www.jamesross.eu
All future blogs will be on the new website. Pop over and have a look.
I'm still working on it but all new writing will be on that site. I've started transferring my stories to that site too.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
My New Website
www.jamesross.eu
All future blogs will be on the new website. Pop over and have a look.
I'm still working on it but all new writing will be on that site. I've started transferring my stories to that site too.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Civilised
Had to get up in the middle of the night due to an asthma attack.
I always know when I'm getting asthma in my sleep as it gets dark in my dreams.
Used my inhaler, made myself a coffee and watched a docu on TV about the Normans who, it appears, were a bunch of medieval stone-killer takeover-artists and empire builders. I then switched over to watch the BBC 24 hour news channel. There I watched some talking heads discussing the EU parliament, an organisation which is sort of like the Normans, but wearing cord pants and spectacles instead of chain mail and spears.
Takeover artists and empire builders nevertheless.
Anyhow, I got to thinking about what makes us civilised, as you do at half three in the morning when you can't breathe properly. Here's a very short version of my list:
Just realised that the above are all inanimate. Ok, parks contain living things but the park itself is just a place. My list is all venues, in fact. Maybe that makes me a bit autistic. Should I have included some sort of sentiment in my list? Empathy? Good manners? Affection?
Naah. Get the venues right and the sentiments will follow.
I always know when I'm getting asthma in my sleep as it gets dark in my dreams.
Used my inhaler, made myself a coffee and watched a docu on TV about the Normans who, it appears, were a bunch of medieval stone-killer takeover-artists and empire builders. I then switched over to watch the BBC 24 hour news channel. There I watched some talking heads discussing the EU parliament, an organisation which is sort of like the Normans, but wearing cord pants and spectacles instead of chain mail and spears.
Takeover artists and empire builders nevertheless.
Anyhow, I got to thinking about what makes us civilised, as you do at half three in the morning when you can't breathe properly. Here's a very short version of my list:
- Municipal parks.
- A local library.
- Clean toilet facilities.
Just realised that the above are all inanimate. Ok, parks contain living things but the park itself is just a place. My list is all venues, in fact. Maybe that makes me a bit autistic. Should I have included some sort of sentiment in my list? Empathy? Good manners? Affection?
Naah. Get the venues right and the sentiments will follow.
poetry: no thankyou
Just came back from the gym after spending an hour on various punchbags, speed and floor-to-ceiling balls, and was feeling quite happy. Endorphin-mellow, in fact.
Stupidly I turned on the radio and came across Poetry Please on Radio 4, one of the BBCs various radio literary programmes. Words can't express how much I despise the BBC. I hate its actively mild, lefty-liberal, middle class world-view in which we are assumed to be either town-houses dwelling worthies or toiling immigrants desperate for betterment.
The real people of this country, the stroppy, beer-swilling crew who are occasionally called on to defend us all from behind the point of a bayonet, and who constitute about 90% of the population of this green and pleasant land, they rarely get a look in. The Hogarthian excess for which we are also known, is only ever mentioned as some sort of social disease to be cured, presumably, by exposure to radio programmes about poetry, from the BBC.
Poetry Please? I'd rather listen to a drunk puke.
In fact, I intend to. I'm off to the pub to get drunk.
Stupidly I turned on the radio and came across Poetry Please on Radio 4, one of the BBCs various radio literary programmes. Words can't express how much I despise the BBC. I hate its actively mild, lefty-liberal, middle class world-view in which we are assumed to be either town-houses dwelling worthies or toiling immigrants desperate for betterment.
The real people of this country, the stroppy, beer-swilling crew who are occasionally called on to defend us all from behind the point of a bayonet, and who constitute about 90% of the population of this green and pleasant land, they rarely get a look in. The Hogarthian excess for which we are also known, is only ever mentioned as some sort of social disease to be cured, presumably, by exposure to radio programmes about poetry, from the BBC.
Poetry Please? I'd rather listen to a drunk puke.
In fact, I intend to. I'm off to the pub to get drunk.
Moon
Talking of wolf-moons: the word month comes from the word moon. A moon'th: a period of time based on the orbit of the moon, which is about 29.5 days. But the moon is less important to us now that we have electric light and cars in which to travel.
I went for an overnight hike once with my man Wilson. We walked for hours up and across the steep moors between two valleys. We missed the trig point by about a mile and a half, and after a couple of hours walking we weren't sure of our exact position or direction; as we checked the map, both our head-torches went out at the same time leaving us in almost complete darkness.
Could have done with a moon right then, but it was misty.
I went for an overnight hike once with my man Wilson. We walked for hours up and across the steep moors between two valleys. We missed the trig point by about a mile and a half, and after a couple of hours walking we weren't sure of our exact position or direction; as we checked the map, both our head-torches went out at the same time leaving us in almost complete darkness. This was probably due to buying cheap batteries, but at the time it was a bit spooky.
wolf moon
Historically, January is the month of hunger and darkness, the month after the winter solstice when the parties are over and the lights extinguished, and all we can do is sit patient for Spring to arrive.
There's an old tradition of January being the wolf moon; the time when wolves, bone thin and ravenous from the winter's lack would descend upon villages to steal livestock, their fear of man overcome by their need for food.
Nowadays people have Seasonal Affective Disorder and huge post-Christmas overdrafts. People panic at three inches of snow. We have central heating and allergies, and personal trainers.
Think I'd prefer the wolves.
There's an old tradition of January being the wolf moon; the time when wolves, bone thin and ravenous from the winter's lack would descend upon villages to steal livestock, their fear of man overcome by their need for food.
Nowadays people have Seasonal Affective Disorder and huge post-Christmas overdrafts. People panic at three inches of snow. We have central heating and allergies, and personal trainers.
Think I'd prefer the wolves.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
More about Taft
The work I'm doing with Taft High in Chicago is going really well. Miss K's class are really sharp, ask some great questions and make me think deeply about what the hell it is I'm supposed to be writing. Busy speaking to a couple of other high schools too, with a view to working alongside them either to do a short story or a longer piece.
Apart from that, I'm almost ready to jump ship to my new website, like the gunwhale rat I secretly am, but when I do, I'll leave a great big link.
Apart from that, I'm almost ready to jump ship to my new website, like the gunwhale rat I secretly am, but when I do, I'll leave a great big link.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thelonious Punk
My new mouthpiece came through the post - I really wanted an SR Tech that would have cost over £300, or a Selmer that cost about half that, but settled for a Bari that set me back half of that again. Short of another decent writing contract I won't be buying any expensive musical toys for a while.
But the Bari is lovely, and it's got a wide tip which I really like. So me and my sax will be making mucho loud noise next week, at the first Thelonious Punk gig of 2011.
I'm all excited.
(200th post btw.)
But the Bari is lovely, and it's got a wide tip which I really like. So me and my sax will be making mucho loud noise next week, at the first Thelonious Punk gig of 2011.
I'm all excited.
(200th post btw.)
Monday, January 10, 2011
Everybody knows
I want this played at my wake. And free beer. And some bull-baiting and dwarves. No clowns. Tents.
A live band.
A live band.
Cinnamon Girl
It's raining steady outside and I've spent the whole day editing the next section of a book I'm working on. It seems ok but I can never tell until it's done whether it'll work or not, so at the moment I don't quite know if things are coming together or they're falling apart.
Need to go for a long walk along the coast.
Need Neil Young to play me a one-note guitar solo. Twice.
Need to switch off.
Wish I could.
Need to go for a long walk along the coast.
Need Neil Young to play me a one-note guitar solo. Twice.
Need to switch off.
Wish I could.
Monday, December 27, 2010
business model
The very definition of ambition.
Clan
My dad's family are Scottish: grandmother's family from Barra, grandfather's from Caithness. Mum's family were called Noble, and they were a clan of West March border thieves.
Celts and Vikings. Invaders and thieves.
My dad tells me the Ross clan was a small mercenary outfit who'd fight anyone for the right sum of money, and I've read that the MacNeills of Barra provided the harp players to the Royal houses of Scotland. So you can add mercenaries and musicians to the rollcall of my roots.
It was a long time ago, all that violence and legend and stuff, but even though I don't live in Scotland or the Border Marches I love having those roots, being from the North, and being the descendent of thieves and desperados and harp players. Then again 200 years is only six or seven generations; my grandparents' great-grandparents, in fact.
For example, one of my ancestors is called Catherine Wright and she lived in the mid-18th Century, a farmer's wife from north east Scotland. I see her standing at the door of some white-painted farmhouse, wearing long heavy skirts and an apron, hands raw from work and washing and weather, food in the oven, pausing to watch the hills and fields for her menfolk.
Every time I think of her, that's where I see her. She's still real, to me. I want to approach her and say Hello, Catherine.
I can't express what thinking of my ancestors makes me feel. A mixture of warmth and glad sadness. What my Irish friend Cullen calls the lament.
Celts and Vikings. Invaders and thieves.
My dad tells me the Ross clan was a small mercenary outfit who'd fight anyone for the right sum of money, and I've read that the MacNeills of Barra provided the harp players to the Royal houses of Scotland. So you can add mercenaries and musicians to the rollcall of my roots.
It was a long time ago, all that violence and legend and stuff, but even though I don't live in Scotland or the Border Marches I love having those roots, being from the North, and being the descendent of thieves and desperados and harp players. Then again 200 years is only six or seven generations; my grandparents' great-grandparents, in fact.
For example, one of my ancestors is called Catherine Wright and she lived in the mid-18th Century, a farmer's wife from north east Scotland. I see her standing at the door of some white-painted farmhouse, wearing long heavy skirts and an apron, hands raw from work and washing and weather, food in the oven, pausing to watch the hills and fields for her menfolk.
Every time I think of her, that's where I see her. She's still real, to me. I want to approach her and say Hello, Catherine.
I can't express what thinking of my ancestors makes me feel. A mixture of warmth and glad sadness. What my Irish friend Cullen calls the lament.
Chap Book
I'm going to begin producing chapbooks of my short stories. Each chapbook will be of a numbered, signed, limited edition of 100.
Of each one hundred, about 30 are earmarked for people I've worked with or have been in regular communication. Some will be on sale at a couple of markets. The rest are available to readers.
I'll be giving more details of the content of each chapbook next week, including the illustrator, but email me if you want to book one in advance.
Of each one hundred, about 30 are earmarked for people I've worked with or have been in regular communication. Some will be on sale at a couple of markets. The rest are available to readers.
I'll be giving more details of the content of each chapbook next week, including the illustrator, but email me if you want to book one in advance.
More Zippo
Discovered a new film version of Zippo here - I don't know anything about Sepehr Rezaei the guy who made it, or even where he's from, but it's actually really good, very close to my own idea of how the story would look.
A good movie. Check it out.
A good movie. Check it out.
LISHMAAAAAN!!!
My man Lishman popped over from Barcelona looking like a more handsome version of Howard Hughes - hair long, plus a viking beard and his usual beaming smile.
We discussed general writing ideas, including my plan to produce an illustrated chapbook of some of my more recent short stories - more about this anon.
We chatted about FrontLip too, and how it should be on reputable eShelves by early January. Quite a few people are contributing already, some of it social and personal, some of it very political, and the artwork looks excellent.
We discussed general writing ideas, including my plan to produce an illustrated chapbook of some of my more recent short stories - more about this anon.
We chatted about FrontLip too, and how it should be on reputable eShelves by early January. Quite a few people are contributing already, some of it social and personal, some of it very political, and the artwork looks excellent.
cough! cough!
Spent Monday to Thursday last week busking; standing on snowy street corners playing carols to Christmas shoppers. I earned more money in four days than I've earned for a year of playing in Thelonious Punk. Entertainment money plus, I suspect, sympathy-vote money too.
Good money-to-buskers givers are the arty types who I think just really like the idea of buskers playing Christmas tunes on sax - one of them even bought me a coffee, which was lovely. Other really good givers are older people who often give generously. Bad givers are young lads, especially if they're drunk, who, if they do chuck any money at all into the hat, tend to throw in two or three pence.
Friday morning however, a constant chesty cough sent me to the doctors who told me I'd got a secondary infection in my chest - I was still recovering from a throat infection and standing in the snow hyperventilating freezing air probably wasn't a good idea - so I ended up stuck in the house over Christmas, but I didn't mind that as it meant I had a legitimate excuse not to go visiting and could loaf about.
I'm sick of being sick now. Bored. Need start writing again.
Good money-to-buskers givers are the arty types who I think just really like the idea of buskers playing Christmas tunes on sax - one of them even bought me a coffee, which was lovely. Other really good givers are older people who often give generously. Bad givers are young lads, especially if they're drunk, who, if they do chuck any money at all into the hat, tend to throw in two or three pence.
Friday morning however, a constant chesty cough sent me to the doctors who told me I'd got a secondary infection in my chest - I was still recovering from a throat infection and standing in the snow hyperventilating freezing air probably wasn't a good idea - so I ended up stuck in the house over Christmas, but I didn't mind that as it meant I had a legitimate excuse not to go visiting and could loaf about.
I'm sick of being sick now. Bored. Need start writing again.
Monday, December 06, 2010
update
Most of the writing is on the new webite and I'm busy populating with images & photos; still got to purchase a good net address, and pay the rent on the site, so it'll be January when it's done.
Meanwhile FrontLip is still struggling with the dark god of IT nonesense.
And finally am almost ready to send the next section of Dealer No. 1 to Mis Klock and the students of Taft High - should be ready by the weekend.
Right, to bed now, to nurse my sore throat and get a good ten hours sleep.
Meanwhile FrontLip is still struggling with the dark god of IT nonesense.
And finally am almost ready to send the next section of Dealer No. 1 to Mis Klock and the students of Taft High - should be ready by the weekend.
Right, to bed now, to nurse my sore throat and get a good ten hours sleep.
If I Get Lucky I Might Get Well
Arggh - throat infection number 4 of the year and each one follows about four or five days after a Thelonious Punk gig, during which I've been blowing my Bb sax like a mad thing.
Current T-Punk favourite tunes include Kraftwerk's The Model and Betty Davis' If I Get Lucky and the band is based around the concept of a fantastic groove, oddball cover-versions, and a double dollop of sax chaos on top (which said brief lets me get away with murder, to be honest).
But it's killing my throat. I'm blowing it raw and leaving myself open to all sorts of bugs. Currently alternating between penicillin and chewable Vit Cs, sleeping ten hours a day and generally feel like shite. So I might have to stop play sax.
Hang up my horn.
Retire.
Nooooooooo!!!
Current T-Punk favourite tunes include Kraftwerk's The Model and Betty Davis' If I Get Lucky and the band is based around the concept of a fantastic groove, oddball cover-versions, and a double dollop of sax chaos on top (which said brief lets me get away with murder, to be honest).
But it's killing my throat. I'm blowing it raw and leaving myself open to all sorts of bugs. Currently alternating between penicillin and chewable Vit Cs, sleeping ten hours a day and generally feel like shite. So I might have to stop play sax.
Hang up my horn.
Retire.
Nooooooooo!!!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Bang!
Sitting here writing and an explosion went off by my left ear. I mean a REALLY BLOODY LOUD BANG! The TV flashed red but was otherwise ok.
Went outside to see Charlie standing at the door in her PJs. She'd seen it too. People were coming to windows, front doors, and everyone seemed excited.
It was a flash of lightning. It must have went off about twenty feet above the house. I can't explain how shocking and impressively loud it was.
As there are about six inches of snow outside, and it's still falling, this seemed a peculiar, incongruous, thing to occur.
The weather is crazy.
post-script: the air still felt really charged after I wrote the above, and I was aware of the irony of my being blown up by a lightning blast while writing about it, so I went in the other room for a while to read. m back now, but think I'll log off.
The new website is coming on: just need to get some images sorted and buy a name for it.
Went outside to see Charlie standing at the door in her PJs. She'd seen it too. People were coming to windows, front doors, and everyone seemed excited.
It was a flash of lightning. It must have went off about twenty feet above the house. I can't explain how shocking and impressively loud it was.
As there are about six inches of snow outside, and it's still falling, this seemed a peculiar, incongruous, thing to occur.
The weather is crazy.
post-script: the air still felt really charged after I wrote the above, and I was aware of the irony of my being blown up by a lightning blast while writing about it, so I went in the other room for a while to read. m back now, but think I'll log off.
The new website is coming on: just need to get some images sorted and buy a name for it.
Taft High #3
Developing a good relationship with a teacher from Taft High in Chicago, and her class, and we're working together to develop a story.
Really looking forward to seeing how it works out. I'll put it up on my new website when it's completed.
Really looking forward to seeing how it works out. I'll put it up on my new website when it's completed.
new home
Some days you have to put up the white flag.
I was going to go walking this weekend but chickened out because of the inclement weather. Instead I mooched about all weekend, alternating sleeping, reading and watching TV, mostly while wearing three sweaters, two pairs of socks, and long johns beneath my jeans to keep warm.
Finally pulled myself together about teatime today and began transferring some of my short stories from the jamesross102 blog onto a permanent website - I'll put up a link to that website when I get the url sorted out. It's going to be the final home for my stuff. Then I think I'll retire from writing or something.
I was going to go walking this weekend but chickened out because of the inclement weather. Instead I mooched about all weekend, alternating sleeping, reading and watching TV, mostly while wearing three sweaters, two pairs of socks, and long johns beneath my jeans to keep warm.
Finally pulled myself together about teatime today and began transferring some of my short stories from the jamesross102 blog onto a permanent website - I'll put up a link to that website when I get the url sorted out. It's going to be the final home for my stuff. Then I think I'll retire from writing or something.
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