I’m struggling to sleep again. The last two nights I was up after midnight in the knowledge I had to get up at 5am for work. As time dragged on, I started to feel the pressure and became more aware I was losing time and couldn’t push my time of rising any further back. The more I thought about it, the more awake I became. In the end my estimate was about two and a half hours of sleep each night. Not good.

Getting out of bed wasn’t so much of a problem in the end, though. It was the staying during the day awake bit that has become the problem.

My post on Sunday about Generation-X for Clothes seems to have stirred up some interesting comments. I’m glad I’m not middle-aged (Devon) because I don’t feel it. I suppose I feel about 20’ish then I look in the mirror and realise I’ve got a gut and I shaved all my hair off to beat the tide ten years ago. (That was a great day, by the way).

Robert LaFrance gave me the great idea of wearing a suit jacket with a bedazzled T-shirt underneath—God knows I’ve got plenty of them! Stevie Ward basically told me to stick what I’m doing with my trusty Madness t-shirt and Harrington jacket, and after reading Devon’s comment I had to go and look up “metrosexual” to confirm I’m definitely not one. I can be a bit camp sometimes, but not a “metro”.

In the end I’m going to leave it up to Gail after she offered to do it for me. She asked to be entrusted to buy me clothes (if I gave her the cash first) and she is going to improve my image one night this week without me even being there. She said after I accepted: “this is a big responsibility, but I’ll give it a go.” Fingers crossed.

The last time I went actively clothes shopping for proper clothes was in River Island in Glasgow in 1992. That store doesn’t exist any more, I don’t live in Glasgow any more, I don’t have a 12 stone build any more, and I don’t have a hair line any more. Actually, I tell a lie, I bought a new suit last August, does that count?

A friend outed himself in the staff canteen yesterday. He’d arrived to work in a pink shirt—nothing odd in that because I often wear a nifty pink tartan number myself—then during the pasta Bolognese course, and in front of all five of us, he suddenly announced he “had finally come to terms with his homosexuality.”

A moment of silence ensued, shocked awe rippled all around the table. Then we realised most of us had actually seen it coming and had often wondered how long it would be until this day came.

Now we know the truth, though, nothing much has really changed. Good on him, if it makes him feel better. The rest of us still think the same of him as we did before: nice guy, good at his job, but now we say of him: “would be happier if he found a decent man.”

It’s chucking it down in Edinburgh today—has been all morning—which is great because I’m going to be spending the night in the pub anyway so no chance of getting soaked like I did on the way into work.

Tally ho!

I went into Edinburgh in the rain yesterday. Well, not so much rain, more of a dank drizzle that my Harrington absorbed like a sponge. My intention was simple: buy some holiday clothes, checkout a couple of recommended books and grab a coffee. Nothing is ever that simple, though.

Ever wondered why middle-aged men dress like twats? Either they wear clothes that speak of days gone by or they are too old and sensible for them to make any sense. The answer is simple, as I discovered yesterday: there is nowhere for middle-aged men to buy clothes, especially ones to wear on holiday.

The first thing I feel I should do is define middle-age. If it’s half way through one’s life expectancy then at 36 I suppose I can say I’m right on the button. Or is it, as most people seem to think, the latter stages say between mid-40s to being an OAP? It’s a conundrum and more relevant to my argument as you might think.

I’m 36 and whether that makes me middle-aged or not, I feel like Generation-X when it comes to clothes. Nobody caters for me; you either have to be 20 to suit the styles on offer or be prepared to buy your clothes from BHS or Matalan and end up looking like your Dad. Either that or just be a woman, they seem to have plenty to choose from.

Us mid-30 blokes have grown old before our time because we’ve been missed and forgotten by the designers and outlets. We’ve no role models to look up to and say, “hey, I want to look like that.” We’ve no style ideas of our own. It’s not our fault we end up looking to M&S or Slaters for t-shirts! It’s not my fault that I get excited at a new pair of slippers (although my Homey’s really are something very special).

I left M&S feeling dejected and hopeless, my plan to get it all done myself this year left in tatters. I’d called my wife fromthe t-shirt department of the men’s section and felt like a prat as I told her nothing looked right at all. There I was, walking around the t-shirts with my mobile to my ear as middle-aged men followed their wives around as they picked out  clothes for them that just didn’t suit. That will be me later this week. Oh joy.

Following that humiliation I decided to head to the bookshop to look up Devon’s recommended books. None of them were in but I was able to order AMERICA LIBRE and should have it in time for going away. Back home I looked out more potential books to take on holiday. In no particular order:

• THE PLAGUE by Albert Camus
• FLESHMARKET CLOSE by Ian Rankin
• THE ISLAND – Victoria Hyslop
• THE PAPERS OF TONY VEITCH by William McIlvanney
• MAN IN THE DARK by Paul Auster

I spent my afternoon doing a bit of cleaning and tidying. I took some time to do some longhand writing and make some notes—even found myself sketching into my Moleskine at one point! Then I ordered pizza and watched a film with daughter in the evening.

A fitting end to this middle-aged bloke’s life. For info, I wore jeans, a Madness t-shirt and Harrington jacket through. What does that tell you about my clothing comfort zone?

Peace and out!

A day of two fascinating halves. On the one one hand I had the day job, which was busy and thick with challenge, and on the other was the live coverage of the stand-off between the police and the killer gunman running loose around Northumbria.

I won’t go into the day job much; lots to get through, plenty of meetings, a few decisions—all good clean fun. The manager of yesterday’s implementation brought down some chocolates, which brightened up the afternoon despite the drizzle outside.

On my way home I bought a fish supper—my prize after a tough week—and was contemplating what to do with my evening when I noticed a remark on Twitter that the armed fugitive, Raoul Moat, had been caught. I switched onto BBC News 24 and saw that the police had indeed surrounded him with snipers, the media was going into a frenzy and the locals of Rothbury were flooding to the scene.

It was fascinating to watch. Disturbing, too, some of the journalistic tactics of the on-the-scene BBC reporter, and almost like a soap opera when Paul Gascoigne showed up to try and help, claiming to be a friend of the crazed gunman.

As the tale unfolded over the next six hours I found myself writing the events and my thoughts on it into one of my longest ever poems. I didn’t watch it all as I got too tired and I’ve a lot to get through this weekend, but I scribbled over 3 pages into my notebook, a final two stanzas this morning when I woke up to the news that Moat had finally ended the stand-off by shooting himself dead.

Not since the 70s has Britain seen such an intense stand-off following a 7-day man hunt. It all started on Facebook when Moat revealed he felt his life was over and he’d lost everything after being released from prison. We were all to “watch what happens next.” Well, we did, and through just about every single news agency and 24-hour broadcaster the country has. At least the people of Rothbury are safe now.

To the weekend and it’s my last before I go away so I’ve a lot to do. I need to get some clothes (anyone who knows me will know I HATE clothes shopping) and so am heading up town shortly before the place gets busy to raid a couple of shops. There’s also a lot to get done on my GDR before next week. Gotta keep moving.

Peace and out!

My tickets for the Edinburgh Book Festival arrived yesterday, all 35 of them. Holding the bundle in my hand brought it home just how busy August is going to be. And of course, there’s still one very special event I’m hoping to be attending, news of which I should hear soon after July 16th.

The day job was slow, which I hate. I can feel the pressure building when I’m not moving fast enough and with the boss off on his holidays it can lead to hassle up front. Thinks seem to be slow all over, though, as vast numbers start to head off towards sunnier climes, leaving the office barren and rumbling along. It will soon be my turn and it can’t come quick enough now.

I had an excellent writing session last night. I put GREENER to the side for the evening to work on some ideas I’d had over the weekend and it ended up consuming me. I’ll have to get a new notebook for going away now, though, because all my work went into the brand new one I’d bought. I couldn’t resist the sheen, smell and feel of the paper.

I spent some time catching up on all the blogs I read regularly since I’ve not had a chance over the past couple of days. Wish I hadn’t. One of them left me feeling shocked and angry at the unbelievable selfishness and self-absorbed nature of the writing. Not often does my jaw physically hang and I feel sick from reading peoples’ comments, but this was just disgusting drivel and I’ve now lost a large chunk of respect for someone I considered a friend.

I watched a fascinating documentary celebrating the 50th anniversary of Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Writer, Andrew Smith (I think that was his name), headed back to the writer’s hometown and tracked her life. He came across an amazing array of people, from the most poisonous bigots to the most wonderful, open-minded people.

It amazes me how the KKK can even survive these days judging by the ridiculousness look of their gowns alone, never mind their hate-filled views. We think we have it bad over here with bigotry but that lot in the American south really do take some beating. Wish someone would as well.

What it did highlight for me is how relevant Lee’s book still is today and always will be. It’s a shame she’s never spoken about it since but her final words on the matter seem very apt somehow: “I said all I wanted to say; why write more?”

The programme was then followed up by the classic movie adaption of the book with Gregory Peck. I shouldn’t have watched it because I’m knackered today as a result but it was worth it.

Peace and out!

A bath of ice. That’s what I need to cool my skin and return to a more normal temperature. I’m not really enjoying this week’s “great weather” because I can’t find a balance with clothes.

It’s not sunny but icky and sticky and sweaty (I’ve used that phrase before but I like it). The women in the office are lucky—they can adapt their clothing—but us men are restricted to long trousers and shirts. It can get a bit drab sometimes, but hey, it’s not a bloody fashion parade, right?

An email came round at work yesterday: Fabio Capello’s face morphed onto a photograph of Tommy Cooper. I could hardly tell the difference.

My iTunes library is now about 6x larger than the space available on my iPod and I’ve only imported about two thirds of my CD collection and zero percent of my vinyl collection. Selecting what I want to listen to while on the move is now proving to be quite difficult. Why did I tell you this? Because I spent a portion of last night selecting a bit of everything to try and appease myself. The trouble is, though, I like to listen to albums in their entirety. They just don’t make iPods big enough.

I sent off my application to read at the Edinburgh Book Festival as part of the UNESCO Story Shop programme. A POINT OF VIEW is now in the hands of the decision makers and I should hear sometime after July 21st. Fingers crossed. At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted it but the more I thought about it and the more I have practiced, the more I really want it. I would love to get the opportunity to do it and I think it would be a great step forward. If I don’t get it, does that mean I shouldn’t be seeking out to perform my work elsewhere regardless? Certainly a question to mull over with a large whisky.

Some of you may have noticed it’s the last day of June. This means a couple of important things:

• My June GDR review will by my final monthly wrap-up of my writing year.
• Tomorrow I kick off my July GDR plan.
• Tomorrow I begin reviewing the 18 months just passed.
• In 1 month I begin the process of formulating my GDRs for the next 12 months.

It’s an important few weeks coming. I’ll post my June GDR review tomorrow and my July plan after that.

Before I logged off last night I decided to give my name a quick Google. It sounds vain but it’s actually a good way of seeing who’s talking about my books, adding links to my site, and checking if any websites out there might need to be updated with more accurate information.

And last night it was really worth it. Last year I submitted a poem to the  Poetry Rivals competition. Those short-listed were invited to London to perform at a nationwide Poetry Slam tournament.

An anthology of all of these poems was published in a POETRY RIVALS’ COLLECTION 2009 book. One thing I wasn’t aware of was that the poems that were long-listed were also included. My entry, MIDDLE AGE, a poem about growing older, or refusing to let it change you, was part of that long list. In other words, I was published last year and never even knew it. The book cover is today’s image and the details are as follows:

Title: Poetry Rivals’ Collection 2009 – Lines Of Light And Shade
Published: 08-12-2009
ISBN: 9781844185030
Editor: Angela Fairbrace
Price: £19.99
Purchase from Forward Press, Waterstones, Blackwells, WH Smith and Amazon.

Blurb: A vibrant and lively collection, it is sure to delight and entertain its readers time and time again. Inspired by a diverse array of themes and tackling various poetic forms, no matter what you’re looking for there is something inside for everyone to enjoy.

Till tomorrow. Paz e para fora!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * SPECIAL OFFERS * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Available until 30th June only: buy any of my poetry books from my website or the Books page on this blog, and qualify for free ground shipping up to the value of £25 if you enter FREEGROUND305 when checking out. Available through Lulu.com only.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * SPECIAL OFFERS * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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Margo Macdonald is at it again. She’s talking sense when all around her are going mad. Again. She’s the first MSP to come out with a case for scrapping the Edinburgh Trams farce altogether, citing the council’s plans to borrow a further £55 million and sack Bilfinger Berger, as well as the possibility of the total cost ending up nearer £600 million as her justification.

Margo told the BBC: “Because of the economic downturn, lots of big projects are being closed down. I think we wouldn’t lose as much face as was once feared if we had to say that we have spent too much on the trams and we will have too much to spend in the future before they would make any money for us. I think we might conceivably see the project come to an end.”

She’s right. She usually is. Common sense and logic course through Margo like a river in spate and one is left rueing that there aren’t more people like her serving in the Scottish “Parliament”. Of course, Edinburgh could be left with another “Edinburgh’s Shame” but that’s not surprising given Edinburgh Council’s historic lack of ability to pull through with anything worthwhile. The ET project is just the tip of the iceberg; their numerous attempts at improving traffic and public transport in Edinburgh have all fallen short with sometimes comical but always costly turnarounds. Remember the pelican crossings they put in all along George Street then took away the following weekend?

So the Trams project so far looks like this: Leith Walk is still a mess with numerous businesses having folded because of the 2 and a half year programme of roadworks. The same goes for the west end around Haymarket. Princes Street has tracks that appear from nowhere at one end then disappear at the other—a hazard to cyclists is about the only purpose they offer up. And the only stretch of, as yet unlaid track that is going to server any purpose, might be between the airport and Haymarket—IF they can rumble up another £55 million.

And so history repeats itself. When Edinburgh tried to build the National Monument on top of Calton Hill in 1816 they ran out of money then too. Now it lies unfinished and is more commonly known as “Edinburgh’s Shame”. I think Edinburgh Council’s intention is to destroy the face of Edinburgh, not preserve or improve it. Edinburgh wouldn’t look the same without the acropolis now, though I wonder if we shall still feel the same about unused tram lines in 100 years time.

Half way through yesterday afternoon I remembered I was supposed to be leaving for a dentist appointment. Thankfully I had no unstoppable commitments so was able to shoot off from work slightly early to get my little pearlies checked out. A clean bill of health was delivered and there’s no need to go back until December. I put it down to milk and lots of it.

Back home I finally got round to rewriting and polishing my review of the recent Supergrass gig at the Glasgow Barrowlands. You can read it at the Man in the East.

I also wrote up a new article for my Six Nations Rugby Spotlight, the reason being I needed to get next year’s fixtures published early and to include a paid advertisement in the copy. Nice.

With the rest of the family out at the theatre (Rocky Horror Picture Show—not my thing) and with it being way too hot to do much else in my office (even the tropical fish were coming lying on the surface to try and cool down) I took my work outside.

I worked on proofing GREENER IS THE GRASS and gave the Edinburgh Book Festival programme of events a more thorough going over. I’ve always boasted about how each year at the book fest I’ve gotten involved in new things and used my time to expand, grow and recharge, and so although my initial skim was a bit of a disappointment I still expect this year to be the same provided I apply myself right.

My approach is therefore this: I’m going to push myself into new areas and ideas. There’s still a lack of any decent workshops around (once you’ve done them they never actually change and they lack substance with the 90 minutes they have), so I’ve circled a few debates, lectures and sessions with authors who are “thinkers” ahead of being writers. I’m fighting to fit everything in but once I’ve got all my tickets (released Saturday) I’ll post my vision through my selected events.

There’s a special offer running on my books at the moment. If you head over to my website (or the BOOKS page on this blog) and purchase any of them, when you are directed to Lulu simply enter the code FREEGROUND305 to get free ground shipping up to the value of £25. Offer ends 30th June.

STELLA is also available now to purchase from Kindle. Click here to buy a copy priced $5.29.

Gail Galbraith Photography is offering portrait shoots for £25 (knocked down from £40) if you book before 31st August 2010 and you use the word “Leith” in your query. For that you get a 1 hour session in her new studio in Leith, 1 free 8×6 print, an online gallery to show off to friends and family and where images can be purchase direct from, and all images from the shoot on a free low-resolution CD. (Subject to max of 4 people per session; each additional person is £5 each). You can contact Gail at gail@gailgalbraith.co.uk and view her website at: www.gailgalbraith.co.uk

That’s all for me just now. Peace out!

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I spent most of yesterday lathering after-sun cream on my pink forehead and the back of my neck. I was positively glowing as I walked around Edinburgh in the morning and stopped for a coffee and pastry to read the paper. No wonder people were looking at me and tourists were confused.

My neck is worst because it constantly rubs against my shirt and it wasn’t the sort of weather for walking around topless. It rained most of the day.

So after checking in on the work going on at Gail’s photographic studio (I wasn’t needed) I got on with my own work back in my office. First up was to turn out the remaining fiction on my list that needed to go to market. Everything is now out including work to some new magazines and a bunch of carefully selected (and at times reworked) poems.

I rewrote some of my short fiction (quite a lot of it, actually) before turning it back out. One of my favourite but as yet unpublished stories (although it got to the short list of a very prestigious magazine once), was refurbished and sent out proudly into the world again. I think it’s perhaps the best work of short fiction I’ve written and I simply WILL get DAFFODILS published eventually.

I had to laugh when heard BBC commentators talking prior to the Germany versus Australia World Cup match last night. Despite only managing to scrape a 1-1 draw against the USA, and despite a passionless performance that included a fumbled and embarrassing goalkeeping manoeuvre, they were actually Discussing Germany as England’s Round 2 opponents!

Come on guys! Being positive and supportive is one thing but being disrespectful to the nations the viewers had tuned in to watch by talking about England is another. Further to that, what kind of arrogant assumption gives the BBC the right to assume England will even BE in the Second Round? Even further than that, you’re broadcasting to more then London!!

If you’re an e-book fan then you might be interested to know that my book, STELLA, is now available to purchase from Kindle. Click here to buy a copy of STELLA, the Kindle Edition, priced $5.29.

Gail Galbraith Photography is offering portrait shoots for £25 (knocked down from £40) if you book before 31st August 2010 and you use the word “Leith” in your query. For that you get a 1 hour session in her new studio in Leith, 1 free 8×6 print, an online gallery to show off to friends and family and where images can be purchase direct from, and all images from the shoot on a free low-resolution CD. (Subject to max of 4 people per session; each additional person is £5 each). You can contact Gail at gail@gailgalbraith.co.uk and view her website at: www.gailgalbraith.co.uk

That’s all for me just now. Peace out!

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It was back to work for me yesterday after a couple of hell-raising days off work. I was through in Glasgow on Tuesday and got back late on Wednesday afternoon, my mood one of cheery ridiculousness after a day out with my sister, a few beverages partaken, and a superb gig at the Barrowlands—Supergrass bidding a fond farewell to their Scottish fans.

We started our day in the Clockwork Pub on Glasgow’s south side. I’d had an easy start to the day and after dumping my overnight gear at my sister’s we headed round to the pub and commenced the proceedings. Several pints were consumed before we ordered dinner: pizza for me and scampi and chips for my sister.

When the food arrived it looked delicious. And it was. My sister’s, however, arrived minus any sachets of tartar sauce, so (and I kid ye not), she complained vociferously to the manager before running home and returning with a jar of tartar she had in her fridge. Mission accomplished, and so embarrassed was the waiter, we got a free round of drinks for our efforts. Cue double vodka and Red Bulls.

After a few more voddies we piled into a taxi and raced towards the Barrowlands. The place was sold out for the last ever Scottish gig by Supergrass since they are formally calling it a day after this tour. They divided the set into their album years and played a selection from each. It was a novel way to do it but it also meant the craziness never really hit the heights until the latter half of the gig. All the great ones were there: Moving, Richard III, Alright, and of course, Pumping On Your Stereo to name a small few.

Into Wednesday and after an easy morning at my sisters that included a leisurely brunch in Ludovics, I was back home by 5pm and painting my wife’s studio (coat number four) by 6pm. We used one-coat paint but still it will need more coverage. The walls are in a terrible state but it has to be done and it is getting better day by day.

And so it was back to work yesterday. It felt like a Monday having been off for two days, but it was also quite good because it meant I was only two days from the real weekend. I started late and finished early—it’s been months since I could so I took advantage.

Last night I went to an event at the Traverse Theatre just off Lothian Road. Yann Martel was in town to promote his new book, Beatrice and Virgil, in association with Canongate press and Waterstone’s.

After reading a short extract surrounding the make-up of a pear, Martel discussed the book with host Richard Holloway, and inevitably, the effect that winning the Man Booker Prize with Life of Pi had on his life.

Beatrice And Virgil has taken him five years to write, the first two years after his big win being spent on the road touring and not writing a thing. It’s pitched as taking the reader on an imaginative odyssey, on the way asking profound questions about life and art, truth and deception, responsibility and complicity. It forces us to look in-depth at the human capacity for cruelty and examine our own ability to react to it. Unknown to me, it also centres around the Holocaust, which led to a couple of very tight and loaded questions from the audience, mainly concerned about the absence of Israel in the book and the fact that the subject matter has been seen by some to have been treated poorly with a story told through animals. Martel’s defence was admirable, referencing the lost art of the allegory and the innocence and non-judgmental approach that we, as humans, have towards violent animals as opposed to violent humans.

Martel confirmed that Life Of Pi is definitely being made into a movie, an announcement that was met with a lot of ooh’s and aah’s from the audience. He also talked about his mission to educate the current Canadian Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, who it appears hasn’t picked up a book since his early twenties. Martel revealed he has been sending Harper books of all possible genres and types along with a handwritten letter to Harper every two weeks for the past three years. And when Martel is not in town other Canadian writers take up the task.

Martel argues how anyone can possibly be a leader without ever seeing the other person’s point of view, without seeing things from someone else’s skin, without travelling or reading literature. Fiction analyses the human condition, therefore, how can we trust anyone in such a position of power to make the right decisions if their minds are closed to such things. “What does Harper dream of if his imagination is not being used?” he says, and it’s a good point he makes. Following it through in the manner he does should be applauded in my opinion.

Rather tellingly, Martel has not heard a thing from Harper—no letter, email, phone call, zip.

It was a fascinating 75 minutes but I didn’t stay for the signing, preferring to head off home for a cup of tea and to reflect on Martel’s words. Looking back I don’t feel I really connected with him. He won the Booker in 2002 and spent two years touring. Fair enough, it changed his life and comes with the territory when you turn a relatively decent selling book into a multi-million pound entity. But five years to write what is actually a very short novel that claims to be so very deep and philosophical, seems to me to be a bit fearful, and dare I say it, arrogant. I‘m not at all surprised he’s getting bad press but I do hope the book does well. Maybe if he just wrote more he wouldn’t feel as though he was up against it so much.

I’ll be heading home early later today and I’m going to enjoy my weekend immensely. The Leith Festival kicks off tonight and tomorrow is the Gala Day. It should be a great day.

Until tomorrow—peace out!

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A bad day in Cumbria. 12 people dead and 25 injured by a coward who went on the rampage with a gun. As soon as I heard something was happening, and at the point only 3 were dead, my mind shot back to 1996 and the Dunblane massacre.

Who’ll ever forget that day? It was a day when everyone hoped the pain that was dealt out would never be repeated. If ever there was a reason to ban all handguns this is it.

Nobody has the right to own a gun for any reason because when one innocent suffers it’s already gone too far. When it’s dozens of families it’s time to take stock. Those affected started yesterday like any other normal day until Derrick Bird decided to change their lives forever. Who gave him the right? Who gave him the right to take the cowardly way out? I’m disgusted he won’t face justice. Death was too good for him.

Can you believe this? An investigation is underway after Stevie Starr appeared on the Britain’s Got Talent (sic) TV programme after viewers complained about his act. He famously swallowed, amongst other things, a light bulb, key and padlock and a billiard ball. Apparently they were concerned that it would encourage children to try dangerous behaviour.

Of course people should be warned and children advised, but come on! What people have forgotten (and this is my point) is that the guy in question has been doing it for about 30 years. I remembered his act from when I was a child but back then he was on national TV and a bit of a hero. Everyone was talking about this amazing guy who could swallow things then regurgitate them at will. Only back then I witnessed him live goldfish and razor blades but it didn’t make me run out and start drinking the contents of the fish tank or swallowing the contents of my Dad’s shaving bag. It’s funny how in today’s nonsensical P.C. society how these things are suddenly a hazard.

A couple of thanks: Thanks Diane for the link to The Grave Tattoo review. I’ve saved it and will hold onto it until I’ve read the book. And thanks, also, to Devon for your ideas concerning submission-to-market management. I’m going to work through the (extensive) list of markets I’ve built up and start splitting them into priorities. Once you’d mentioned it, I realised there are several markets I keep returning to time and again so I’ll stick those at the top of my pile.

The winner of the signed copy of my new book, SILLY POEMS FOR WEE PEOPLE VOL.2 was Stevie Ward. The competition was only open to subscribers of my monthly newsletter, The Patter, so if you missed it you can subscribe here as well as read the latest issue. Well done Stevie, the book is on its way.

I know I said I was thinking about putting RR into hiatus but I’m having second thoughts already. Yes, it takes up a lot of time but last night while sorting out issue 10, I realised that maybe if I streamlined the process and worked in advance by two or three issues I would take the pressure off myself and be able to continue doing something I enjoy. I shall sleep on it another couple of nights.

Meanwhile issues 10 (and 11) are coming on nicely. I had to work some Day Job overtime so that was all I managed to get through last night on the writing scene.

To today then and the sun is out with an exciting weekend approaching in earnest. I’m feeling good about everything just now, which is odd because I’ve manage to hold this feeling for a good couple of months now. Viva la life.

Peace out!

The Scruffy Dog Review – SPRING ISSUE OUT NOW!!

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So, Gary Coleman has died at the age of 42, the end to an existence that by all accounts wasn’t the easiest. His life seemed to me to be one of a bi-polar existence; a child genius who could crack up the nation with a single line (you know the one), who road the crest of a massive wave before crashing into the rocks and ending up ridiculed by all.

He had his problems but he also had a family and that should be remembered. I won’t go so far as to say I’ll miss him—I’d almost forgot about him until Madonna adopted that kid!—but I’m sad to hear the direction his life went, and ultimately, how it ended.

Following that was the news that Dennis Hopper also died, aged 74. I thought he was a great actor; Hollywood has lost a legend in that one.

I can’t help feeling a twinge of sadness over David Laws resignation after admitting claiming expenses to pay rent to his partner. No, I don’t condone any unethical claiming of expenses from the public purse by MPs but there does seem to be an element of misunderstanding in the midst of a human factor, as opposed to any real desire to rip people off.

David Laws is an intelligent man with high integrity who appears has been driven into this error by the desire to keep his sexuality private. It seems a shame that he felt he had to resign on this basis after such a short time in Government, and one hopes he will not be about of the Cabinet for long because the country needs people like him. One need only read David Cameron’s letter in response to know how highly thought of he is.

The most tragic thing about the whole situation is that the UK has lost a politician from the Cabinet who was fair, decent and balanced, fell foul of the new rules governing expenses not the old ones (he could have claimed far more had he not been so driven to keep his homosexuality a secret), and ultimately felt he had to resign because he didn’t want to be outed in a public manner. It’s a pretty sad affair.

In the end I never went into town yesterday morning. I changed my routine to get all my tasks out of the way early on but by the time I’d finished it was almost time for lunch. A quick snack of cheese on toast and a cup of Tetley’s finest and I was back into action finishing up last weeks gardening work, this time, out the front of the house.

Work on GATECRASH continued alongside sorting out issue 11 of the Ranfurly Review due out next week. I found myself resentful at having to give up writing time to work on it just to get it ready. I wonder if this project is reaching a crossroads.

We had my FIL arond for dinner last night. He’s lonely with his wife on holiday with her sisters in Tunisia. It meant a roast dinner so one cannot complain.

The news channels are reporting the UKs latest disappointment in the Eurovision Song Contest last night, our entry coming last and provoking comment and analysis from “experts”, all loving being on the telly so we peasants can hear their opinion on the complicated matter that caused it.

Absolute rubbish. Here it is in a nutshell: forget about Balkan voting tactics, the UK tried to win the competition with a bland 1980s sounding song written by Stock, Aitken and Waterman, the three originals responsible for the death of the UK music industry. And we should be surprised it came last? It’s a sign that even the Europhiles recognise that this kind of over-produced, faceless and plastic act is nothing but trash. SAW, Simon Fuller and Cowell should all hang for what they’ve done not be given awards.

I’ve said my bit. Have a happy Sunday.

Peace and out!

The Scruffy Dog Review – SPRING ISSUE OUT NOW!!

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The value of printing off a manuscript can never be under-valued. Having done so for GREENER IS THE GRASS last week, and having pondered a gaping plot hole in the story since my last re-write, I opened the manuscript last night and began to read.

And it was only by reading the paper version that was I able to see the answer—and it came to me in a flash. Voila! The answer to the riddle I’d been unable to solve that will now allow me to fulfil the story and add a little extra spice to the twist.

Such relief!

I also printed off BACCARA BURNING. I read the first and last page; made my eyes swell. Fans of STELLA will not be disappointed. Well you might be, but I sincerely hope not.

I don’t normally read the Times, I find it too elitist, but Anthony Lester’s article (his full title is Lord Lester of Herne Hill, QC, and is a Liberal Democrat peer) that Britain’s costly, complicated and stifling libel laws must be rebalanced in the scales of justice, came to me through the New Statesman and sparked some interest for me as a writer.

To paraphrase the article, published a couple of days before he brings out his Private Member’s Defamation Bill, Lester said: Libel law in the UK is notoriously costly, complicated and stifling of free speech. The Lib-Con coalition has promised of a long-overdue review of the laws to protect freedom of speech, which until now has remained the preserve of a small group of lawyers skilled in its complex rules and procedures. Current libel law gives robust protection to reputation at the expense of freedom of speech. In this context, the Defamation Bill sets out stronger and clearer defences and strikes a fairer balance between private reputation and public information. It contains a simple framework of principles to be taken into account for opinion and fact, so the law is applied with a sense of proportion. Freedom of speech may be the lifeblood of democracy, but good reputations must be protected against irresponsible journalism.

The pen, it would therefore seem, is truly mightier than the sword. But is it really that complicated to filter out the difference between bad hacking and freedom of speech? In today’s PC society, at what price does the freedom to write thoughts and truths without being prejudiced, stereotypical or untruthful cross the line into a defamatory act?

I referred first to the Collin’s English Dictionary:

slander [slan-der]
–noun
1. defamation; calumny: rumours full of slander.
2. a malicious, false, and defamatory statement or report: a slander against his good name.
3. defamation by oral utterance rather than by writing, pictures, etc.

libel [lahy-buhl]
–noun
1. Law .
a. defamation by written or printed words, pictures, or in any form other than by spoken words or gestures.
b. the act or crime of publishing it.
c. a formal written declaration or statement, as one containing the allegations of a plaintiff or the grounds of a charge.
2. anything that is defamatory or that maliciously or damagingly misrepresents.

It all seems pretty straight forward to me. By these definitions a written opinion cannot be libelous simply because it IS the written word. Yet, even if defamation occurred, it can only be so if the target of the opinion is specifically mentioned.

Slanderous is closer to the mark, but once again, an opinion based on a person’s feelings cannot justifiably be related to calumny or be defamatory against someone if that is all it is, whether the subject is mentioned or not.

This means that while it is possible to cause offence through an editorial or bad journalism, unless the subjected who is so offended can prove it is false (thereby killing off the rumour line of argument) then freedom of speech stands, ergo, the pen is mightier than the sword.

Peace and out!

The Scruffy Dog Review – SPRING ISSUE OUT NOW!!

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The advent of yet more school holidays has seen me working my day job mornings from home this week. Honestly, the amount of holidays kids in Edinburgh get leads me to conclude why a large percentage of Edinburgh University’s intake comes from outside the city. There seems to be more of an accent on taking regular breaks instead of actual concentrated learning.

The day job is overwhelmingly busy at the moment but I seem to be working through it without feeling the pressure as much as the earlier part of the year. I think those couple of weeks I took off for myself really helped in this respect, as I was able to partially let go and unwind somewhat. It turns my mind to our summer holiday (still waiting to be booked) and the thought of a poolside under the sun with no Blackberry within a few hundred miles really does appeal.

I am thoroughly enjoying Val McDermid’s The Grave Tattoo at the moment. Last night I read almost a third of the entire 543-page novel. It’s gripping, thick with atmosphere and because it is based in the Lake District I can relate directly to the locations (and weather).

The latest issue of The Scruffy Dog Review came out overnight. You’ll find some choice poetry and fiction, the first in my series of great Scottish authors and, of course, the latest in Devon Ellington’s fascinating series on writing workshops, conferences and groups.

I proofed my acceptance for the anthology and it’s ready to send off—will do that later today. I had to double check because the proof they sent me contained a typo, but on checking my entry the mistake wasn’t there. Worrying.

Did a fair chunk of work on Ranfurly Review submissions. I’m going to set aside set days in each cycle for dealing with these I think: once per month for sending out the acceptances and rejections and two days per quarter to get the site ready and the issue laid out. Otherwise I’m getting into a fankle.

Right, off to get ready for the day and get to work.

The Scruffy Dog Review – SPRING ISSUE OUT NOW!!

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I’ve been gone a few days. If you were following me on Twitter you’ll already know I was on a wee trip to Amsterdam with the lads, soaking up all the bevy and sunshine we could permit ourselves the luxury of enjoying.

It was a great few days but as is always the case nobody really believes us when we come back with lame and boring stories. We spent most our time in bars—some familiar and some new—using the time to catch up, reminisce, slag each other off to the point other people would think a fight was about to break out at any moment, and generally being a bunch of twats for a few days.

Apparently there are naked girls in the windows but I never noticed as I was far too busy regaling stories of a literary nature to anyone sad enough to listen.

There’s some pics at the end of this post if you’re interested, which I know some of you are.

Some important writing catch-up news: I’ve had a couple of rejections and an acceptance in. The rejections I was disappointed with as they were well chosen but I’ll get them back out asap. The acceptance is for a poem I wrote for my sister’s wedding in July 2005 called Love Is… . It will be published by Anchor Books in a new anthology due out at the end of July.

Some important general catch-up news: Last week after my final blog post the UK now has a prime minister. It all happened on the evening I was working late so I missed all the drama unfold, but the coalition was agreed between the Tories and the Lib Dems, Brown was out and Cameron was in.

Britain now moves into a fascinating period of politics with the first coalition government in 40 years. Some say it will collapse by the end of the year, others that it is just what is needed to move forward. Whatever way you view it, though, it’s an interesting time and how it will affect Scotland is hard to judge. I think the SNP are now on a shaky wicket if this is the way the country has shifted in its politics. Shame.

What definitely was a crying shame was the sacking of Gus MacPherson as the St Mirren manager three days after the end of the season. I was very sad to see him go; he took us into the SPL, kept us there, got us to a Scottish Cup semi final and a League Cup final, and he did it all on a shoe string budget. He’ll be missed and I’m interested to see who the board get to replace him.

Have a great Tuesday. Peace and out!

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Yesterday’s Word of the Day on the Dictionary.com mailing list was unbelievably topical; too topical, in fact, for it not to be a coincidence. Check it out:

mugwump \MUHG-wuhmp\, noun:
A person who is unable to make up his or her mind on an issue, esp. in politics; a person who is neutral on a controversial issue.

What an awesome word! It’s so good I wanted to keep it to myself, adopt it, father it, give it a home, but alas, it’s only a word. It remains, however, a great word and it helped spark an idea I’m unsure why I’ve never had until now.

I’ve been on the Dictionary.com mailing list for a few years now. There’s a few of us in my office that also are and very often the word of the day has led to much debate and hilarity. We try and use the word of the day in our every day business, like finding ways to include it in communications or inserting it in lines of code, silly things like that.

Therefore, to help flex my creative muscles just that little bit more than they do during day job hours, I’m going to write a poem each day based on the Word of the Day. Starting with mugwump.

And on the day I got mugwumped it would also appear the nation is being gazumped. Gordon Brown, in a last ditch attempt to hang onto power despite losing the general election on votes, announced his plan to step down in order to influence the possibility that the Lib Dems will now switch over to Labour to form a government.

I have several problems with this. If this were to happen it would still leave the Lab-Lib coalition short of seats for a majority, therefore further negotiations will need to happen to secure it. The more links there are in a chain the weaker it is, which is why I think they should stick with the Conservatives to achieve solidity in one go. Further to this, it was the Tories who won the election on votes and so it is conceivable the country could have a government made up of the 2nd and 3rd parties on the results table. This is clearly not the stable and solid government the politicians on the TV keep harping on about.

Also, if the Lib-Lab coalition did go ahead on the basis of Brown leaving, it would mean yet another unelected Prime Minister running the country, someone who the public did not choose and was not part of the debates. This would be bad for the country, disastrous for the Labour party and devastating for politics in this country in general.

Finally, I’m beginning to feel that Nick Clegg and his chums from the Liberals are starting to take the piss. Here we have a man who only took his party to 57 seats holding the country to ransom. 57 seats his party holds, yet on one hand he is being open about talking to the Tories and on the other meeting Labour in secret and suggesting Brown go on the basis he might choose them if they do. It’s turning into a farce and not only is Clegg’s reputation plummeting as his ego takes a stranglehold, not only is he making a mockery of the general election results and the British people, but it is also highlighting the fact why people only trusted the Lib Dems to the tune of 57 seats: they can’t be trusted because they don’t have a clue what they are doing. Clegg is acting like a school kid who has found himself on the board of directors of a company by some strange fluke of fate.

I almost completed Stephen King’s On Writing last night, I just have the short story at the end to go. It’s perhaps the best book of advice on writing I have read (apart from Rebecca McClanahan’s Word Painting), and as I discovered last night, one of the most moving stories you will ever read.

In the final section King describes the accident that almost took his life. You would have expected this in an autobiography, but after reading the book to that point you really do get the feeling you know they guy and that he has been doing you a favour through all he has told. You do get how much he loves writing so when he gets hit by that van, what follows is one of the most vivid and emotional pieces of writing I’ve read. I had tears in my eyes.

Have a great Tuesday. Peace and out!

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