Friday 28 January 2011

Our Woodlands


I've been thinking about all the beautiful places I have walked. The fields I have trekked across, the moorland, green, purple or brown, the woods, sun dappled and leafy, white tinged with intricated dark fingers against the winter sky, peaty paths, grassy trails, sheep bleating, birds calling out, crows rising from January branches. Beside wide amber rivers, grey waters, noisy streams, overgrown springs, gushing waterfalls. And I've been free to wander and sort out the crises that seem more important than anything else. And calm down when I've been upset. And be inspired when I've been struggling.
Many woods are owned by the National Trust. We have to pay for this privilege. Luckily there are woods in our country where anyone can enjoy these benefits. Walk and walk until we feel better, healthier, able to cope.
I've been thinking about what I would have done if I hadn't been able to walk amongst the trees and sort myself out. What would I have done if I hadn't found this release? What if I can't walk freely in woods to find a solution, to calm down, to reconnect with reality. What will I do if I can't do this? What will other people do?

Thursday 20 January 2011

Launch Events


Last night I went to the Institute of Anthony Burgess on Cambridge Street in Manchester to attend the launches of two books of poetry published in their new 'Salt Modern Voices' range by Salt Publishing, Manchester. The two poets, Adrian Slatcher 'Playing Solitaire for Money' and JT Walsh 'Orchids' spoke and read from their works. With red and white wine and orange juice on offer, sitting in a ground floor room of an old mill with its expanse of restored brick walls, antique pieces of furniture and bookshelves it made for a very pleasant hour or two.
At first I wasn't sure I'd got the right place. The cafe was closed and it was only when I glimpsed people through an entranceway into the adjacent room that I realised, yes, this was the place. And very nice it is too. I'm definitely going to look what other events take place there.

But, back to this particular evening. Adrian, who I'd met years ago at a playwriting course held at the Manchester Language School in Didsbury (now that's a place I can wax lyrical on) invited me to the event.
It was extremely well run with an introduction, then Adrian speaking and reading exceptionally well and I liked the way his book of poetry moves through stages, particularly the personal poetry.
And then JT Walsh whose poetry and approach was different from Adrian's but equally well presented and read and evocative.

And what has this left me with? The desire to go to more such events.

Tuesday 18 January 2011

Fathers

It's strange how reactions sometimes erupt out of proportion to what we expect. Watching The Gilmore Girls with my daughters I suddenly burst into tears. I don't just mean a few trickles down my cheeks, I am talking full heaving eye shrivelling sobs. And it was a completely unexpected response. I was not in a particulary sad waiting for the excuse to cry frame of mind. And anyone who knows The Gilmore Girls American television series will know that in its amber toned images of a town where the harvest in everyone's kitchen is plentiful, porches are sofa and cushioned filled, abundance is everywhere even when it snows flakey white fluff. This is not a place for hysterical sobs but rather dab the corner of the eye with the pink velvet soft tissue.
But I sobbed. And it was when Richard Gilmore, grand patriach, husband of Emily, father to Lorelei, grandfather to Rory has a heart attack. In this world he is rushed immediately to hospital, has his own room where Rory brings his favourite jazz records and a portable turntable record player after immediate brilliantly executed heart surgery. And immediately I felt a geezer open up in my chest. Why?

I don't know.

But I do know it made me think of my father who had his first heart attack in his early forties and who died at the age of sixty-seven. He never had heart surgery. Someone he knew had a heart transplant and although the surgery was a success, mentally and emotionally he couldn't live with someone else's heart in his chest.
My father chose not to have surgery. Is this what upset me, that in Richard Gilmore's world it was so apparantly easy? I don't think so. I think it hit me that I miss dad and my daughters don't have, never knew in fact the wonderful grandad he would have been.

Wednesday 12 January 2011

Book Reviews


Someone said to me a while ago, 'I've read your book.' They stood half in and half out of my kitchen. They smiled, glass in hand. 'I've read your book. Bet you're surprised.'

So. What did you think of it? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did I ask that? No. Stupidly no. There were quite a few people around. I bottled out. Have to say I was surprised. And at that point not sure enough of myself. Luckily now I think I could ask. But at the time I was surprised they had read it and surprised they thought that comment was enough. Even if we pretend we don't want or need it, everyone needs feedback on something they've done. Could be the washing up. 'Well done for doing the washing up.' 'I think you've done a brilliant job.' 'Good work.'
Another time.

A week or two ago someone else told me they were in the local bookshop looking for a book. They saw my book. Thought 'Ah. I know the writer. Nice cover. Nice looking book.' She told me this. A pretty full hairdressers.
And then she told me what she liked about the actual book. And it was very useful and good to hear.
She liked the short chapters. The simplicity of it. The way each chapter was mainly complete in itself.
She didn't like the way the father changed even though she understood it.
Thank you for that. Genuinely thank you. It helps.

And the next book on Coty - complete in itself, not a taster as Meeting Coty in some ways is, is quite different. Longer chapters. Ending in cliff hangers in the main. Though one or two are complete in themselves. A longer novel. More complications.
But the writing is similar in style and the characters the same with three or four additions.


Surprise if anyone reads it? No. I hope I won't be surprised if people I know read it. I'm hopeful. Hopeful and excited.

Sunday 9 January 2011

On the Waterfront

I watched 'On the Waterfront' yesterday. The DVD has been in the cupboard for a year or two and I keep thinking, 'I must watch it.' Yesterday I did.

The script is superb. I'd forgotten what an iconic speech Marlon Brando (Terry Molloy's) 'I coulda been a contender' speech is. How many excellent actors are present. Karl Marlden, Lee J. Cobb, Rod Steiger and Eva Marie Saint is completely believable. They all are. And there's no strong make-up, no perfect hair or special effects. Just a brilliant script, creatively shot and directed and believeably acted. The world rings true and you can see it true in places today. Should be on the curriculum.

The scene where Molloy tells the Eva Marie Saint characater Edie Doyle what he has done is fantastic. We know what he has to tell her. It has been reiterated several times. We know it will be devastating. And when it comes to it, we don't hear a word of what he says. We see close ups of her face. His face talking but drowned out by the horns of the docks. It's not cheesey at all. It is perfectly exectuted.
A similar technique is used in La Vie on Rose, the story of Edith Piaf. We hear her singing throughout and then when it gets to the stage performance that makes her, we don't hear her sing. We see her singing but don't hear it. Perfect. The moment is all the stronger because it is not what we expect and we already have the knowledge that is being shown in the scene.

And Molloy with Doyle's glove.
And shots of the crowd of men on the docks.
And the realism.
And knowing how easy it is to get sidetracked and the lack of hope. But wanting hope.

Oh and the soundtrack is by Leonard Bernstein.

Watch it!!!

Thursday 6 January 2011

South Riding


I read in the Radio Times that the BBC are airing a more contemporary costume drama called South Riding this year. It is set in the Depression-era North. No not now, but in the 1930's. Andrew Davies who has adapted the novel by Winifred Holtby's 1936 novel says,
"I feel as if we've rediscovered a forgotten masterpiece."

Well, it is a very very good book. A forgotten masterpiece? Have the BBC and he forgotten the brilliant Yorkshire Television Series of the 1970s starring the wonderful Dorothy Tutin and equally well-cast Nigel Davenport?
I received this book as a Sunday School Prize from Hawksworth Methodist Chapel, a village in Yorkshire. This is a very Yorkshire based book. I still have it.

There are many series that I wish I could see again. I would love to see this series again. I still remember the girls in it and their struggles. The faded state of Robert Carne's (Nigel Davenport's) home. The weather. Loving Sarah Burton (Dorothy Tutin)
Why remake a classic series? Yes, it is still relevant today. Has this original series been lost? Where is it now? I dare you to reshow it Yorkshire Television, if it still exists, though Yorkshire Television hardly exists now does it? Find it someone.

And Mr. Davies. Who rediscovered it? Someone at the BBC department that recommends
novels to be adapted...have any of you seen this original series from the classic book by the Yorkshire born writer who died at the age of thirty-seven?

I don't know why exactly but I feel very territorial about this book. I will watch the adaptation. Makes me feel sick because what I want from the BBC is for them to reshow classic adaptations and dramas from past years for new audiences while concentrating on adapting novels and new dramas that have never been made before by them or any other company.

Of course audiences now may find a series from the 1970s too slow, too faded, too whatever they think it is but when my daughters have watched a film from this period they have been impressed by the realism of the cast. They like the fact that the actors don't look airbrushed and perfect and more attractive than the person they are portraying.

The good thing from this article in the Radio Times has made me take down my copy of South Riding from the bookshelf, with Dorothy Tutin on the cover, and I'm going to reread it before watching Andrew Davies' adaptation.

Tuesday 4 January 2011

Titles

The Coty book as in the second one needs a different title. Meeting Coty came so easily. Erosion did. They suit. But this one, this second novel about Tessa and the world of perfume that is really the grown up version of the first book hasn't fallen upon it's real name. I think I'll leave Coty out of the title. So many people don't know who Francois Coty is so I'm thinking as it's Tessa's story to not refer to him at all and have people find out about him as they read the book.
I could have perfume in the title, but there has been a novel called Perfume. Play around with the connotations of scent/sent. The Catholic Church? Counting the Rosary? Or the women in the book. It is about women. Trio of Scent. It is about the three sisters...To Scent or not to Scent.
Now this is getting silly.
The women though. I think I'll focus on that. Voices. Their different choices. Different paths. mmmm. Set me thinking.

Monday 3 January 2011