Warming Up for the StAnza Festival

As we step into February, the StAnza poetry festival in St Andrews is just six weeks away. This year, it runs for the shortest period I’ve ever known: from Friday 13 to Sunday 15 March. It’s typically four or five days long, with 2022 extending to seven.

Before the pandemic, I would make a weekend of the festival, booking accommodation and attending a wide range of events. The Byre Theatre remains the main hub of activity, but many events are hosted in other venues around the area.

The last time I stayed over was in 2020. Since then, I’ve become more selective, partly due to other weekend commitments and partly because it’s challenging to absorb a lot of intense poetry in one go. Staying over also allowed me to see the poetry slam, which finished after the last bus home, although it’s now held earlier in the day.

One of my other favourite traditions was to start Saturday morning with a panel event that included either a cake or a pie, plus a hot drink. That doesn’t feature this year, so I’ve instead booked a bracing coastal poetry walk, followed by a practical Writing Hour with Fife Writes. The festival atmosphere always nudges me to write a poem or two anyway, so it’s a good start.

These are just the events I have planned so far. There’ll no doubt be others that catch my attention once I’m actually there, and I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.

Stage Presence and Off-Stage Presence

The other week, I was listening to the BBC radio programme Desert Island Discs from 2018., where Lauren Laverne was interviewing the comedian Alan Carr.

I’ll say upfront that I’m ambivalent about his work. I enjoy watching it if I happen to catch him on TV, but it’s unlikely I would deliberately seek out gig tickets.

Although he’s known for stand-up comedy, he made a remark early in the programme about how he doesn’t watch other comics because he doesn’t enjoy it. He went on to say that if he’s part of a bill, he’ll only show up for his section and then leave. You can listen to the relevant section on BBC Sounds from the 10m 30s mark.

When I hear about a comic with the stature of Alan Carr saying he doesn’t watch his peers, it sounds like Stephen King saying he doesn’t read novels. Frankly, it comes across as dismissive towards the other acts, even if this doesn’t seem to have hurt his career.

For as long as I’ve done spoken-word events, there’s been an expectation that if you’re invited to perform as part of a bill, you arrive before the start and watch the other performers until the end. It feels like a collective experience and, in some cases, helps to gauge the mood of the room. In more elaborate productions, showing up early also gives the crew time to run a technical rehearsal.

I find I always learn something from the other acts: a turn of phrase, a particular delivery, a way of holding the audience, or – every so often – how not to do these things.

In one positive example, I’m reminded of a Josie Giles gig in Birmingham shortly before the pandemic. I knew a little about her work, and next to nothing about Joelle Taylor who was on the same bill. Having watched a lot of poetry, I thought I’d seen it all before. Yet both their performances were so well done that I walked out of that building saying, ‘I didn’t know you could do that with words.’

There are negative examples too, like the amateur actor who thought he would try stand-up comedy. I’ve no idea how he stayed in his theatre group without being able to read a room, but some of his gags were incredibly out of date and offensive, and nearly every one fell flat.

So I’m curious about other people’s experiences. Do you stay for the whole show when you’re performing, or do you dip in and out? Is this just an expectation for some types of gigs but not others? Am I, in fact, in the minority?


That was where the entry was meant to end, and I clicked Save yesternight with a view to redrafting this entry today. I then received a message from a couple of local writers. They’re looking to bring a poetry evening to Dundee in April, and we’ll need to discuss the type of material they want.

Whoever is on the bill with me, I’ll definitely be listening to their performances.

A Tale of Two Topics

When I update this blog, I aim to stick with one topic throughout. But I hope you’ll indulge me just this once as I follow up last week’s entry about copyright and the public domain, and then follow up with the planned topic.

Copyright caveats

A few days after I posted my entry, the YouTube producer Chris Spargo released a relevant video, exploring a section of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 that I didn’t know about.

In 1929, J M Barrie granted the rights of his play Peter Pan to Great Ormond Street Hospital so they would benefit financially from its every performance. Although the play fell into the public domain in 1987, this arrangement was specifically written into legislation to make sure it continued in perpetuity – or at least until it’s repealed.

For the avoidance of doubt, the hospital has no creative control over the use of the play and can’t prevent performances from going ahead. It can only collect fees from any performance that is staged.

Disconnection doldrums

It was fortunate you were able to see last week’s entry. Where possible, I like to have at least a draft lined up 24 hours in advance. I can then tinker with the text just before publication at 7:30pm on a Tuesday, which coincides with a weekly writing group.

The staff are very accommodating in the pub where we meet. Probably the only criticism is something outside their control. Because the place was a cinema until 1998, it still has thick soundproof walls that also interfere with Wi-Fi and mobile phone reception.

Often we manage a weak but stable connection with a combination of our own hotspots and the pub Wi-Fi. But on Tuesday of last week, we were out of luck, no matter what we tried. So we stopped the in-person session and moved to the house of the other group leader. Once online, we were able to keep the members of our Discord server informed about what had happened.

One of the strengths of the weekly two-hour meeting is having that ringfenced time either to write or to carry out administration. For example, I picked up an overdue task about transferring my Web domain and hosting to a new plan, as the one I used was being phased out.

This then led me down a path of ‘Do I really need [insert feature]?’ and ‘What if I do away with that email address?’ It took a few days, but I’m pleased to report that the transfer was smooth, so this site stayed online.

In fact, the other group leader and I occasionally schedule admin days where we can make desicions about the direction of the group and/or solve ongoing problems. These are always deliberately held on a non-meeting day and in a different location.

This week, I’ve taken extra time to prepare. I drafted this entry on Sunday night, and made amendments yesterday, so it’ll almost certainly be in the can and ready to go at the appointed time.

The Cultural Value of the Public Domain

When I heard about the recent adaptation of Frankenstein by Guillermo del Toro, I absolutely had to see it at some point.

The novel has been a talking point among my poetry circle, the Wyverns, since we released a released a pamphlet with the theme of Frankenstein in 2018. There is a local connection in that Mary Shelley was living in Dundee when she started writing it.

For literature in the UK and EU, a work remains in copyright for 70 years after the death of the author. Even if that law had been around in 1851, Frankenstein is still squarely into the public domain, so any director is allowed complete artistic freedom. The consensus seems to be that this version is faithful to the spirit of the novel, but not the details.

If Mary Shelley somehow arrived in our time and was able to watch this, I think she would be impressed.

But copyright law varies by juristiction and by type of work. In 1998, the US passed the Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act. This extended the copyright of works authored by corporations, meaning they wouldn’t become public domain until 95 years after the date of their creation.

The legislation was named after the late Sonny Bono, who believed that copyright should be in perpetuity. However, the true beneficiary is widely thought to be The Walt Disney Company. Only within the last two years has its first creation – Mickey Mouse – fallen into the public domain, and we can expect to see more following suit over the coming decades.

In the literary world, novels from the middle of the 20th century novels are beginning to fall out of copyright. A prime example is Nineteen Eighty-Four because George Orwell died in 1950, just two years after its publication.

Wikipedia maintains pages about works that will become public domain in 2026, and if you fancy reading some of these, they might be available on the Gutenberg Project website.

Boulevard of Broken Plans

An artist pal was visiting Dundee from Glasgow this weekend, and he suggested we see a screening of the animé Princess Mononoke. This was newly restored in 4K quality and was showing for a limited time only.

Before and after the screening, we talked about our unrealised projects, and his long-term plan to move to London and make a start on some of these. While I have nothing so dramatic to declare, I do have projects that either need to be started or are now safe to reveal.

It’s a little cliché to do this at New Year, but I promise it’s entirely a coincidence. Here’s a selection of them, not all of which are related to writing.

Unstarted projects

I keep a draft on WordPress with any ideas I think might make for suitable full-length entries. At the time of writing, these comprise:

  • The NoSleep community on Reddit. Members post their own horror stories that might plausibly be true, and other members are invited to share in the world as if it were real.
  • The events of September 11th. With the 25th anniversary happening later this year, this might be the ideal opportunity to explore the aftermath from a literary perspective.
  • Watching animé. I’ve not a frequent film watcher, and the only animé I’ve seen is from Studio Ghibli, so perhaps there’s some room to comment from an outsider’s perspective.

There are also some live events I’d like to start up:

  • Stage confidence classes. Regular readers will know I’ve been bandying this idea about for years. So far, no matter how I’ve approached it, the pieces haven’t yet fallen into place.
  • A dating event. It can be difficult to write a short bio for a dating app and to suss out the other person. So this meet-up event would attempt to solve the problem by inviting a friend to do the talking instead.
  • A spontaneous poetry stall. I would set up my computer and a printer with two-inch wide paper label tape, and improvise poetry for visitors. The templates have been designed and the cost of labels counted out.

Secret plans revealed this year

Roll on January

Every year, I take part in a local project called Fun a Day. This encourages participants to create something during the month, however they wish to define that.

I’d already planned out Roll on January, where I would roll two d6 dice every day for a month and track how many rolls it took to display a double six. I then learnt on New Year’s Eve that there wouldn’t be a Fun a Day in 2026, but I’ve gone ahead with the project anyway.

Double Zero Challenge

The above Roll on January wasn’t the first time I’d experimented with dice-rolling. In fact, I’d been refining the format for more than 12 months.

I tried out a one-off stream on Twitch with two d20 dice, seeing how long it would take to roll a double 20. I then moved to pre-recorded videos on YouTube, with some success, but the videos frequently lasted more than an hour.

As a compromise, I then swapped these for two d10 dice. These still take an unpredictable length of time, but nearly 50 videos in, I think the format has been perfected.

Dual Lingo

In mid-December, it was reported that the comedian Stanley Baxter had died at the age of 99.

He’s best known for the recurring Parliamo Glasgow sketches, which were a parody of the BBC language learning programme Parliamo Italiano. In each one, he and a co-presenter switch seamlessly from performing an example sketch in the Glasgow dialect to addressing the camera in the dominant Received Pronunciation of the day. Here’s one such example:

When you live in Scotland, it’s unusual even today to encounter your own accent or dialect on TV or radio, other than on dedicated Scots language stations. In this sense, ‘Scots’ refers to the Scottish dialect of English, with its distinct pronunciation, vocabulary and grammar.

The lack of prevalence is particularly true for Gaelic speakers, with only a handful of broadcasts dedicated to the language.

It’s possible that this situation might change in the future. Back in summer, the Scottish Languages Bill 2025 was unanimously passed by the Scottish Parliament, placing Scots and Gaelic on an equal footing with English.

If you’re an English speaker visiting Wales, your eye quickly learns to settle on the lower half of official signs because Welsh legally must be displayed first. Hopping across the sea to the Republic of Ireland, we see a comparable situation with Irish Gaelic, which is written into the constitution as the national language. Note that while Irish Gaelic is related to Scots Gaelic, the two are not mutually intelligible.

Back in Scotland, I don’t foresee change happening very quickly. There are already some dual-language road signs in the north, and at the majority of railway stations. Yet considering the cost of new signs, investment will likely only come to the rest when they reach the end of their life spans.

By that time, it’s possible that Scots and Gaelic education will become more widespread, generating the political momentum for a wider dual-language presence. Maybe one day, Parliamo Gaelic will be the norm.

Running a Readathon

For the last six years or so, I’ve been involved in a small readathon that takes place on Discord. Over time, it’s been scheduled on various dates and has been run by different people.

In its current incarnation, I help my pal Jenny to run it once a year, approximately around Yuletide. This year, it was set to start at 8pm on Saturday, finishing at 8pm on Sunday. This left us both enough time for a screening of It’s a Wonderful Life first.

For the avoidance of doubt, the intention of the readathon is not to stay up and read for 24 hours straight. Instead, it encourages participants to ringfence some time over these 24 hours to settle down with a book.

We provide regular prompts throughout the event. These might include:

  • Sharing how you discovered the book you’re reading.
  • Telling the group three facts about the author.
  • Writing a haiku about an event or character in the story.

There are also reminders to stand up, stretch, eat and drink. We established early on that some participants were in different time zones, so we could say, Depending on your side of the Atlantic, it’s likely to be approaching either breakfast-time or lunchtime, so be sure to stop and fill up.’

Because Jenny is a night owl and I’m more of an early riser, it was relatively easy to coordinate the full 24 hours., particularly as I had a half-baked plan to watch the winter solstice sunrise from the Law Hill in Dundee. This meant it would pair nicely with the summer solstice six months earlier, even if the cloud cover meant there wasn’t particularly much sun.

Winter solstice sunrise as seen from the Law Hill in Dundee. There is thick cloud cover partially obscuring the sun. The sky glows softly behind dramatic clouds, casting muted light across the water and buildings. A bridge spans the river, and a bench in the foreground sits beside a damp path and grassy verge.

So what of the actual stories?

I’ve become a lot more interested in audio storytelling over the last 12 months, so rather than reading paper books during the readathon, I listened to a drama on BBC Sounds based on the Fukushima nuclear accident in 2011, a radio drama called Cat and Mouse Game by R D Wingfield on YouTube, and an audiobook of The Time Machine by H G Wells.

The participants’ reading lists incorporated a variety of authors such as Ayn Rand, Becky Chambers, Iain M Banks and George Orwell.

I was a somewhat tired by the end of Sunday, but the event was very satisfying to run. It goes at an easy pace with just enough interaction to keep the server ticking over. I look forward to holding it again next year.

Laughs and Larks in London

Every Sunday, the Comedy Store in London hosts an improv evening, and it has done since 1985. I’ve occasionally considered going, but a few weeks ago, I was finally given a good reason to take the trip.

The actor Neil Mullarkey has been part of the Comedy Store Players since its inception. A few weeks ago, he announced his retirement, with his last show set to take place on 4 January 2026. I’ve been casually following his career since discovering him at the Edinburgh Fringe in the early 2000s.

So I made the visit on Sunday, taking a train to London, then the Caledonian Sleeper back to Scotland on the same night. The plan contained a number of variables, any one of which could have ruined the whole intererary, but it all fell nicely into place.

Aside from the aforementioned Mullarkey, the cast of players that night comprised Josie Lawrence, Richard Vranch, Lee Simpson, Rufus Hound, and Steve Edis on piano. The first two also were part of the regular cast for Whose Line is it Anyway?

The first half is all about short sketches, many of which are based on predefined setups. In Freeze Frame, a cast member could freeze the action and take the place of another actor. In Three-Headed Expert, three of them have to answer with just one word each, form a sentence with the others.

The second half follows a more play-like structure. In this case, it was a murder mystery set in the 1920s, with the action taking place in an organ loft. An honourable mention goes to Rufus Hound, who played it as a silent film actor, despite the musical element.

Almost every one of the scenes originates as an suggestion from the audience, who took up most of the 400 seats. It’s clear the players have been honing their skills over many years, drawing on a toolbox of voices, phrases and moves, however ridiculous the premise.

Although Neil Mullarkey’s retirement marks the end of an era, the Comedy Store Players are bigger than any one performer.

In 2024, Ruth Bratt became the first new member to join the core group in three decades, a sign that the troupe continues to evolve and that the Sunday night show will be with us for a long time to come.

Too Long a Title

In 2002, the rock group Cornershop released two singles from their album Handcream for a Generation. In March, we saw Lessons Learned from Rocky I to Rocky III, while August bought Staging the Plaguing of the Raised Platform.

Before writing this entry, I listened to both tracks. They’re both solid guitar-driven and riff-heavy pieces that should have been hits, yet neither song gained traction. Only the first of these even reached the Top 40.

I think two factors were in play here. Firstly, and most obviously, they found it difficult to escape their massive track Brimful of Asha five years earlier. Secondly, in my experience, the public finds it difficult to overlook a long or unwieldy title.

I was reminded of these songs when I heard about the upcoming science-fiction series The War Between the Land and the Sea. It’s produced by Russell T Davies and is part of the Doctor Who universe, so the BBC is unlikely to encounter much resistance to the nine-syllable title. If they had attempted this title for a new show, by contrast, that hurdle might have been much higher.

There are other instances of media where a long title has been used. Right now, I can think of:

  • The novel Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg (1987).
  • The film The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill but Came Down a Mountain (1995).
  • The Channel 4 comedy The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret (2009).

Like them or not, titles of this length tend to slow the reader or viewer a little. When the first on the list was adapted into a screenplay, it was given the truncated title Fried Green Tomatoes. This reminds me of a point made in the George Orwell novel 1984:

COMINTERN is a word that can be uttered almost without taking thought, whereas COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL is a phrase over which one is obliged to linger at least momentarily.

Sometimes the gamble does pay off, and the audience successfully beyend behind the title:

  • The film Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) is known by its fans as simply Lock, Stock.
  • The police procedural show CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000) goes so far as to nudge its viewers into abbreviating it.
  • Mark Haddon didn’t lose any readers by calling his novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (2003).

The final two examples, both from the world of music, are each making a definite statement.

For her second studio album in 1999, Fiona Apple chose the following title, with the capitalisation as it appears on the Genius website:

When the pawn hits the conflicts he thinks like a king
What he knows throws the blows when he goes to the fight
And he’ll win the whole thing ‘fore he enters the ring
There’s no body to batter when your mind is your might
So when you go solo, you hold your own hand
And remember that depth is the greatest of heights
And if you know where you stand, then you know where to land
And if you fall it won’t matter, cuz you’ll know that you’re right

It’s a rather twee sentiment, but it’s nonetheless out to make a statement. The cover art makes the first three words legible from a distance, while the rest require a closer look, giving the listener an easy abbreviation.

Apple held the Guinness World Record for the longest album title until Chumbawamba beat it nine years later with the following. The capitalisation has been converted to sentence case:

The boy bands have won, and all the copyists and the tribute bands and the TV talent show producers have won, if we allow our culture to be shaped by mimicry, whether from lack of ideas or from exaggerated respect. You should never try to freeze culture. What you can do is recycle that culture. Take your older brother’s hand-me-down jacket and re-style it, re-fashion it to the point where it becomes your own. But don’t just regurgitate creative history, or hold art and music and literature as fixed, untouchable and kept under glass. The people who try to ‘guard’ any particular form of music are, like the copyists and manufactured bands, doing it the worst disservice, because the only thing that you can do to music that will damage it is not change it, not make it your own. Because then it dies, then it’s over, then it’s done, and the boy bands have won.

In this instance, the last five words are emphasised on the album cover, which echo the first five words and again make an unignorable statement.

In short, a long title certainly makes a statement, but consider carefully whether your audience will look beyond it or not.

Understanding Ephemerality

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been catching up on the When It Hits the Fan podcast on BBC Sounds. It’s advertised as an insider’s view of how critical stories are managed from a public relations point of view. David Yelland, a former editor of The Sun, presents alongside former Royal communications advisor Simon Lewis.

Considering their backgrounds, the two sometimes bring differing or even opposite perspectives, yet there is a surprising crossover of agreement. Where is a debate, these are always respectful. Many other podcasts could learn from this.

Episodes tend to centre around how a communications lead will shape a message to influence the perception of its subject while staying within legal and ethical boundaries. There are also mini-episodes in how to manage what they describe as your ‘own personal PR’, from negotiating a salary to dealing with mismanagement from bosses.

Having heard so many episodes spread over the last years, I’ve found it interesting how language, timing and framing determine whether a story escalates or fizzles out in the short-term. In the long-term, almost every story becomes forgettable to a greater or lesser extent.

One example discussed was an incident from Normandy in June 2024 when Rishi Sunak, who left a D-Day commemoration early This was a hot topic at the time, especially as it happened during an election campaign, but has not become a defining moment in his political career.

Then there was the rebranding of Jaguar in November 2024. This attracted a lot of discussion on release, possibly in the hope of generating buzz and therefore free advertising. In the last 12 months, however, this has generally been met by public indifference.

As I write this, I’m reminded of this what a senior manager told my team a few years back: “Look back through your old emails. What was the meaning of life a month ago is probably irrelevant today.’ It’s the same with going through old blog entries. Who remembers when I talked about the Sheree Mack plagiarism scandal or the list of forgotten Booker Prize winners?

In short, When It Hits the Fan is a offers an insight into the power of persuasive language when it matters, yet it’s a useful reminder that many stories burn brightly before quickly becoming ephemera. A new episode is currently being posted every week.