Tag: poetry

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Reaching Fever Peach

On Saturday just gone, I was given the opportunity to perform a 15-minutes of poetry at the Keiller Centre in Dundee. This was organised by local comedy band Fever Peach as part of their Monthly Indulgence event and here’s how they announced the event.

That said, I only learned of the opportunity on Wednesday and I didn’t have a themed set ready to go. After looking through my collection, the structure came together quickly, with the verse generally moving from more serious to more frivolous.

The actual reading time clocked in around 12 minutes. This was helpful as I knew there would need to be time left for applause and possibly banter with the hosts and the audience; I even gave out Biscoff biscuits as part of the performance.

And there was one other factor at play. When I go to events, I often like to write verse in situ. On one occasion, I wrote clerihews for all the performers who had gone before me. On another, I offered a poetic critique of all the art on the wall of the café. This time, I scribbled a short poem during the soundcheck, based on the, ‘One-two, one-two,’ that sound engineers often use to test microphones.

While the Fever Peach duo kept the show together, the other act on the bill was a travelling Mexican musician called Ed Stone. Despite breaking two different strings on two guitars, he acted as a melodic counterpoint to my poetry.

These shows always end with a complicated improv game, during which my mind went blank more than once, and Ed struggled a little because he was playing in a second language. Still, it was all a bit of fun.

The only downside was the size of the audience, with just five tickets sold. While it is true that the venue is quite hidden away, they always go down a storm and they deserve more eyeballs.

I would happily perform for Fever Peach again, and I look forward to similar opportunities in the future.

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Discovering Andrea Gibson

It was announced via Instagram yesterday evening that the poet Andrea Gibson had died.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of seeing Gibson live on stage. You can read the write-up from the first time in 2018, at the Mash House in Edinburgh. Unaccountably, I haven’t covered the second time; for my own future reference, this was on 20 May 2019 at the Queen Margaret Union in Glasgow.

Yet I’m struggling to add anything further than what I wrote in that first entry.

What I really want to do is encourage you to pick up one of their albums, from Bullets and Windchimes (2003) to Hey Galaxy (2018) and just listen to a few tracks. The imagery and the metaphors are delivered at a machine-gun pace, so don’t be surprised if you need to pause for breath. You can also seek out one of their collections, but – cards on the table – I think there’s more to be gained from listening rather than reading.

Andrea Gibson was someone who would never dream of demanding plaudits, but conversely, won so many fans by simply speaking about the world as they saw it. Had they lived past 49, I have the feeling we would have heard so much more over the coming decades.

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Looking Back at Past Readings

At the beginning of May, I spoke about having my computer kitted out with 12GB of RAM, giving its processing power a significant boost from the previous 4GB. This meant Windows no longer had to leech space off the hard disc for basic tasks.

Even without that leeching, the disc was still almost at its limit – and that wasn’t including my videos, which had to stay on OneDrive only. A few weeks ago, I decided to have a look at these videos again and see whether any could be discarded.

After watching a few, I decided not to delete them. I instead followed the recommendations from several forum posts to convert them from the current data-intensive format into a more space-efficient one.

Many of the videos are poetry and story readings from live events spanning 2014 to 2022, with a heavy skew towards 2015 and 2016. They were intended primarily as references so I could improve my performances rather than finished products, so some of the camera work is shoddy, but the audio is crisp. I’ve fallen out of the habit of filming as I’ve gathered more experience.

Instead, the videos have become a memento of a new era. In the earlier ones, I’d just taken over my open-mic night Hotchpotch. We were in a different venue and the format was more like a story circle than a staged event.

Then there were other readings I’d forgotten, held in places such as Dundee Contemporary Arts and the Scottish Poetry Library. I recognised early drafts of works that have either become substantially different final products or have languished unseen since their composition.

While there are a handful of videos made after 2020, just two of these are readings. These were specific projects and were intended for a wider audience, so more care was taken over these.

Now the collection is under control, I’ll be more selective about what’s added. Any run-of-the-mill readings probably won’t make the cut, even if they might be interesting in years to come. Maybe I’ll make an exception if I’m ever on telly.

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Ideas Happen Outdoors, Writing Happens Indoors

I’ve realised there’s a contradiction in my writing process, and I’ve been struggling to reconcile the two sides of the coin.

On the one hand, I occasionally pepper into my entries that many of my writing ideas happen while walking. There’s something about the constant motion that brings these to the surface.

On the other hand, I realised a few years ago that I consider writing to be a strictly indoor activity, not an outdoor one. I examined this in a short entry titled Inside the Box from 2022, and I still agree with the points made.

The recent streak of sunny weather has brought this duality to mind. It’s provided a good incentive to go for these walks and think about recent projects.

I will, of course, always write down an idea when it occurs. Yet even on the warmest day, I hadn’t once considered intentionally taking my computer or notepad outdoors.

I entertained the thought that it might be down to practical issues like screen glare, spitting rain or unexpected gusts. Annoying as these are, it doesn’t fully describe my aversion to outdoor writing. I can be anywhere with walls and a ceiling; I’ll happily write on public transport, and I even jotted down the beginnings of a poem in a club this weekend.

In short, it simply feels wrong to write anywhere but indoors, and there’s no concrete reason for it, especially when I like to be outdoors to form ideas.

If you’ve any clues or insights about why this might be, I’d like to hear from you.

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Problems with Printers

I have two wireless printers used for different purposes. The larger one takes A4 paper and is for ordinary documents like manuscripts, while the smaller one prints onto a roll of thermal paper and can be used to create typed stickers. As they’re both made by Brother, they’re distinguished by the network names Big Brother and Little Brother.

A few weeks ago, I started to experience problems with the first of these, particularly when trying to print off documents from Outlook. Last week, the connection completely broke down, and it was the very worst time for this because I needed to print off a proposal I’d written for a writing class.

As such, I spent a chunk of Good Friday fixing the problem. The problem somehow fixed itself after I removed the printer from Windows and added it again. It happened just in the nick of time to commit that proposal to paper, and I hope to bring further news

At around the same time, Little Brother was up to the capers. This always had a quirk where the software sometimes says it’s offline, yet it spits out the print a few seconds later. More recently, the printing has become more hit and miss before failing completely.

It’s only by good fortune that I didn’t urgently need prints from that machine, since it took a lot of time on Saturday to fix it. It proved necessary to remove the existing installation, then use a temporary wired connection and disable the VPN while setting it up again.

I don’t fully understand the problem, but it’s probably not unrelated to a recent Windows update that won’t install for me, and it seems many other users are in the same situation.

What I now have, however, is a USB cable on standby in case this happens again.

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Putting a Full Stop to Scams

I watch a YouTube creator who goes under the alias Kitboga. In 2017, he discovered his grandmother had fallen victim to several scams, costing her hundreds of dollars every month.

Inspired by this, he now produces content aimed at exposing phone scammers and educating viewers about how to spot their tactics. At the very least, he wants to waste hours of their time that might otherwise be spent scamming others.

The style of the channel took some time to grow on me, as it’s rather chaotic. He typically uses a voice-changer to make scammers think they’re talking to an elderly person, before making up nonsensical stories to tell them, often on the spot. Between calls, he explains to the viewers what he’s doing and why.

On Sunday, Kitboga posted a video where he spoke to a scammer who claimed to represent the publisher Penguin Random House. Unusually, the other party agreed to a meeting via Zoom. I won’t give away the outcome, but I promise it’s worth watching the entire 36-minute video as he explains the scam and considers his next move.

This isn’t the first time a publishing scam has been featured on the channel.

Back in October, the channel exposed a group targeting self-published authors with screenwriting deals. At around the 27:45 mark, he even gave a shout-out to the Writer Beware blog, which had been documenting these cases over many years.

Most of us want to see our writing out there in the world, but we also need to be careful. One of the best ways is to be very dubious about anyone who reaches out with an offer regarding your work.

If you’re ever uncertain whether a contact is genuine, be sure to check with the company. You can often find details on their official website, in the indispensable Writers’ Handbook, and/or in the Companies House database. When in doubt, hit the Block button and move on.

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Money for Nothing, Join for Free

There are a couple of perennial topics on this blog. One of them is public speaking, and the other is banging the drum about joining the Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society.

The ALCS was founded in 1977 to ensure writers are given fair payments for any of their works that are copied, broadcast or recorded. The organisation is the literary equivalent of the better-known PRS for Music, which does a similar job for musicians.

This year, £35,038,136 was shared between 111,415 members. It’s important to note this is not an equal share, but calculated according to the activity of each author’s work. You can bet that bestsellers like Richard Osman and Julia Donaldson took a sizeable chunk of the pie.

My payment this year was around £133. It’s not enough to live on, of course, but it’ll pay my energy company for nearly two months. What’s more, that’s from just nine publications spanning as many years.

So how does an author grab a piece of the action?

The ALCS has recently suspended online applications for reasons unknown, but will accept a postal version. Visit the How to Join page to download and fill in the form.

You don’t need to send any money. Instead, the organisation will deduct a one-off fee of £36 once you’ve earned that figure in royalties. This grants you lifetime membership. Payments are collected for a variety of different visual works, so check the website for details of these.

To start earning, you’ll need to enter the ISBN of each work you’ve had published. This is the 13-digit string of numbers beside the barcode, or 10 digits if the book was published before 2007. Remember to include every publication where you receive credit, regardless of its age.

After all that, it’s just a matter of maintaining your list of works on the website and awaiting the annual payment.

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Friday Poetry in St Andrews

It’s the time of year for StAnza, the annual poetry festival in St Andrews. I’ve made a point of going for some years now, as it’s only half an hour away by bus.

I would normally go on a Saturday and/or a Sunday, but I could only attend the launch party on Friday instead, and this also meant missing a visit to a pal who lives nearby. Before the pandemic, I would set aside the weekend, typically staying in the town. I’ve fallen out of that habit, but next year would be a good time to resurrect it.

During the same period, the festival length has been reduced from six days to three. I’ve heard grumbles from poetry pals about this cut-down programme, this would work in my favour. By omitting weekdays other than Friday night, there’s less chance of events clashing with work, and I’d be able to attend late-night readings with a finishing time dangerously close to the last bus home.

The next email I’m expecting from StAnza is a feedback form. They’ve nothing to worry about on that front, as I enjoyed the launch. Half of it was improv, calling poets at random to read poetry themed around colours, with the other half a structured reading from Ruth Padel.

The more important aspect is that such festivals often rely on sponsors for their continued operation. The more customer reaction the organisers receive, the easier it is to convince funders to back it the following year, so always fill these in.

The other two places I would like to visit for the first time, ideally this year, are the Wigtown Book Festival and the Orkney Storytelling Festival. These start in September and October respectively, but it’s a good idea to start planning now.

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A Weekend of Minimal Writing

In an entry from 28 January this year, I spoke about visiting the Millennium Bridges in mainland Great Britain, making fleeting mention of a further visit to Land’s End.

The original plan was to pair that with a visit to John O’Groats a couple of days later. My train ticket would allow me to visit both places, but the storms did not, so I delayed my visit to Saturday just gone. My hotel booking couldn’t be cancelled without losing the payment; it could only be rescheduled.

From the January trip, I’d learnt a lot about the logistics of taking long-distance public transport and the luggage required for such a journey. It was almost perfect, but I forgot the charger for my laptop. With eight hours of total journey time between Dundee and Thurso, one of the nearest towns to John O’Groats, that would have been handy.

Yet it didn’t matter too much in the end. I had plenty of battery for the activities I absolutely needed to complete, plus Scotrail didn’t have many three-pin power sockets on this journey.

The trains did all boast USB type A sockets, but they didn’t appear to be at full voltage. This led to the discovery that my phone has an extreme battery-saving mode, so I could at least charge up faster than the power was consumed. If a story idea did occur, I always had a pencil and paper with me.

Once I’d reached John O’Groats, I found I didn’t particularly want to write, other than posting a card from the northernmost Post Office in the UK. I just wanted to wander about for a couple of hours, maybe take a couple of pictures for people back home. Unlike the Millennium Bridges, there was never a plan to chronicle this journey in detail.

I did, however, ensure I stood beside the signpost at each end.

Gavin Cameron in a thick jacket, standing beside the signpost at John O'Groats.
Gavin Cameron in a thick jacket, standing beside the signpost at Land's End.

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When to Veer Off-Course

I’m a founding member of a monthly writing group called the Wyverns. Over the decade or so of existence, the format has remained relatively constant. A prompt or theme is agreed upon at each session and the members strive to write a poem on that theme for the following session, in return for constructive feedback.

These prompts are generally abstract or open to interpretation because our members write in a variety of styles. Recent themes include peace, cartoon characters and view or scene. I couldn’t make it to the last meeting, so I’m not aware of the conversation that happened, only that the resulting prompt was the more specific Devices that control our lives.

Importantly, the prompts are not mandatory but are treated as a springboard that members can use for their work. As such, this is one of the few instances where I’m considering not following it and instead submitting work on another topic.

On the one hand, I’m up for a challenge. Some of the most difficult prompts have resulted in superior work that I might not have achieved with a simpler one. On the other hand, I’m growing weary of hearing such endless discussions and debates, let alone contributing to them.

It’s not always wise to evade the brief. Try submitting a piece to a competition that isn’t within the rules and I guarantee the editor will have binned it by the time the ink dries on the rejection letter. But there are instances where it’s acceptable to change the nature of what you’re writing.

In 2019, I was looking to write a short joke about how YouTube originally started as a mail-order video-rental catalogue. The more I considered the idea, the more detail I kept adding. It turned into a 1,700-word short story. In the process, it morphed from a one-liner into a satirical alternate history, yet I was pleased with the outcome.

I’m still considering what to do with the Wyverns prompt, but I do intend to submit something before our meeting next month.