Take my card...
Blimey, it's been a somewhat crazy couple of weeks
WRITING:
It’s funny how one moment can totally rewire your thinking. I was all set to talk about the controversy that’s sprung up this week around NaNoWriMo1, before last night stepping out to see Jeffrey Lewis at Norwich Arts Centre, where something just clicked and I thought, you know what? I don’t want to write another newsletter that’s a reaction to something that’s rubbed me the wrong way - I want to write about stuff that gives me joy.
Jeffrey Lewis certainly gives me that. I first saw him perform getting on for twenty years ago and have seen him a few times since, always to our great enjoyment. Last night, I was all set to cry off, having had the most exhausting week2 but I am so glad we didn’t. It was an amazing gig. His band were probably as tight as I’ve ever seen, the support act - David Cronenberg’s Wife - were equally impressive, the atmosphere was great. As so often with his shows, you felt you were at a proper capital-E Event.
Which is all fine, Kinsley, but come on, you talk about stuff you’ve enjoyed down there. What’s this about?
I guess this is about inspiration and, perhaps even more, about attitude. Lewis has carved his own path. An artist as well as musician, Lewis’ merch tables tend to be huge sprawling affairs with t-shirts, accessories, stickers, comics as well as the more usual cds and vinyl. He Makes Stuff. Three of the tracks he played last night were accompanied by his artwork projected on the screen behind him, in what he calls his documentary films3, including one that was a biography of Sitting Bull and one that told the story of the fall of the Soviet Union. The third was a horror about the Creeping Brain. This amid his usual brand of acoustic antifolk meets punk aesthetic, with some tracks that verged on being proper pop songs.
He’s a creative, pumping out a never-ending channel of ideas-made-flesh, and while he’s still only playing venues like the Arts Centre after twenty years, he’s still playing venues like the Arts Centre after TWENTY YEARS. He has, in short, found his own furrow and ploughed it his way. He may never be more than a cult artist4, but he’s made it work for him and, judging by the fact he’s still doing it, he’s living his best life.
A timely reminder that being a writer isn’t about shifting units and worrying about sales, but about finding an outlet for my voice. Making something I can be proud of. If that’s not inspirational, I don’t know what is.
In other writing news, I took the plunge a week or so ago and had me some business cards made up.
I’ve been at a few events now where I’ve met other authors and publishers, and come away with a handful of cards I’ve been given. And I do get home and look them up and check them out, so I figured it was worth the small investment. It feels a pit poncey, but these days you have to work it.
Oh, and I’ve done some writing.
I did, as previously mentioned, book myself a desk at the National Centre for Writing for a couple of mornings during a week off work. Can highly recommend it for Norwich-based writers. Very quiet, focused environment that resulted in a highly productive couple of sessions. Staff were on hand, but not intrusively so; all the users were respectful and quiet; water and noise-cancelling headphones provided. I wrote over 6k words over the two mornings. It’s a shame (for me) that it’s only on Thurs & Fri, but the building is a historically-significant one, so I approve of their decision to have it open to the public as much as they do.
And Ray Adams VI is really hotting up now. The climax approaches. And yet, still no title…
I have enjoyed:
Yellow Sky - I’ve spoken before about my love of westerns and of Richard Widmark. This week I caught a film I’d never even heard of before that ticked both those boxes and almost certainly deserves to be more widely known as a classic of the genre. Widmark and Gregory Peck are part of a gang that, fleeing a bank robbery, hide out in a ghost town, only to find it inhabited by an old prospector and his granddaughter. The gang want the man’s gold, Gregory Peck falls for the granddaughter, tension ensues, then violence errupts. Shot in crisp black-and-white, most spectacularly in their initial escape across lethal salt flats, it’s a masterpiece of taught, atmospheric story telling, with a brace of leads at their best. And Colonel Potter from M*A*S*H is in it.
Divvying up the spoils The Thief - In a much grittier black-and-white aesthetic, 1952’s The Thief stars the excellent Ray Milland as an American atomic scientist selling secrets to a foreign power. We watch him go about his tradecraft, then getting cold feet, before realising he’s been compromised and having to go on the run. Running at a tight 85 minutes, it’s a gripping, noir-ish tale of shadows and suspicion without, and here’s the kicker, a single word of dialogue. Milland manages to convey every nuance of his character’s doubt and fear with just his face. A masterclass.
Temptation needs no words. Wing Chun - Before Bruce Lee there was… Yip Man! Born in 1893, Yip Man was the martial arts master who brought Wing Chun style Kung Fu to Hong Kong and, from there, the world. His story has been told in film before, and now the Shenzhen Opera and Dance Theatre have produced a stage dance version, blending contemporary dance with martial arts in a visual feast that also incorporates innovative use of lighting, sets and staging. Sadly, its run at Sadler’s Wells finished, well, about half an hour ago when this email comes out. But it was really good…
Yip Man (left) with Bruce Lee Mountain Man - I don’t even remember why their 2018 album Magic Ship was on my wishlist, but I picked it up this week and it’s stellar. Three voices in perfect harmony, mainly a cappella with the occasional sparse accompaniment, creating an almost-hymnal folk music. Beautiful.
Mountain Man
Greyskin (Deixis Press) and Playtime’s Over (Propolis) are both available direct from their respective publishers, as well as from all the usual places, online and off. You can also support my work by buying Ray Adams’ self-published books, or by simply buying me a coffee.
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NaNoWriMo is the organisation behind National Novel Writing Month, and they do a lot of good work with young people to empower their creativity, as well as promoting the annual 50k-word-novel-in-one-month challenge in November. I’ve participated in the challenge four or five times, and completed it once - with the bare bones of what has become my 2025 novel Parallels.
Earlier this year they announced the shutdown of their all-ages forum after grooming allegations were made against a volunteer moderator. More recently, they’ve issued a statement that suggests author backlash against generative A.I. is “classist and ableist”, which has sparked fierce criticism, not least of all from writers with disabilities who weren’t mad keen on the implication that they needed A.I. assistance to write novels. I have since shut down my account and won’t be participating in future.
Story for another time.
Not animated, mind you. Just a series of single panels, a crossover of comic book and song.
One of the great moments of last night was Lewis introducing a song by saying that you write some songs certain of their greatness and some you write and maybe you record them, maybe you don’t, you might play them a few times but ultimately you don’t think a lot of them, then one day you log in and find out that it’s your most downloaded/streamed song ever, and you have no idea why. The song? Cult Boyfriend.
Thank you for posting 'something that gives you joy'. Unless I change my mind (always possible!), you have inspired my next substack!
You certainly seem diligent!