The Best Bad Poetry

A few days ago, I received an email from a blog I didn’t know I was following.

The author had just updated with a poem about the Ship Canal Bridge in Seattle that was heavily influenced by the William McGonagall verse The Tay Bridge Disaster. For the avoidance of doubt, only the style is lampooned; the Seattle bridge is in no danger of collapse.

I’m from Dundee, right next to the Tay, and McGonagall is closely associated with the city. As I read the Ship Canal Bridge poem, I found I had more and more I wanted to say about the poet and his output.

A major hallmark of his distinctive verse came from forcing clumsy descriptions into rhyming lines. It amused me to see the critically-panned film director Tommy Wiseau under the See Also section in his Wikipedia entry.

However, I’ve also heard McGonagall’s technique described as ‘journalistic’, as his words often give a factual insight into the subject. This is showcased neatly in The Tay Bridge Disaster.

To our eyes, such a poem might seem insensitive to its victims and their relatives. However, there appeared to be no public outcry 143 years ago; even in modern times, performances are often played for laughs.

I must credit Dundee Rep Theatre with making an exception in 2019. As part of a local history show called The A to Z of Dundee, one of the actors read an excerpt from the piece. Despite the overall show being comedic in nature, he gave it a poignant tone that I think was better suited to the subject matter.

One of my university tutors believed McGonagall was the only poet whose entire body of work had been published. Better still, his output has been in the public domain for decades, so it’s easy to find countless other examples of his style.

New Notebooks and Diaries

This festive season, a lot of writers will be given gifts of brand-new notebooks. It’s a safe bet that most writers will appreciate the thought, plus they’re relatively inexpensive for all but the fanciest designs.

Indeed, some writers find they can more easily start a new project with a fresh book, even if – paradoxically – nobody wants to spoil the new pages with ink.

I’m someone who doesn’t don’t fall into that camp. I do write by hand much of the time, but I can reach into my cupboard and pick up at least one that still has a number of usable blank pages. I also don’t have the storage space for too many new books. As such, buying new is a rarity for me.

There is one exception to this. Every year, I buy a specific type of diary, usually a Moleskine or a Leuchtturm 1917. These have a diary week on each left-hand page, while the right side is feint-ruled, allowing for notes to be taken.

I began this approach after reading The Books of Albion, a collection of diaries by the musician Peter Doherty. His diaries often document what happened during a particular week or contain fragments of song lyrics or poems. Some pages also act as a scrapbook, with photographs and tickets glued in.

While my diaries don’t have this level of detail, it’s interesting to read what I’ve written some years before. Often I’ll find a draft of something that was never developed into a final piece, or occasionally an early draft of a now-finished work.

So until I really do run out of space, buying new notebooks will remain a once-yearly occurrence.

Submit Early for Christmas

If you’ve never had work published before, it’s easy to imagine it’s a quick process. You send in your story, the editor gives it the thumbs-up, and then it appears in the next edition. On the contrary, the process can be tremendously slow, even in this fast-paced age.

For articles, a useful rule of thumb is to think six months in advance of publication. Magazines are full of Christmas features right now, but many of these would have been planned since July or August. Conversely, this is the time to submit pieces about relaxing sun-drenched locations, what to do during the school summer holiday, &c.

And the lengthier the work, the longer that timeline will be. For a novel, the wait could be up to two years, according to one source.

One way to shorten the time is by self-publishing. It’s entirely possible to finish writing a piece one day and then make it available online the next. But when you do this, there is the potential to cut out the steps that make a finished piece look polished. This includes tasks such as editing, proofreading, cover design and – in the case of non-fiction – fact-checking.

I know few people want to think about winter when it’s still the middle of summer, but from a publishing point of view, it’s the perfect time.

Falling Foul of the Censors

Last week, I was reminded of a case involving the Obscene Publications Act 1959. Many people associate it with the 1960 trial of Penguin Books for publishing Lady Chatterley’s Lover, but there have been a few notable trials since.

The one I’ll focus on here dates from 2009. It involved a blogger called Darryn Walker, writing a sadistic fantasy story involving the members of Girls Aloud. This was notable because it was the first time the Act had been used for written material since 1991, and the first time it had been invoked in the Internet age.

If you want to read the story, which was written under a pen name, Girls (Scream) Aloud has been archived. You are warned it's not safe for work.

I read it myself at the time of the case. My personal view, then and now, is that the story might be in bad taste but hardly worthy of a criminal trial. In any case, Walker was ultimately cleared of the charges after evidence from an IT expert. In fact, I can’t find an example of a successful conviction for purely text material.

At present, it seems most writers published in the UK will never need to worry about falling foul of the Act. But in the years since the Walker case, much more material has gone online and it’s worth considering whether we might see more convictions in the future.

Expelling the Exposition

Last week, I was inspired to write a short story, but it needed a lot of background information to be included before the action happened. As I was planning it out, though, I couldn’t figure out how to explain it without boring the reader.

In the years I’ve been writing, one technique I’ve found to work is simply to write the story, exposition and all. Afterwards, it’s usually a case of taking a step back and trying to carve out a structure from what’s on the page.

In this case, I had a character that should have arrived at a place by 6pm and was uncontactable by phone until 8pm before finally showing up at 9:30pm. I initially had the action take place at 8pm, with the characters holding a conversation between that time and 9:30pm.

Looking back over what I’d written, I realised I could dispense with the 8pm call and set the action nearer 9:30pm. That had the effect of both reducing the explanation and intensifying the surprise as the arrival was now completely unexpected. I also placed much of the exposition into dialogue instead of descriptive paragraphs.

That meant I could start the action earlier and it took off with gusto. I wrote so much that I was able to split the narrative, with a cliffhanger between the two parts.

Adapting a Sitcom For the Stage

Last week, I visited London with a pal. Among other attractions, we stopped at a West End show, namely a musical version of the sitcom Only Fools and Horses.

Both of us enjoyed the performance, yet it started me wondering about the pressures of adapting a much-loved show without disappointing the audience. A good start is to find writers with a track record of hits, and this show had two of them.

One of these is Jim Sullivan, who penned the spin-off show The Green Green Grass and is the son of the original Only Fools and Horses writer John Sullivan. Completing the duo is Paul Whitehouse, bringing his extensive background in character-led sketch comedy.

The resulting show is one that borrows major plot points from the TV series without ever feeling like a rip-off. The mix of music was interesting as well. It included many original songs, but the writers also chose to sprinkle in pre-existing tracks from other artists like Chas & Dave and Bill Withers. The opening and closing themes also featured prominently.

While it’s nothing to do with the writing, the accents of the actors were spot-on, helping to draw the audience into this world immediately.

In short, these two writers have pulled off an incredible feat of taking a TV sitcom and presenting it on a stage without losing any of its charm. I can’t find any other Whitehouse & Sullivan collaborations, but I look forward to seeing what they produce in the future.

Local Stories in the Global Room

Let me address first of all why you’re seeing this post on a Sunday when I’m accustomed to making them on a Tuesday.

I forgot to update on Tuesday, so my self-imposed punishment was to make two further entries this week: one on Friday just gone and one today. From Tuesday, we’ll go back to weekly posting.

In this entry, let me take you back to last Sunday.

Every year, the University of Dundee runs the Being Human festival, in celebration of the humanities. I’d signed up to join their Talking Bus tour, driving a round trip of approximately 75 miles to places in Angus. During the trip, we were told folk tales by Dr Erin Farley. She’s someone I’ve known for a long time, and last year she launched a collection of these stories.

This book has proved to be rather influential in my poetry group, the Wyverns. The group is not normally open to the general public, but we do have a history of tie-ins with the Being Human festival, so this is the one time of year we can showcase our work. Tuesday saw the launch of our seventh pamphlet at the university with accompanying readings.

In common with our previous publications, this took place in the Global Room on campus, used for social and cultural events rather than lectures. Each of the Wyvern poets stood up in turn to perform our poems, and the words were also displayed on a TV behind us for the audience to read along. The best perk, in my opinion, was the bowl of posh chocolates that was passed around the crowd to accompany the tea and coffee. Erin and a few others were in attendance, and it seemed to go down well.

In all that excitement, I simply forgot to update this blog. I only remembered early on Wednesday morning, when the moment had long passed.

After the event, the group exchanged a few emails on our discussion list. One member reported feeling exceptionally nervous about performing, which reminded me that not everyone is comfortable standing on a stage to read. I sometimes forget this because I read to an audience at least once a month, and I rarely think anything of it. While this is a subject I’ve addressed before on the blog, a casual search suggests I haven’t updated my advice since 2018.

I reckon that’s a topic to revisit next week, but in lieu of a more comprehensive entry, the best general piece of advice I can give is to treat it like learning any new skill.

Let’s say you know nothing about snooker, but you read up on the rules, buy a table on a whim and find a regular willing opponent. If you play three frames a day for twelve months, that’s well over a thousand matches. Within a year, you’ll know which moves work and don’t work, the optimum spin to place on the ball, how to block the other player effectively, and so forth.

In short, you’ll be pretty good at playing snooker by this time next year, just in time for our potential eighth pamphlet.

Welcoming Faraway Poets

You might be wondering why you’re reading an entry on a Friday rather than a Tuesday.

This is because I forgot to update on Tuesday, as explained in an entry from Wednesday. As such, my self-imposed punishment is to make two further entries this week. Each one needs to be a minimum of 500 words long, which is roughly double the content I would normally include.

Fortunately, there’s been a lot to talk about this week, not least last Saturday, when my open-mic event Hotchpotch welcomed the Edinburgh-based group I Am Loud. This was the second of two planned visits after the last one in September.

Most of the time, Hotchpotch is exclusively an open-mic event. There are no headliners, and every attendee is permitted up to seven minutes each to read work to an audience.

The members were advised far in advance that this event would be different, with just eight slots of three minutes apiece, plus three headliners. We had a smaller crowd than we would normally attract, a fact that might be blamed on the change of day and/or format, but it also meant we comfortably filled seven of the eight slots without disappointing anyone.

The three featured headliners were: Bex Sherwood from I Am Loud, the writer and activist Miss Yankey, plus our regular member Mark Richardson. I was interested to see how the three styles would play together because Bex largely performed work about cows, while the other two focussed mainly on social issues, albeit from different perspectives. Their styles, though, seemed to complement each other.

From my own point of view, I was able to relax a little more than usual. I Am Loud brings technical staff along, so my role was instead to welcome people at the door, sell poetry books, and take sign-ups for this and future events.

So what of future events? I Am Loud has expressed an interest in coming back for another collaboration next year, but that depends on funding. The financial structure of the poetry scene tends to mirror that of the live music circuit, in the sense that money tends to flow towards venues rather than performers. So if that funding arises, I – and the venue, I’m sure – will endeavour to accommodate them as well as we can.

The experience has also encouraged me to look further afield for other potential tie-ups.

In one case, there’s a YouTube creator I’ve been following for a couple of years. He’s looking for ideas he can film in 2023 before he winds up his current series. There’s a slim chance he’ll reply, but I’ve nonetheless pitched the idea of him performing at one of our shows. This would be as a punter, not a headliner.

I think the best approach to take for side projects is to accept that some will fail from the start, some will be popular at the start but quickly lose momentum, and others will still be standing for a long time. Hotchpotch itself was set up as a short-term experiment, yet here it is still thriving more than 12 years later.

Where Did Tuesday Go?

A full 25 hours on from Tuesday at 8pm, and an entry finally appears. Here’s what went down, and what’ll happen now.

Every Tuesday, I run the Dundee & Angus region of National Novel Writing Month. We meet weekly all year round in person and online, which becomes twice a week in November. That’s when the main novel-writing challenge is held. Yesterday, I knew I wasn’t going to be available to host because of a poetry event. I turned to my co-lead, who is normally able to fill in, but she was unwell.

As such, the meet-up had to be cancelled entirely, which rarely happens. I spent my lunchtime sending messages to make sure none of the members turned up.

These meet-ups are such a fixture of my week that it doesn’t feel like a Tuesday without one. I regularly use the time to write or finish my blog entry, which is why it’s always posted that evening. No meet-up meant it went completely out of my head. In fact, I only remembered this morning.

So where do we go from here? The last time this happened, the self-imposed sanction was to post an extra entry, but I feel this deserves something more severe because there was no reasonable excuse for forgetting. It’s normally enough of an effort to write one blog entry a week, so let’s have another two this week.

As such, the extra ones will be posted on Friday 18 November and Sunday 20 November, both at 8pm. Each one must be at least 500 words long, and they can’t cover the same topic. This punishment can be increased, but not decreased.

I’ll catch you again on Friday.

Presenting to Creative Folks

Although these entries are posted in a regular fashion, they’re sometimes written days in advance, giving me time to iron out any flaws. This is not one of these entries. This is about an event from this morning.

I’m part of a local group called Amps, self-described as a community of people who make and cultivate creativity in Dundee. Every Tuesday morning, the members gather for a lighthearted online event that includes discussion questions for everyone, and one of the members typically gives a talk about their work.

It was my turn today, and I talked about the challenges of running both a poetry open-mic and a novel-writing group. I first considered the many differences between the two groups, then ended by discussing three key rules I follow when running both of them.

I’ve been working on this topic for a long time. In 2020, I was supposed to make a Pecha Kucha presentation that never went ahead, but I’d planned what I wanted to talk about. All I really needed to do was bring it up to date.

Regarding Amps as an organisation, I’d heard about them a few years back, but I didn’t join until about this time last year. I didn’t initially imagine I’d be welcome as I don’t rely on the arts to make a living, but the organisers keep a broad church.

After the presentation, there is always a short question-and-answer session, in which I was able to expand upon some of the points I made and put some preconceptions to bed. The weirdest question was whether I would consider using artificial intelligence in my writing.

I’m not always at these meetings because of work commitments, but I’ll endeavour to go whenever I’m available.