Tag: dundee

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Writing Clear Instructions

Back in May, I started running a new writing class called Placing Your Mark.

Unlike the other events I run, where the members bring their existing projects, this one is actively geared towards creating new work. The format has now settled down to include regular features such as writing a passage containing five given words, starting with a line taken from a novel, or inspired by picking a card at random.

When I’m writing these prompts, I do it by myself and it’s difficult to tell how well they’ll be understood.

For example, there is always a break halfway through, during which I produce an object and ask the members to muse upon it and write a piece inspired by it. I initially thought I was making the intention clear: a ten-minute break, followed by five minutes of writing. After trialling the feature and finding members were confused, I rewrote the instructions to make it clearer.

Other prompts don’t fly as well as I’d hoped. A few of these have involved an office setting, which frequently has a power structure and is ripe for conflict. However, some members have had difficulty relating to this because they haven’t worked in that type of environment.

Based on this feedback, I’ve had less of a problem with prompts that don’t work. It’s just as well because we’re now into the third block of four sessions, with possibly enough interest for a future block, and that means I need to write even more of them.

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An Element of Emulation

For an upcoming project, my poetry group has decided to look at forgotten poets from Dundee and bring them back to the forefront once more.

As part of our research, we were invited up to the central library to look at archived copies of The People’s Journal. This was in print from 1858 to 1986, and the editions we looked at were all issued towards to the beginning of that period.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t inspired by any of the poets. I was much more interested in reading the articles and creating poetry from those, but that wasn’t the intention of the exercise.

I eventually found one I could work with, although from a book rather than a newspaper. Someone called David Tasker had written a poetic account of a sawmill fire in 1863 titled A Conflagration in the City. I was able to find just one reference to the poet online. The piece reminded me of a furniture store that burned down last November.

I took the approach of using as many of the original words as possible but including more up-to-date imagery. We would have limited space in our publication so I made this poem significantly shorter than the source material. My favourite part was discovering a wordy quote from a witness of the 2022 fire that sounded like it could have been written by a Victorian poet. I was sure to cut this down slightly and squeeze it in:

“I am on the other side of the Tay so quite far away, but can comfortably say I have not seen a fire of its scale in all my time here.”

The last 150 years have marked a shift in how poetry is presented on the page. Before the 20th century, new lines were universally started with a capital letter, whereas that only happens today when a new sentence begins. One of the poetry group pointed out that this distracted from the enjambment. Although I agreed with this sentiment, I felt it important to retain the style of the original for greater effect.

Based on feedback from the rest of the group, my piece is not quite finalised yet, but I’m making good progress.

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A Weekend of Reading

I’m in a few different literary groups that meet on a monthly or weekly basis. There is also one that’s active only a few times a year, set up by a pal who is a particularly enthusiastic reader. The group has come to be known as the Seasonal Readathon.

From its inception until earlier this year, its format had been largely the same: we would reserve a Saturday or a Sunday and spend time reading between the hours of 8am and 8pm. The leader would also give out optional prompts every hour, ranging from ‘Predict what happens next in your book’ to ‘Don’t forget to eat dinner’.

The most recent event took place on Saturday 24 June, with a radical difference. We would still spend 12 hours reading, but these would be spread over two days without necessarily having prompts every hour. As it was summer and unusually warm, we also arranged a meet-up in a nearby park.

Initial feedback suggests that while members didn’t manage a full 12 hours of reading, it still spurred them on to read more than they otherwise would have. Also, the slower pace seems to have been a hit with those who were working or had other difficulties being present for the usual 8am to 8pm period. For my own part, Saturday was booked solid, so it helped to have the Sunday reserved as well.

Our next readathon will be in autumn. As this is Scotland, an open-air meet-up is unlikely at that point, but there remains the possibility to congregate indoors and carry on our reading.

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Writing Outdoors

I’ve always regarded writing as a strictly indoor activity. On account of the unusually warm weather over the weekend, however, I decided to try it outside again. It did not go well.

Despite being in the shade and having my computer screen brightness set to 100%, it was difficult to see what was on the screen as I finished off a project. When the battery ran low and the screen automatically dimmed, it then became near-impossible to see the mouse and cursor.

At that point, I decided to switch to writing a letter by hand. There have been times when the wind has blown my papers all over the place, rainwater has ruined them, or it was simply been too cold to hold a pen. That said, I had more success there. The only real obstacle was the sun glaring on the white paper, so I had to wear shades.

I don’t foresee too many more sunny days over the coming weeks, but if there is, I think a better solution would be to sit inside, open the door, and let the outdoors come in.

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Yet Another Class

Regular readers of this blog might know I already run two writing events: a weekly group for National Novel Writing Month and a monthly open-mic. I also take part in a monthly poetry circle. Each of these events is different in character from the others, but they’re all free to join and comprise at least a dozen members.

Some time ago, I took the decision to make a trial run of yet another class, and this would again be different from my current classes, not least because there would be a charge.

The format was adapted from classes I attended between 2011 and 2015, which were essentially improv but for writers rather than actors. These were run by a former teacher who would give us between five and ten minutes to write a passage inspired by a list of five words, a line from a novel, or a photograph found in a thrift shop. After each passage, we would then read our passages to each other for supportive mutual feedback.

In my class, I set a limit of four members to allow optimum time for writing versus feedback. It’s been something of a catch-22: it’s been difficult to attract members because it’s untested, but it’s untested because it’s hard to attract interest.

Nonetheless, I found two people willing to give it a go. Their initial feedback has been positive and I’ve already identified areas where the format could be tweaked. At the end of the first four-week block, I’ll make a decision about whether to run them on a more permanent basis.

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Being a Judge

On Saturday, my open-mic night Hotchpotch jointly hosted a poetry slam with the Edinburgh-based I Am Loud.

A slam is a form of performance poetry that heavily emphasises performance and audience reaction as well as the actual writing. It’s also competitive, with a panel of judges awarding points based on pre-agreed criteria.

In all my years of attending slams, I’d never been asked to act as a judge before. By all accounts, it was the least-envied job in the room. We would be marking each of the performers on a scale of 1 to 10.

I didn’t see the other judges’ papers, but I found the standard of performance was so high that it generally came down to how much I enjoyed the poem. There were some tough calls, but I don’t think I’d make any amendments in hindsight.

It really did help to have been to so many slams and other poetry events, so as to build up a frame of reference about what I enjoy and dislike. It was also useful to pay attention to the reactions from the audience. I’d be happy to do this again in the future.

It’s safe to say it now, but I was privately rather worried about whether our members would attend a ticketed slam in place of their usual free-of-charce open-mic. However, I’d failed to take into account that the I Am Loud name has some clout with local poets, and they sold out all 12 performer slots – even if two of them withdrew.

The winner in the end was Tom Bird, who goes on to compete in the final competition later this year.

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Exploring the Collaborative World of Renga

About three years ago, I had the privilege of becoming one of the first people to sign up for a collaborative poetry project spearheaded by W N Herbert.

Each month, he sends regular emails to a group of fellow poets, inviting us to contribute new verses to a renga poem. One suggestion is chosen every day and added to the email chain, so it builds up as the weeks go on.

A renga is a form of Japanese linked verse alternating haikus with pairs of seven-syllable lines. Each stanza has its own distinct direction, not necessarily responding directly to the previous one, but the end result is a collaborative work that showcases the individual voices and perspectives that make up a cohesive whole.

As W N Herbert receives quite enough suggestions from our small group, the mailing list is not open to the public. However, you can read the finished rengas and other pieces on the Gude and Godlie website.

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Cataloguing the Uncatalogued

For the last eight years or so, I’ve run my monthly open-mic singlehandedly. However, our collaborations during 2022 showed me the group was becoming unwieldy to manage alone.

So at the next event tomorrow, we’ll introduce our first co-host. Having already briefed her about the help we need, such as welcoming readers while I set up the equipment, I started to compose a short document to explain the role in more detail.

This short document quickly expanded to a long one, becoming a chronological checklist of the entire evening from start to finish. Much of the content is based upon years of personal experience and best practice. But almost none of it had been formally recorded before because there was never a pressing need.

I’ll give the document to my co-host tonight or tomorrow, although it’s still the first version and could do with some refining. Once it’s more robust, it’ll serve as a template in case she or anyone else needs to cover for me in the future.

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Collaboration Nation

If you’re a creative sort in Dundee, you’ll probably have some involvement with Creative Dundee. This is an organisation with a mission to connect the city’s art projects with one another.

Earlier this week, I received an email asking whether I’d be open to an interview with them, covering the writing groups I run. The offer couldn’t come at a better time, considering I’ve just brought aboard a co-host for my open-mic group and we’re looking to plug an upcoming collaboration in April.

The interview takes place next week, and I hope to bring you the published piece in a few weeks’ time.

Separately from this, I’d offered to lend equipment to a guerilla film project who were awarded funding through Creative Dundee last month. I’ve now been called into action, as they need to borrow a projector and a camcorder.

It’s unlikely I’ll be able to attend the event on Saturday because of a prior commitment, but I look forward to hearing the report.

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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.