 May 2012
Why I don't post regularly
I am writing this on the outside chance that I have attracted a few regular readers who may be occasionally disappointed to visit this site and find that I haven't posted anything new for weeks. Blogger's handy stats widget suggests I had 20 visits yesterday, and even more the day before. Someone is obviously looking at my blog, even if they don't actually read it.
Anyway, I don't always update the blog because I write other things. Many are unfit for publication, although that doesn't stop me from trying. Some projects are quite time-consuming, for example the novels and plays. When I'm working on something like this, I don't always have the time and/or the energy to post a blog. Rest assured that if anything is published (or performed) I will plug it here relentlessly.
I have had some success publishing shorter pieces. Recently I have published two reviews - here and here - and an article. Feel free to visit these pieces and comment. I will continue blogging here, but my legions of adoring fans need to resign themselves to this being an occasional treat.
Anyway, I don't always update the blog because I write other things. Many are unfit for publication, although that doesn't stop me from trying. Some projects are quite time-consuming, for example the novels and plays. When I'm working on something like this, I don't always have the time and/or the energy to post a blog. Rest assured that if anything is published (or performed) I will plug it here relentlessly.
I have had some success publishing shorter pieces. Recently I have published two reviews - here and here - and an article. Feel free to visit these pieces and comment. I will continue blogging here, but my legions of adoring fans need to resign themselves to this being an occasional treat.
Monday 5 March 2012
A blog I am unqualified to write or why I'm not doing an MA in Creative Writing
Reason 1:
Because I can't afford it.
Reason 2:
See Reason 1, but I suspect a more detailed consideration might be the reason you're reading this, so here goes.
More detailed consideration:
There has been some discussion about the merits of university creative writing courses. I am not particularly sure how qualified I am to comment on this: I did two undergraduate modules in Creative Writing at Wolverhampton University, but otherwise have no experience of the subject in an HE setting. My perspective is largely one of envy. I would love to spend a year writing and studying; but, as hinted above, it isn't really practical.
Taking money out of the equation, I still have reservations. I suppose I have to ask if I would be accepted onto a course. I have got a First Class degree (in literature), have completed (but not published) more than one novel and published a few short-stories: I flatter myself that I would be just the sort of student they are looking for. Would it actually help me be a better writer?
Will Self suggests (in the article linked to above) that 'a course can't make someone into a good writer', going on to suggest that successful graduates were innately talented anyway. I'm not convinced about that anyone is innately talented at any skill: we might have natural aptitudes in certain areas, but succeeding in any field needs practice and application.
So, do I think an MA in Creative Writing would be helpful? I suppose the answer is a qualified yes. I would certainly like the constructive and objective criticism, but this may be available elsewhere at a fraction of the cost. And to return to the top of this blog, cost is a major issue. I would like the chance to concentrate on my writing, but if I had the course fees, I can't help thinking that I could just as easily use the money to buy some time off work. What I would really like is to be in a position to find out first-hand: this is a luxury that I suspect I will never be in a position to afford.
Saturday 21 January 2012
The Coolest Shop in Wolverhampton
Huckleberry’s has got to be the coolest shop in Wolverhampton. I’ve never been in: I’m not a mod and I’ve never been interested in paying the sorts of prices they charge for any clothes. It just strikes me as a cool shop, unlike the majority of Wolverhampton City Centre.
For a start, it is not (so far as I can tell) part of a chain. Chain-stores have their uses: in a strange town, the familiar logos tell you exactly what you’ll find in there. This is a dreadfully consumerist perspective, dreadful in the sense that being a consumer is a dreadful thing to be, but dreadful also in the sense that it isn’t the perspective that the stores’ owners want. Large stores don’t make their money out of the casually disorientated: they make it out of the addict who returns time after time. The logo is the drug. In a world of interchangeable products, logos work with store layout and even the instore playlist to create a sense of familiarity that satiates the addiction.
Huckleberry’s doesn’t rely on the casual customer either. A small shop on a side-street, it’s too out of the way to attract passing trade. It’s also too expensive – certainly in Wolverhampton – for anything other than the niche customer. Its biggest problem, however, is also its coolest feature: stood outside the shop is a Lambretta. The scooter is not for sale; no scooter is for sale; I don’t even know that the scooter works. Is this the most brilliant advertising ploy ever?
The shop is the ultimate lifestyle shop. Many retailers aspire to this. The logos that draw addicts in and create the sense of reassurance also create an impression of a particular lifestyle. This is really obvious in the case of furniture stores, quite obvious in the case of clothes stores and much less obvious in the case of supermarkets. As customers with vague ideas of who we are, we shop in the stores that fit the vague idea of who we would like to be.
The experience is generally fleeting. We all have our favourite clothes store, our backup clothes store, the clothes store that makes us feel uncomfortable and the clothes store we wouldn’t be seen dead in. Ultimately, it has no effect on our lives. These stores sell more-or-less the same products and very few people live for the next trip to Next.
The modshop is different. It is difficult to imagine the casual mod: being a mod involves a commitment to stylish (and expensive) dress that can’t really be picked up and put down. With the clothes comes a collection of music and leisure pursuits. The Lambretta is outside the shop because everyone who shops there, or might shop there, either owns or covets a similar model. The shop is the coolest in Wolverhampton because it doesn’t need to flaunt itself: everyone who needs to know about it will know about it. I am with those who don’t need to know about it. I have never taken enough interest in my appearance to be a mod. I will never buy anything from Huckleberry’s; I will probably never even step through the door; but every time I pass the shop I will feel a draught of envy. I am not that cool and never will be.
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