Mysteries

Snowdrop 10.6: Mysteries

"My Lord! A heroine in tears - what fuss
is this, my child? These dew-buds on your cheeks
should signal joy, relief, release from night -
I saw you strike the Tallyman's own pot;
I watched as mists were wrenched apart, unwrapped
like muscle teased from bones - confusion reigns
in Purgat'ry and sunlight welcomes us
to Christ's immense, unmeasured grace!
Have you been hurt? An injury perhaps?"

"How long have I been gone from home? I know
there was a night of terror: madness claimed
my heart and guts, my mind - I was ashamed
and angry ... visions came to me although
I fought them hard. I killed a man? No - no!
A nightmare, nothing more! But you were there,
I think - you told me things, you let me share
your food ... how long have I been gone from home?"

"Now there's a question set to stretch the brains
of naturalists and scholars! Who can tell
how time can pass in timeless realms? And yet
it cannot be denied that sequences occurred:
each act begat another act, each moment built
upon the last - a parody of time, maybe?
I felt each breath to be my last and still
I breathed again, cessation never came -
a memory of life, I thought, a scrap
of old routine retained to keep me sane
beyond the binding weight of grave and corpse.

"Another question comes to me, a dog
that whines and digs for bones. This place does look
- familiar; this hill that curls the land
is surely Lympne - yes, look! I see the rocks
of Stutfall Tower buried deep in turf.
And there! That steeple - Burmarsh church, I'm sure,
and northwards sits the town of Hythe ... my house ..."

"I broke a window, climbed inside. I found -
a different place; fresh paint, new furnishings
and gadgets - phones so small - a thin TV -
computers, fabrics, shoes that bounce and bound -
so soft to wear. I do not know these things!
It's like the future's come to finish me!"

"You speak in English, yet the lexicon
you choose is foreign - gadgets? Puters? Phones?
Such vexing words - are these angelic tools?
Although your eyes show pain and fear - as if
these miracles have changed while you were gone
from here, and how can things be changed if not
by time itself? Ahh ... now I see the need
for tears and grief - how long have we been trapped
by mists and moons? It seemed an age to me
but thinking back - a month, perhaps, of new
awakenings, each colder than the last -
we must investigate this mystery!
The task will clear away confusion, steer
our feet towards redemption, yes? We'll walk
to Hythe, my friend, and question all we see!"

The Slumbering Marsh

Snowdrop 10.5: The Slumbering Marsh

Where soil and mud
mix, a toad -
each breath a month
of suspensions.

The water's own wolf
waits in the reeds,
teeth primed to spike
cold sticklebacks.

A regiment of sabres
hold steady in trenches,
their wintry green
a stubble of profits.

A swan stabs
her carrot beak
deep in the slime,
harvesting mulm.

A scythe of wing,
white, culling gusts -
discordant chorus:
angelic gulls.

A New World

Snowdrop 10.4: A New World

"This miracle scares me! I thought we were free
for Heaven's embrace when the sun blushed the trees
to gold; such delight took my head to my heels -
I choked on my tears! But this world is unreal:
these wires on poles set to trawl through the air
are God's handiwork? Why would He want to snare
the winds? Or perhaps they are soul-nets, a skein
to rescue folks caught by the Tallyman's bean ..."

"It was not God who rescued us
old friend: we watched her thrust her knife
and slice the mage's pot in two!
A girl, no less, and there was me
who said she'd make a sacrifice
to keep the Tallyman appeased
for many nights - such fools we are!"

"Now don't you be blaming yourself, mistress May;
just thank the good Lord that we've witnessed this day!"

"Oh don't you fear - I have the scabs
upon my knees as evidence
of how I praised sweet Jesus Christ
as sunlight spread across my face!
Such joy to feel a prick of heat
not born of flame embroider skin
with life! So long I've been a corpse,
a ghost, a wraith, a monster caught
in mists - look up above: no moon!
That girl has resurrected us!"

"To what? And to where? Though my eyes see the world
my mind is confused - like the Marsh has unfurled
and flattened itself into shapes that confound
my memories. Where do I stand on this ground?"

"You're right, old man; this place has changed.
what once was green has been despoiled -
the pastures ploughed, the sheep enclosed.
These wires strung on poles - they sing
a mournful ditty: ditches filled
to make great fields, their hedges grubbed
from God's soft earth. And look! This road
is grey and hard, too harsh to let
a donkey trot along it - what
has happened here? Almighty God ...
you hear that roar? A cart on wheels
as round as I am tall - it moves
across that field alone, no horse
to haul its weight: it burns, I'm sure!
You see the twists of smoke - and yet
a man is sat upon it: run!
It turns towards us, hunts us: hide!"

The Tiger Hunts

Can it really be more than four months since I've added some lines to the interminable work? Bad Rik! Especially as I've set myself the target of having this long poem finished, revised and (possibly) published by the end of the year.

Snowdrop 10.3: The Tiger Hunts

She walks the sods and the soils of the marsh,
each saucer paw padding the dirt
into oval dents. When ditches block
her path she leaps them, pitching her limbs
in a stretch across the stagnant waters -
an arch of blacks and oranges burst
through the robes of mist, disrupting geese
from sleep in the reeds. She sniffs at the earth,
whiskers herding the hardened stalks
of winter wheat in whorls and swirls,
touching, tasting the tangs of this world.

When she spots the sheep, she stops mid-pace -
a new-cast statue: an ewe looks up,
cud on the tongue, twitch-ears sculling
for a hint of sound beside the expected
creaks and cracks of her cold-hugged home.

Still now; steal a splinter of inch:
let slide the muscles, let slip the claws
through the clay clods and crouch, and settle
the tail, and wait. Watch for the duck
of a head, the scrape of hoof on ice ...

... and dash! A flash of fur across
the field; a snarl, a flick of the paw
and they tumble down, a tussle of wool
and scat - the herd scarpers, their bleats
a billow of alarms alerting neighbours:
danger! Danger! Dogs on the loose!
Teeth on the throat! Tearing and ripping -
run to the gate; gather and huddle!

But she is no dog. She drags the meat
back to the ditch, dips through the reeds
and into the water, etching a curl
of ripples from bank to bank as she paddles
her course to the sewer, and the sea beyond.

Publishing your poems

Lots of people are talking about this first blog post by a poet who had a bad experience after winning a poetry contest (hat-tip Scavella, VLAW and countless others). Go read it now.

Now go take this are poetry contests killing your soul quiz ... how did you score? I scored a big fat zero, making my soul juicy!

Reb Livingston (for she is the Quizmaster) is on the button with her comments on the affair. I expect she won't be thanked for saying things like that, but then it's a dirty job and somebody has to change the Muse's daiper.

It isn't difficult to publish and promote your own poetry: hard work, yes, but with a bit of creative thought and low cunning it can be done. It won't happen, of course, until you realise that the only person who cares enough to promote your poetry is you (and maybe your friends and the occasional obsessive acolyte you may pick up along the way). For a more complete lowdown on promoting the book, check out this excellent and detailed essay by Quincy.

Then go and visit my self-published and proud-of-it poetry website: you know it makes sense.

Stolen from a Guardian article ...

... and I make no apology for my theft. These are the words of Stuart Jeffries about reading books:

But there is nothing wrong with abandoning a book halfway through. I consulted National Literacy Trust director Jonathan Douglas to get his tips for overcoming reader's block. Giving up on a book you are not enjoying was his first recommendation. Here are all six:

1. To read for pleasure you have got to be in charge of your reading and that means knowing that it's OK to stop reading if it gets boring. Lots of books drop off halfway through. For me, that includes Brideshead Revisited and Wuthering Heights.


2. Talk about books and ask friends for recommendations but avoid getting trapped in a tyrannical reading group for literary point-scorers. Life is too short to read books you do not like.


3. Have a varied reading diet. After a satisfying course of Philip Pullman, cleanse your palate with a sorbet of Heat or Grazia.


4. Make sure that the book you have got fits the time you have got to read. If your life is a frantic race and you only get to read on five-minute tube journeys or among the suds in the bath, do not start War and Peace. Grab one of the fantastic Quick Reads series that celebrity authors are now penning, or try a poetry anthology.


5. Read aloud. Importantly, 76% of mothers and 42% of fathers read bedtime stories to their children, but sharing a book is a wonderful way for anyone to spend time.


6. Try listening to a good book on tape or eavesdrop on Book at Bedtime on Radio 4.

It's good advice. I use Rule One every time I reach page 8 of a Salman Rushdie novel.

Wot? No RBS Thingy to post today, Rik?

Well, after reading the Is Google Making Us Stupid? article over at Atlantic.com, I decided to settle down and do some serious, sustained book reading. Which has managed to get me through 200 pages of Kim Stanley Robinson's Green Mars.

So no, no RBS Thingy today. Maybe tomorrow I'll post the next episode.

Now go read something long and involved, both of you: it's good for your brains, innit!

RBS: the first month

Today is the one-month anniversary of my first RBS post and, unprecedentedly, I've managed to make at least one RBS post every day of that month.

I've posted just over 20,000 words which represents:

- 20% of a 100k word story

- around 650 words a day written - not up to NaNoWriMo speeds (which require around 1700 words a day), but not bad given my tendency to work in spurts

The story is beginning to progress, we're beginning to get a bit of movement from the characters. My favourite bits are the two dream sequences - have fun analysing them!

No comments to date on any of the writing. I'm going to assume that people are enjoying the story, which is a lot more glass-full than assuming everybody stopped reading after the first couple of posts.

In the annals of stupid things done by Rik

How do you say to a publisher, who is very, very enthusiastic about developing and publishing a book based an idea that you had a few years back, and who wants to put your name on the front of the book, and pay royalties to you on each book sold - even though the publisher has done all the running with the book's development and you've contributed, basically, sod all except the original idea - that you don't want your name on the front of the book and don't want to be paid the royalties?

"Thank you and please send the cheque to ..." is not an option.

I've tried the Nice Rik approach; it's not working. Publisher doesn't want to listen to Rik's whines. But the publisher doesn't deserve the Nasty Rik approach - not yet, anyways.

RBS thoughts ...

When I started writing this story, I thought I'd fall flat on my face - no plans? No plot? No effing characters? Madness! It was bound to fall to pieces within a week!

So, three-and-a-half weeks later and I'm still writing and posting, and I've got a glimmer of an idea about how this story could develop. Though the current Big Problem is that I haven't been writing much over the past couple of days (I've been trying to let each section stew for a few days before being revised and posted so as to make the reading experience a bit more bearable), the main reason being that while I can sort of see the bigger picture thingie, the details of how to realise the bigger picture thingie keep tripping me up. For instance:

- while I'm liking the characters, I seem to have killed half of them off before doing anything interesting with them. Not a great problem, thanks to the pretty stones-and-metal-band McGuffin which I can use to ressurect (some of) the characters, and there's always Ye Olde Flashback technique for developing the N's history with (for example) Bull. But I am a bit worried that the churn rate of characters may be a little too fast - distracting - for the reader

- where's the baddies? Where's the danger? I've been playing on an unnamed, unknown threat for over 13k words now and I'm not sure it would be a good idea to keep the reader in the dark any longer about what that threat is. Except (of course) I haven't yet decided on who the baddies are and what the threat is. I'm as much in the dark as the N on that point

- talking about baddies, what about the good guys? Is Kal (the N) good or bad? Currently he's a bit of a callous bugger with a big, unknown backstory. But is he a hero, a villain or a commentator? I don't know yet, though I think I can put off making that decision for a few weeks

- Sam. Dear, dear Sam. With his youthful looks and toned body he is so obviously a Marty-Stu that it's hard for me to write about him without blushing in shame. Maybe that's why I'm torturing him so much at the moment. Sam is, I feel, a big danger to this story; I'm going to have to keep him on a short lead until I decide what his role is going to be in the bigger story

- vampires: baddies, or tools, or a big fat red herring? I worried about mentioning vampires given the baggage that comes with them - will the reader get the point that these vampires feed off a person's energy, not their blood?

- the band - it's not really a McGuffin, nor a Deus ex machina, but what sort of plot device do I want it to be? I'm still undecided about whether the worlds it contains are only visited in dreams and flashbacks, or whether to send Kal (and Sam?) to one (or more) of those worlds as the story develops. Should I be capitalising The Band in the text to make it feel more ominous?

- 1st person present(ish) POV: it's a bugger to write, very constraining. I'm tempted to insert passages from other POVs, but have resisted so far. I don't know if staying with Kal is damaging the story or not

Worries, worries. Ah, heck! It's all a learning experience. Nobody's reading this, so nobody's being damaged by my uncertainties and indecisions. And I'm only writing this to stall myself from making the next big decision: what's the threat, Rik; what's it all about?