Of Time, and Other Musings

Time is a fascinating subject to catch hold of...on rainy days, brooding about, it is a balm--to the lovelorn, the brave, the bored, the foolish, the splendidly happy, the mournfully lonesome--all things pale before this consideration.

We profess to know so much about it: 'Ten twenty-five,' said I promptly in response to a bewildered passerby this morning.
'A.M.--that's in the morning, is it?'
'...yes.'

For it had not occurred to me, you see, that it could be otherwise than ten twenty-five AM. And yet, this bewildered soul was quite right: there is not a topic on this earth, or outside of it, about which we know less.

For example, does it run in circles? Is it, then, the ever-present whirlpool? A matrix, perhaps? Or a drudging line, stretching out into oblivion, never to return whence we have come? Can past and present exist at once? And how would one know? It is the eternal mystery, of all the mysteries in this thing we call life.

I am aware that I may be delving into morose monstrosities of brooding here, but never fear: it does wrap round to return to publishing in the end.

For if time is not an arrow, but a sphere, then all the ideas, all the experiences we have been carrying about within ourselves for years (and doubtless wish to banish many from the groove of our memories) are as fresh and new as they were when they sprung into being. Thus, though we grow and learn beyond our stories' capacity, betimes, we can never leave the feelings that once we owned. Every instance of great feeling seems, to me, an hour-mark, every moment of passion or sorrow or envy or joy a tick-mark, a sundial-slash in the fluid sand of one's life. Tho' the tide of years may come up and seem to wash the mark away, it remains. It is ever being made, and disappearing, at once.

It may not be true, but what a good brooding introductory theme it makes.


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Why Read Children's Books, or, Editor Julian North's Personal Business View

As perhaps our readers may have guessed by this time, and judging from our list of 'Books to read Aloud,' I am unquestionably in love with children's books.

(Good children's books, that is. The world of children's publishing is full, it is true, of irritating, puerile characters and brash stereotypes, but the certain class of book I am talking of is less commercial than it is authentic.) One might wonder why...

I give myself free leave to be serious, I am afraid, in this post.


Children's authors, as Joan Aiken perceptively observes, have a much bigger responsibility than authors of the common sort (I use this qualifying term with all due respect). A child will only read, it is estimated, a certain number of books during the course of childhood; thus, every book counts, when it comes to informing, enlightening, and above all kindling a sense of wonder without being dreary or didactic.

Children's books, I find, are very often truer in perception of character than the rest of the vast ocean of literature. They depict characters which, though often oversimplified, are true in essence--for a child will not abide stodgy characterisations or a lack of heart. The issues presented are so often so much nearer the mark, when it comes to an understanding of human problems..

..for often, in our multivariating world, the common author seeks to depict only suffering, without meaning, or plot, without purpose. Why lapse into nihilism if there is a chance of a happy ending? Happy endings breed optimism, which in turn cultivates action. Cynicism, or nihilist/existentialist dilemmas do just the opposite. For if a person believes there is no reason to hope, why would they strive for the best, for change, growth, life?

Likewise, it takes a true maturity to exhibit optimism--for, as we have all doubtless seen, any adolescent can dowse into cynicism.

This maturity, children are born with. If they lose it over time, it is our responsiblity to look to ourselves, to see what in us is fostering this unnatural trait. All of nature is in a constant state of change, of growth, cycles of birth and ephemery. Let us keep the fade-and-fall of optimism, of hope, of expansion, alive. Let us do it through literature.

Fleshquake, or, A Word Perhaps Better Left to the Past, and Other Musings

Fleshquake. n.s. A tremor of the body: a word formed by Jonson in imitation of earthquake.

A word, one could say, perhaps better left to the past?

It is singular that, in our modern world of automatic newsfeeds and nonstop commentary, we have not the penchant for forming new (often beautiful) words that our forbears did. If human nature can be allowed to exhibit its fullest creative qualities, perhaps 'fleshquake' will do.

Cloris looked up at the Baron; her whole small being was wracked by a fleshquake. "If the Commodore holds my father's will, then please tell me this: Who will buy the peas for our army's offense?" The Baron had no answer for this nine-year-old's precocious questioning, for in truth, she was right. Without peas, they were lost.

Next, as I believe, will be a post on Why Children's Books?.

Things Lost Are Not Often What They Seem, Or, How I Found Dr. Johnson's Dictionary, Not Where I Thought It Was Hid.

I have found it--and we shall see if the finding augments, or rather detracts, from this Blog. A series on musings (for sometimes I find that finding an antiquated or strange word, and musing upon it, helps to inspire a story) is forthcoming, of which this is the first.

But I must explain.

Not, under the bed was it--not in the eternal abyss of darkness and despair, where souls of library books in torment await their accumulating fine--not in that black hole betwixt my bed's four feet, and the dusty floor--but in a pile of books by my door. Yesterday, searching for something else (and isn't that always the way) I found it, by chance, spilled to the ground as my hand knocked it out of place.

So here it is.

I will start with By-coffeehouse, a happy thought today.



By-coffeehouse. n.s. A coffeehouse in an obscure place.

Phyllis reached out her hand, searching through her laboured breath for an alleyway to dart into, a cubbyhole in which to evade her pursuers. She heard them, hot upon her heels--faster, she turned, not caring where she went, her frenzied lips forming the anguished words: 'O, if only there had been a by-coffeehouse!'

By-the-by, I must give heartfelt thanks to Liam's Pictures from Old Books for the images found here. http://www.fromoldbooks.org

Dream-Sequence, Or, A Lesson in Madness

Although dreams can occasionally frighten us, confound us, or startle us, though they bring out our worst social fears, or make us wonder whether we really are as sane as we assumed, there is one purpose for which dreams hold a continual charge. Never mind about analysing your dreams; sometimes they are best in their raw, emotion-filled, bizarre state. So it has been for ages past.

Dreams are a great source of inspiration.

Yes; from foretelling catastrophic events to revealing inner secrets, dreams have a long-established power upon the human understanding, coming as they do from the human imagination.

Just think, if you were given a space in which to tell stories wholly uninhibited by rational censors--

Well. Each night, each dream, is that space.

Here is an exercise:

1) Dream.

2) Without thinking too much about it, write it down. Don't worry if some of the details vanish into that black hole of oblivion, somewhere between the dreaming-consciousness, and the waking-consciousness. Neither should you be afraid to go back to your notebook and add details as they occur to you throughout the day.

3) Keep the journal handy; when you think of story ideas (when they spontaneously pop into your head, that is) write them down in this journal as well. For dreams, and story ideas, come from the same place--the more liberty you allow them to grow, the better they will turn out. When the story, like the dream, takes off by itself, that is the first step to writing well--semi-consciousness.

Take note of any recurring themes, symbols, or situations. If you truly think you may need help, perhaps a call to the psychiatrist helpline is in order. If not, analysing dreams can not only spur your writing, but help you to sort out your life.

And that is altogether a win-win situation.


For more ideas such as this, please visit http://www.creative-works-intl-media.com/http://www.creative-works-intl-media.com/chesterton-davies-ltd-books-workshops.html, and sign up for a workshop. Finding yourself is just the beginning of it!

Soon to be Seen, or, Next Thought

An essay on dream-interpretation

Book Review No. 1: Joan Aiken, 'The Way to Write For Children'

Hello, Julian here--

On The Website, we have a linked page on books to read for aspiring authors--here is the first in a review series.

All in all, a fine book containing the essential questions and basic information that every author--not restricted to those hoping to write for children--must consider. Aiken's cohesive, thoughtful book, The Way to Write For Children, is a masterwork of resources, pulling extensively from the wisdom of past authors, and drawing on the canon of children's literature to present a full and clear portrait of the craft.

She presents the very practical considerations of age range, length, and genre, in a knowledgeable and often tongue-in-cheek style, creating a guidance book that is overall entertaining, if not indeed thrilling to read.

Above all, her focus is on motive. This is not a quick-fix book for a best-seller; no, it is an instructive book on the essence of writing. 'Ideally, writing for children should be a vocation,' she says, and continues with the many variations on responsibility with which the passionate writer must wholly agree.

Altogether, a more-than-satisfactory read, and well worth one's time to find.
Of course, the sensible writer must weigh Aiken's recommendations carefully; that is, after all, part of the carving-away at a raw block to shape the self, the author in his or her own unique definition.

For further information, or to purchase the book through ABE, please visit http://www.creative-works-intl-media.com/new-books-recommended-reading.html

Storytelling, Or, Best-Laid Plans &tc &tc

There is an exercise employed, so I am told, by the great masters of the classics...one can see them, sitting around their café table (round, naturally: there is no hierarchy of creativity), sipping espresso or wine with impressionistic delight...one says to the others, 'Yesterday, I saw a duck with green spots on its back.'
'Really? And so?'

And so it begins. A story unfolds, tossed about by one of the artists with compelling skill--something heartbreaking, absurd, reflective. 'Yes, perhaps,' says the first, 'But actually, I believe what happened is this:' And he presents a story a little pithier, a little funnier, a little heavier, than his comrade's. Each takes a single image, and elaborates upon it, adding depth and the various exquisitries of his own wit, until it has spiralled out of control--the duck is no longer just a duck, but a hero, the spots the evidence of its remarkable passion, search for justice, fatal flaw.

At the end of the morning (or afternoon, or evening--this game can take place at any time, on any day), the masters bid each other good-day; they part, congenially, each taking up the thread of the story they have broidered in his own mind.

An ancient pursuit, and a thrilling one. It pulls past belief, into mythology; mythology is what we, as humans need in all times, in all circumstances.


(N.B. I had intended this post to be about Joan Aiken, but was diverted. Watch for next time: a review of Joan Aiken's book on Writing for Children)

Business Philosophy. Part I. Or, Why Publish BOOKS in This Day and Age?

Well. Books are essential, even in this day and age--more than that, they are themselves essences. At risk of being effusive, allow me to explain:

The touch and smell of a book. Books found, in mouldy corners, on dusty bookshelves, books discovered in a great-aunt's attic, books seized upon under cover of rain. Books opened, quested, to find--a world anew. There is no electronic equivalent.

Suppose, for one, you went to an open-air flea market. It is quite a gypsy flea-market--summons to mind those medieval portraits of fairs, bright colours encamped near bright colours, wagons, tents, camel-like horses chafing at the bit, dazzled onlookers seeking to buy their copper's worth of ribbon, of silk, of silver. You needn't be a connoisseur. The secret alcoves, containing hidden treasures--an old bird-cage, wrought in gargoyled iron; an ancient lamp, dusty with adventure; a roll-top desk perfect for writing letters of intrigue and experience (' Dear Isidore, Our hearts can no longer contain each other, for our lives have grown too full. Remember me, as I remember you, and above all remember that summer we spent by the sea, in which we discovered that cave, from whence the dread secret has encumbered our lives...).

And a stack of old books, ripe for opening. The world is yours...

Imagine this: a scene in which a child as well as a wizened sage may take pleasure.

Now, imagine a virtual marketplace, filled with the same wares...but in what form? Two-dimensional echoes, devoid of sensory value--no scent, no feel, no sunlight, no sound. The hawkers' cries do not ring out, all moves on a flat screen.

There is simply no comparison.

Books are artifacts.

So it is with books--so it is with literature. Take away the sense and smell and feel of the covers, the bindings, the pages, the ink-pressed characters that enfold to tell a tale, and you are lost. It is not literature, simply information, processed and uniformly packaged. And what mystery in a screen?

Dr. Johnson's Dictionary, or, Things Lost Beneath Beds

Dr. Johnson's Dictionary, or, Things Lost Beneath Beds

I intended to make this blog more than, as mentioned, Yet Another Literary Blog. I intended to begin with a pithy quote from Johnson's Dictionary, a tingling word to excite the senses and stir the mind. The latter intention, it seems, shall have to wait.

Why is it that books disappear beneath beds? There is a sort of piquancy to it, almost--a twist of fate that, if written the right way, could lean towards the tragic...

Nevertheless, we shall see about the first intention. My work takes me to far-off climes and dangerous territories of the imagination. I shall endeavour to explore dark secrets, heroic attempts, fantastic feats of courage and alliteration. There is much to learn in the world of books beyond what is written in the pages; one must go deeper still, to the essence of them, the heat and heart and light of which they are (at centre) composed.

Dr. Johnson will have to wait.