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.

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.

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.

Queen of Hearts?

Yesterday, I had the mixed experience of watching The Diana Years. I say 'mixed' because although (as I have hinted previously) I am not a huge fan of the Royal Family, the programme documented an era of social history that I find fascinating, not least because I remember it.

Retrospective accounts of the decade often focus on Diana's death for obvious reasons: it was a tragedy that made international headlines and lead to an unprecedented show of public emotion in the UK. Personally, however, I think its significance is overplayed. For all the feeling that we were living through momentous times, nothing actually changed. The most significant (British) death of the decade has to be John Smith's.

Unlike Diana's, John Smith's death changed things. It is impossible to know what would have happened had things turned out differently, but it seems likely that Smith would have lead Labour to victory in the election that took place in 1997. He may well have had a smaller majority than Tony Blair was able to command; in this case, the Conservatives could have elected Michael Portillo as leader, something they weren't able to do in reality. The next election (the one that took place in June 2001) would have been contested by parties lead by Smith and Portillo. Would Prime Ministers Smith or Portillo have done anything different to the real-life Blair? Would they have been more reticent about, for example, invading Iraq? I don't know: that's the problem with this kind of counter-factual speculation.

The other question is what would have happened had Princess Diana not died. It's difficult to think that things would have been that different, but what of the huge outpouring of grief that followed her death. I felt at the time, cynic that I am, that it was totally out of proportion. Of course, people were sad, but a lot of people seemed to show more grief over the death of someone they had never met than they might over the death of a close friend or relative. I feel now that the grief was really about something else.

This was (in the 'real' world) only four months after the defeat of the Tories and in particular John Major, a man who seemed to epitomise a certain kind of old-fashioned Conservatism (if that's not a tautology). It seems likely that for many people the illusions of certainty and greatness that the Conservatives had relied on for seventeen years had been laid bare. Regardless of a person's opinions about these ideologies, it is understandable that many people felt disorientated and scared: Diana's death provided a focal point for these feelings. Where would these feeling have gone had Diana survived that crash?

Approximately ten months later, England were competing in the World Cup, an event that inevitably provokes an upsurge in (confused) nationalism. Predictably, they were knocked out; equally predictably, there was a scapegoat: David Beckham. Beckham became a pariah for a while. If the collective sense of grief had not found an outlet the previous September, imagine how much worse it would have been for him. It's not in the same league as the invasion of Iraq, but I'm aware that both these scenarios are nothing more than idle speculation.

Stoned

The Stone Roses have been in the news recently. I won't write about my objections to their reunion as others have already done so. Instead, I'd like to relate a little-known story from their early years.

The band have generally been regarded as being chilled-out and amiable, in part because of their song 'One Love'. Few people know, however, that the song's lyrics have their origins in an event that took place before the band were successful.

Singer Ian Brown and guitarist John Squire took a cheap day out in picturesque Cheshire town Marple. While there, they decided to enjoy a treat in a local teashop. Finding themselves strapped for cash, they decided to share one cup of tea. Unfortunately, the waitress misunderstood their order and seeing two people sat at the table took them two cups. Seeing her error, Ian Brown - later to become an exemplar of courtesy - shook his head: "one, love" he said, "we don't need another, love." Squire, so legend has it, whipped out his guitar and a classic was born.

A blog that might require sponsorship

As regular readers will know, this blog does not, as a rule, advertise. I occasionally look at the 'monetise' option at the top of this page and think about clicking it. The chance to make a bit of extra money out of something I write for fun is quite tempting, but I worry that I might find myself plunged into a capitalist purgatorio in which I am expected to sell my own grandmother, or perhaps link to a certain online retailer. It's a risk I've avoided - until now. For now, I feel I have to mention a brand name.

I am part of the Walkman™ generation. I was a pre-pubescent youth when a large electronics conglomerate introduces the personal stereo. They were ubiquitous when I was a teenager, and the long-term result is that many people my age (I have just turned 40) find it more-or-less impossible to spend more than an hour without being engulfed in music. Ok, we're hardly unique in listening to music on headphones - my own dad (some years older than I am) owned one before I did - but, we may be the first generation to expect to be occupied constantly while awake. Equally, although plenty of other manufacturers made similar devices, the power of the brand was so strong that it became a generic name for that particular device.

The device in question has now been discontinued, however the brand name survives. A friend of mine had a mobile phone - I suppose I see the connection - that used the brand, while I own an MP3 player. There are two ironies here, one personal one general: on a personal level, the MP3 player is the first device with that brandname that I have owned (previously I have had to make do with cheaper brands); an a broader level, the generic name now belongs to another brand (no plug for this).

Despite firmly reaching middle age, I still walk with earphones in. I have always told myself that this is because of my love of music: over the years I have spent a good proportion of my money on CDs, tapes and legal downloads; I also own several musical instruments, that I play with varying degrees of incompetence. It occurred to me recently, however, that the real reason is to shut myself away from reality. Putting the earphones in the moment I leave the house and not removing them until I reach my destination saves me the hassle of interacting with the world. Not anymore: I have decided to renounce the Walkman.

Well, maybe not. I still listen to it, because I love music; from now on that will be the only reason. I will no longer put the earphones in automatically; I will try to live without constant stimulation; I will take the time to listen to my surroundings. I don't think this will change the planet or make me a better person, but it might stop me going completely deaf for a couple of years.

Nostalgia, entertainment and war

There are three things I dislike intently, nostalgia, entertainment and war. I'm not trying to make a moral equivalence between these, but as I've just spent several hours experiencing all three in combination, I thought I'd lump them together for the sake of a blog that no one reads.

Bantock House in Wolverhampton is a perfectly fine place to spend a quiet afternoon. The parkland and gardens provide a nice escape from the City traffic, while the house itself is moderately informative about Wolverhampton's development, although the contextual information about Victorian households is nothing that can't be found elsewhere. The house also hosts regular events, including an annual music event which provides local acoustic musicians the chance to play at somewhere other than the usual circuit of nondescript pubs. The standard of performance is variable, but this reinforces the sense of watching a real musical event, rather than X-Factor or some such nonsense.

Today, they were hosting a 40s weekend. I attended for a variety of reasons far too tedious to go into here, but with low expectations. The event was also attended by a variety of people, most of whom too young to remember the War, dressed as soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes. The official entertainment was a 'sing-along' of wartime hits, lead by a medium-sized group of the above soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes, most of whom were too young to remember the War. All of this is perfectly harmless, and I really don't mean to sneer, but I did find it profoundly depressing.

Part way through proceedings, the host reminded us that the men who fought in World War II were fighting for the freedoms we enjoy today. It was at this point that I realised what was making me so uncomfortable.

I am not, when push comes to shove, a pacifist. When I was younger, I felt that I would have fought against Hitler, and I still suspect that I would have done, but that shouldn't prevent any of us questioning the myth-making that surrounds this period. If Hitler had lived, he would now be 122 (or dead). Even if we had lost the War and been invaded by Germany, things would have changed; we would not still be living under a fascist dictatorship. There would also have been internal resistance, which combined with the inherent instability of any form of dictatorship would have lead to the collapse of the Nazi Party. Ultimately, National Socialism would have collapsed the same way that Communism did. And, of course, Hitler did not rise in a vacuum: the treaty of Versailles created the political and economic conditions in which fascism flourished; Britain, as a nation, was complicit in this.

None of this is intended in any way to diminish the sacrifices of that generation; I simply feel that sitting back and enjoying a nostalgic sing-along romanticises and decontexualises a complex area. Personally, I would rather engage with someone singing about their lives, while struggling to play the guitar than be entertained by well-known songs that were originally intended to distract people from harrowing events. For similar reasons, I prefer history to nostalgia; I want to learn about context and causes, not hear about how wonderful it all was, and not just because it wasn't.

I am still not a pacifist: I would have fought against Hitler - Chamberlain's appeasement made this inevitable - and I would have fought against Apartheid. But, just as I prefer history to nostalgia, I prefer peace to war.