The Mechanics' Institute Review

I'm really proud to have one of my short stories in the upcoming issue of The Mechanics Institute Review. It's the publication from the students on the MA in Creative Writing at Birkbeck, University of London, and it's a privilege to be included amongst them because I've really been enjoying reading the different voices. Cynthia Medford Langley, Thea Bennett and Gul Y Davis have stood out so far, but every time I dip in, I find someone else new to admire. Congratulations to the book's editors: Pippa Griffin, Keith Jarrett, Cynthia Langley, Philip Makatrewicz, Josh Raymond.

As the blurb on the back says,the stories include: 'a dog with an identity crisis, an accidental kidnapping, justice by encyclopaedia and an unexpected clash between academic and pirate.'

My story, Potassium Man, was one started when I was a fellow at vcca this year. I suppose its gestation was a clear example of scratching.

I was looking out of the window of my cabin in the woods and saw this:


Now I'd never seen a cardinal before and it felt to me - in my slightly jet-lagged state - as if I was in a bowl watching goldfish swim by. Then I started to think about swimming - which I was missing because I try to swim at least three times a week - and then water, and I did lots and lots of freewriting.

It still wasn't enough though. I feel strongly that most stories need two things to lean together, not least to stop them becoming just an anecdote, and luckily I remembered a chemistry teacher at school who had tried to make friends with us pupils by doing dangerous experiments. I've been wanting to write about him for ever, because I felt so sorry of him. Of course, we didn't become friends with him. In fact, the very opposite. Kids can smell when someone is trying too hard, but we didn't like how cruel he made us feel either. Maybe it is guilt that made me remember him so clearly? Unlike the character in my story, I didn't try to help him. In fact, I was one of the kids in the front row egging him on.

And then when I found my two strands, I edited, and edited, and edited... I've never forgotten hearing Ali Smith (who also has a story in The MIR) talking about short stories and saying it could feel like 'wrestling a lion down to the ground' which feels just right.

At least, I think it was her, or maybe I'm just wanting to namedrop so I can draw my attention to the fact I have my name on the front cover along with Ali Smith and Toby Litt. Oh my.

On Scratching...

I'm going to spend some of today scratching. Nope, Miss Tallulah hasn't got fleas (the thought of it!) but it's a concept in Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit, that I have done instinctively before but I like it so much better now I have a name for it.

This is how Twyla Tharp describes it: 'clawing at the side of a mountain to get a toehold, a grip, some kind of traction to keep moving onward and upward ...'

And if that doesn't tell you all you need to know, she goes on: 'A fashion designer is scratching when he visits vintage clothing stores, studies music videos, and parks himself at a sidewalk cafe to see what the pedestrians are wearing ...'

In fact I think it's exactly what Julia Cameron means when she talks about the artist date. I've always been a bit worried about these - what will I do for my artists date - and now I wonder if it's because they seemed too big. I never was very good at dating - far too neurotic even for myself.

But scratching. Yep, I can do that. In fact, I saw a perfect example of scratching yesterday. My dad and sister came to take me out for lunch and we were browsing round the tourist information office in the Pantiles. Now, my father has written books on subjects from pot pourri to starting your own business, but his current project is a cookbook for 'old farts' - his words, not mine! He's experienced himself that when you're a widower over seventy and starting cooking for yourself for the first time, then recipes saying 'whisk twenty egg whites until stiff' aren't necessarily all that helpful. While Mary and I looked at walking maps, we could see dad suddenly get that sense of purpose you can feel yourself sometimes when you get a scent of an idea. We didn't see what he had purchased until we got out of the shop, but it turned out he had been looking at those regional recipe leaflets they always have in any tourist office - home cooking from Dorset etc - and was struck by the idea that he could include recipes from different areas that the 'old farts' might remember from their childhoods.

He's not intending to steal the recipes, mind - but to adapt them so they work easily and are actually understandable to his audience. Some he might even change altogether so they will be nothing like mother made. But the idea is there. Something completely different might come out over the next few days - in fact, I bet it will - but at least he has something to start with.

As Twlya Tharp says: 'Scratching can look like borrowing or appropriating, but it's an essential part of creativity. It's primal, and very private. It's a way of saying to the gods, 'oh, don't mind me, I'll just wander around in these back hallways...' and then grabbing that piece of fire and running like hell.'

And she gives as some of her ways to scratch:

a. Reading
b. Everyday conversations
c. People's handiwork
d. Following the footsteps of mentors and heroes
e. Nature