The first two chapters of my Memoirs of a Space Corsair are completed, and edited (though I offer no gaurentee to the quality of my self-editing, especially in the small hours of the morning). I’ve really gone for a bleak start to my characters adventures, and the third chapter will largely be bleak, though of course I can not keep it in such bleak a circumstance, I’m fairly sure if it continued into a fourth chapter, Arsène Frassin (my main character), would probably but aside his principles and simply off himself. He’s been through a lot, poor lad.

Hopefully these first two chapters give you a hint of the potential in this boy, trapped by circumstance. It is the foundation for the character, and ultimately the whole series of stories I have planned.

Hopefully, once we move out of these initial chapters, each entry will actually work as its own short story, but feed into the overall plot I intend. However, I must admit, the first three chapters, and possibly into the fourth are sequential, and intended to be read as such. I want to try and keep a word count of between 5,000 and 10,000 per instalment, just because its neater than trying to read 30,000 words in a single posting, and more convenient for the style of writing I want to achieve. As we do move into later chapters, and each adventure is one instalment (albeit with the possibility of an adventure or two being split across two instalments), it should feel a bit more like the pulp fiction of the first half of the twentieth century. I suppose I should come up with a garish and extravagant cover or two to go with milestones in my story.

I am finding this project very exciting, and its been relatively easy to write (albeit in between work, and family), but I can honestly say, the editing has been a lot tougher. I’m sure if I were to re-read either chapter through right now, I’d probably find another hour or two of changes to be made. There is little time for that before the first chapter publishes, so I shall let it lie, plenty of time before the scheduler posts up the second chapter though.

I had to have a little think about the impact of posting a story online, just as with poetry, I want to share my creative works, but a part of you does wonder, what would I do if someone misappropriated my ideas? I’ve of course added “© Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2010″, but also a disclaimer at the beginning, spelling out that this is mine, and mine alone. This may be overkill – however when I ran forum for writers, way back when, the issue of copyright did come up, and I can appreciate the wronged parties point of view.

I want to do a post on copyright, (I did do one previously, but it was more an idea, rather than a real look at the subject), and will probably do this week. I sometimes think copyright isn’t really reflective of the time, yet at the same time, I want my creative works protected as I share it with the world. There has to be a balance somewhere, and maybe it lies with the creators rather than the law to find that balance. Of course I am, in my small, untalented way, a creator, so I’m biased.

Anyway, I hope you read and enjoy the first two chapters, and I hope not keep those that do enjoy it waiting with the third and fourth.

Au revoir,

Sage

P.S. Feedback, good or bad, is always welcome – it makes me feel important that someone felt enough about what I’ve written that they would say something about it. I am an egotist after all is said and done, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Plus, it might just help shape me into a real writer, then if I was ever published, I’d have to acknowledge your contribution – (bribery gets you everywhere, or it does in Arsène’s corrupt world).

Today’s poetry practice is brought to you by 12Seconds, the short video blogging site to which I just signed up. No idea what I’m going to do with a 12 seconds account, I’m not exactly photogenic, and my voice isn’t great – but for 12 seconds, who cares? It’s a bit of fun. Anyway, it’s the inspiration for today’s poem, and I’ve even done a 12 second version for 12Second, which will add after the poem itself.

12 Seconds…
“12 seconds you’re on Mister Legend”,
“Who me? I’m just well me”,
“It’s your 12 seconds Mister”,
“Erm, what do I say?”
That woman with the camera,
She looked at me funny,
And then just laughed,
“You’re 12 seconds is up Mister Legend,”
She said, with an impish giggle,
Indeed they were,
12 seconds flies by,
My 12 seconds of fame,
Good bye.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

[12svideo id="167600"]

Video of me doing a 12 second version of this poem.

On Tom Welling

In regards to Tom Welling,
I’m reliably informed,
The actor of Superman to be,
Is hotness to the core,
His love for fellow man is to be admired,
His humility in the face of fame,
Well shames even the fameless.

A story telling,
I am impressed by his Clark,
Across fandom it has stormed,
I’m told the love he portrays,
For villanous Lex Luthor,
Will be a thing of a legend making,
That isn’t the in my rules of the game,
I just love the hero making I guess.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

I was struggling a bit today, didn’t think I would make it for poem of the day, but hils came up with this idea, in response to my plea on Twitter. Now I do love Smallville, even as people are struggling with it – I think it’s been better, but since watching the most recent episode, initially I thought I was more disappointed than anything else – but once my super random brain kicked in, I’d formulated at least a handful of brilliant points, and ideas where it could be going when it restarts in Autumn.

Anyway, this is a short poetic tribute to the shows main star, Tom Welling who plays Clark Kent, the Superman in the making.

Hope you enjoy.

Sleep Protector

Lie down in velvet shadows,
Find warmth in the heavy presence,
Wrap yourself in the love we share,
Feel our protection from the darkness,
I will be there for now by your side,
You need not fear this deep night,
As we rest in peaceful slumber,
Enjoy.

Rise in caramel illumination,
Flood awareness flood to your senses,
Find your way out of your downy care,
Avoid realising your profound cureless,
In your dreams to yourself you lied,
Found comfort away in the fright,
I’m a figment in the dream of forever,
Sorry.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

This is a really sad poem, it starts off sounding romantic, but it’s almost unreal. A couple go to bed, nice and romantic, but only one talks, sooths, the other offers no reaction, but to fall asleep. My intention was to invoke the feeling of a night guardian, he stands watch over our fateful sleeper.

I don’t know about you, but I long for that – it’s almost a magical romantic ideal. Which the second verse reveals is the truth. I would feel a prodound sense of loss at realising this dream wasn’t real, but can you be sure can you? The figment apologised – which to me, says that maybe this phantom protector is real, but gone when you awake.

I have written a poem each day, as I committed to – none of them are really great, one I’ve really struggled with, partly because I was busy, and partly because the ideas just wouldn’t organise themselves into a decent poem. I’ve covered three topics: politics, society, and family (well I can honestly say my interest in sociological topics does in no way affect my writing – okay I can’t say that).

Like I said, none of them are really great, but I don’t think any of them are really terrible. Got to keep it up though, I would love to think that come June 1st, I’ll be confident of my own abilities again, also it’s good to know, even though I can’t write a story (in the traditional sense), it doesn’t affect my ability to write poetry.

What I’m going to do, under the ‘Read more’ link is display each poem, and after each one give a a few lines of explanation.  If you care to read some of my practice poetry,  feel free, comments are always good, if you want to be critical, that’s great – this is practice after all.

Thursday’s poem

Be Afraid

Be afraid,

Terrible things to lament,

Dawn raid,

Terrorising the different,

Dark shade,

Petty criminals in goverment,

End made,

Fabric of tyranny rent,

He bade,

A hero comes, power is lent,

Be afraid.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

Now, I admit, this poem does meander a bit, however it only seems that way. It’s easy to believe that Labour are responsible for draconian measures alone, that is them we need to be afraid – the point of this short peace (written in the wake  of the expenses scandal),  is that these issues are cross party. The Tories, and the Lib Dems haven’t really lived up to their billing as opposition, they don’t balance the power system out, instead they score political points over less important things, and usually just follow the Labour party, in the hopes of gaining some sort of slip stream. Only when the horse has bolted, do they give any appearance of countering the ruling party.

As to the hero, well the hero is no better than the villain he replaces, because he is already one of them. I don’t believe democracy is always like this, or will be like this – but I fail to see, from the current crop of choices, any serious difference, certainly not for the better.

Friday’s poem

The Tempestuous Man

The Tempestuous Man stood bellowing,

All the wrongs of his life,

Sat huddling amid the strife.

The Tempestuous Man began demanding,

Unparalleled respect,

From the political sect.

The Tempestuous Man started deflating,

When he saw the frown,

That would bring him down.

The Tempestuous Man was moaning,

As the last dagger struck,

Rending his future unstuck.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

If you don’t know the workings of British politics so well, you might not get this – however in the lower house of parliament, we have what is known as the “speaker”, he controls proceedings, and technically statements are presented to him. He has no real power outside the chamber, but inside the chamber he his responsible for the proceedings. Our current Speaker is one Michael Martin, an odious little twat, who I felt was a mistake at the time of his appointment, and still is to this day. There have been some humourous moments, but mostly aimed at him, rather than with him. He’s litigious, believing that his solicitors Carter Fuck (or properly known as Carter Ruck), then there’s giving carte blanche to the police to search parlimentary offices (well one office), which he let his juniors take the blame for. I have no respect for him, and with several ministers arguing he should step down, and a vote of no confidence over how he has handled the expenses controversy (his handling is to be expected, but clearly far from justified, since he’s already been stung in the past by leaks of inappropriate use of expenses). Anyway, this poem is about that self same man, for whom trouble is something he seems to attract to himself.

Saturday’s poem

Our Heroes Chased

The State of the modern world,

Is always one of exigeny,

All of our problems seem to need action now,

Never later,

Yet for all media’s commentaries no knows how,

Trapped by our own hesitancy,

Our state remains unchanged.

All our greatest heroes are chased,

We embrace their abandonment,

Our problems collectively dumped on them,

Never support,

As if we aren’t the cause, they are the stem,

But when things are tough we expect their commitment.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

This is the poem I really struggled with, it was a nice idea, the first verse sets the scene for the reason of the poem, kind of self explaining where I’m coming from. I did want to add a third verse,  kind of a consequences of our actions,what happens when our heroes abandon us, as we abandon them. However, my mind kept going down apocalyptic routes, which wasn’t exactly where I wanted to go – the world lives on without heroes, it’s just a far less interesting, and safe world to go on in.

Suffice to say, it ended on two verses, losing a little bit of the beginning, middle, and end structure – but, it kind of works, I mean it’s about the state of the world today, not tomorrow, it’s where we are.

Sunday’s poem (today)

Family Grace

I was born into a family of aspiriationalists,

My mother and father aspired to be,

They tried to make their dreams come true,

Made themselves into better people,

Changed their lots in life,

It didn’t last, but nothing does,

They still try though,

To see the other side,

The pay off for all that effort,

Things can’t always go there way,

But while I’m here, I’ll help them while I can,

Because, like them, I aspire to be,

More than sum of my parts,

I will always be the sum of my up bringing though,

Which has lead me all the way to here,

And one day it’ll lead me to where happiness lies,

Not from rags to riches,

Nothing to do with fame and fortune,

It’s the pleasant feeling,

That general sense of well being,

That comes from a job well done,

I hope they make it,

And that I do too.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

Not really sure anything needs to be said about this, for all their troubles, for all the trials they bring on themselves, I love my parents dearly – and they are an inspiration to me, they’ve supported me all my life, for which I will be eternally grateful. Without them, I wouldn’t aspire to be a writer, I wouldn’t aspire to be a better analyst, I wouldn’t have interests in matters sociological, theological, scientific, art and a myriad of other things they’ve supported me in over the years. I am the man I am, in all the best ways, because of them, and their aspirations. So this poem, is just a dedication to that, simple as.

Well that’s your lot for today, if you’ve found time to read them, I hope they weren’t too appalling to thine eyes, or boring of subject, or style. I’m actually quite happy with them, so much so, I wouldn’t begin to say which was my favourite.

Truth be told, I’ve had writers block for the better part of six months, which has been phenomenly frustrating, I guess lots of it comes down to having a lot in my life to deal with, it detracts from my will, but not inspiration I have some great ideas. Life isn’t getting any easier.

Thing is, on that note, I’m going to aim to publish a new poem here every day from now till the end of the month. If I can power through this blockage I can unleash my creativity, and I’ll feel better.

So I’m a bit rusty, I’m not going to try for quality or originality, perfectionism is it’s own creative block, I’m just going to write skill be damned!

Pen and paper at the ready!

I don’t know why I don’t enter more, I should do really, but it’s finding the right poetry competitions to enter, then being brave enough.

I did once enter poems on poetry.com, (not sure if it’s the same poetry.com from back then now, I do hope not), and yes I did feel giddy when they started writing to me saying they wanted to publish my poems in an anthology. Even my family were impressed, and wanted copies of the anthology. Being the pessimist it didn’t take me long to check out the company and decide it was a con, that you’d be throwing good money after bad on your route to gaining the mythical anthology, and attending it’s “award ceremonies” in the US. The most telling statistic it was a limited liability company based off shore. Also none of it’s celebrity “sponsors” had even heard of it seemed.

Though I had protected myself and not fallen for it – I did feel sad that it wasn’t real.

It was after that I decided I wanted to help others, I decided to setup a forum at writers-ramblings.com, something I was very proud of, for me it was a success, at it’s peak it had about one hundred registered members, many of whom were active and taking part. It died off after I moved away and didn’t have net effort. It limped on, but eventually I let it go, however I still remember how good that made me feel. When I tried to resurrect it, the domain was no longer available, so I came up with aspiring.org. I never could get a forum setup that made me quite so happy as the first, and eventually I went with a blog, (which of you’re reading.) I hope maybe in some small (even if it’s infintisimal) way this helps the writing world, and a writer or poet or too along the way.

Anyway, running our own forum (with a lot of help from a couple of friends that I have drifted apart from sadly), we ran competitions, there were no prizes, just the warm feeling of having achieved something.

I think the time has come to do something else though and enter a competition or two, and see if I can achieve some luadible again. I’ll never make Poet Laureate if I don’t take risks and let others see what I write.

If I do well, it might give me the confidence to both finish a piece of writing (as in finish writing, revise, rewrite, etic…), and attempt to get it published.

It isn’t fear of being conned that stops me, it is the fear of having my hopes dashed, that is what poetry.com did, yet the college competition put me on cloud nine. Two heads of the same coin we call risk. However if I want to advance myself as a poet, to make my poetry mean something beyond myself, I think it’s a step I need to make.

So having said all that, and concluded I need to do it, now I just have to act. I need to find some poetry competitions, and start writing.

It would probably be helpful to specialise, but I’m a bit of a Jack of All Trades when it comes to poetry. That said my personal favourite (but probably what I’m worse at) are sonnets – so just up the ante on myself, that should get me going.

I can do this, I think.

When I say ‘great’, I mean the kind of writing that is remembered as being up there, and out there, that historically will stand the test of time and will forever earn plaudits.

I’m not sure if there truly is an answer, as an aspiring writer I strive to achieve greatness, but due to a shortage of talent and attention span I don’t even achieve the lowest levels of the giant step before greatness, success.

By success of course I mean any combination of: completed works, published works, recognition, money, fame, notoriety, or even just self satisfaction. I have yet to achieve these internal or external accolades really – though I am a notoriously bad dresser.

To be great, obviously you need to have some semblance of a successful piece of writing, though which measures of success, I’m not exactly sure – I truly want to believe ‘greatness’ is greater than simple fame and fortune – you do of course need a finished piece if work though that people can see.

I wonder on the previous note though, how many works that would actually be great, have never been shown to anyone else? Unfortunately, obvious you can’t be great unless you share. I wonder how many people have a piece that is potentially ‘great’, but they give up, and never finish it?

Greatness though, is clearly beyond from success, there are millions of books published 206,000 in the UK in 2005 alone, (for an unpublished writer being published is a pretty common), measure of success, yet only a fraction of a percent can truly be considered great, beyond the moment the world first sees it.

Even then, we could debate endlessly what actually falls into the list if greats. This tells me this ‘greatness’ we aspire to, is subjective – in the case of literature, poetry, art, television, etc…, beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder.

But wait, hang on a second that is truly unfair! I want to aspire to this, I want to believe that someday I can overcome my short comings and produce something great, therefore there must be some kind of arbitrary measure to set as a goal, some rule to follow to guide my path. How can I do that if greatness is simply a one on one relationship (one person thinks it’s great, therefore you can class it as great – because it’s great in a very specific category)? Sure if just one person out of a billion thinks it’s great, that is an achievement – but that isn’t satisfactory. I need more.

So, a bazillion people bought it, its right there number one for every general, and every relevant category specific best seller list non-stop for two years. Is that enough to call it a great? Nope, there could be a thirty pound voucher with each book, or a million pound prize give away that only book owners could enter for. PR, and controversy could make it sell, but doesn’t make it a great.

So what do I class as great? For me it would be when majority calls of greatness are achieved from, three distinct groups of people: Joe Public, Mr Snide Critic, and Professor Ivory of Tower. When there’s some sort of balance of uplifting feedback from these three (i.e. categorically more positive than negative), you’ve probably achieved some level of ‘greatness’. I would however advise it should probably take years to achieve this; your creative output should stand the test of time.

• If Joe Public is bored and forgets book easily you’re not there yet.
• Critics views, and indeed critics themselves change, Mr Snide Critic rarely lasts long. So a prospective ‘great’ must buck trends and be steadfast in the eyes of ever changing critics.
• As to the Ivory Towers, it is hard enough to get them to take notice, and it will probably rely on positive feedbacks from Joe Public and the Mr Snide Critic.

If after several years your book still sells (Joe Public usually votes with his feet, though these days, he also votes online – which is a measure to watch), critics don’t reverse a positive review (and the sum total of reviews is overwhelmingly positive – don’t just be measuring on a small handful of a favourable reviews),  and it gets attention from academics (ideally you want it to be required reading, or mentioned in some kind of syllabus (which isn’t about worst, or most mediocre books ever)), then I think, fairly you can class your own work as ‘great’, because likely, in the eyes of the world that’s where it stands.

This is how I would measure ‘greatness’, but the measure of greatness is subjective so many would consider me wrong, and have their own measures. Measures that are more favourable to some, and less favourable to others – likely as not, if I ever do achieve success, I might be more specific about what I call ‘great’, and how I judge my own writing. It is in human nature to revaluate our senses of achievement, because sometimes the goals we initially set, aren’t actually the places we are happy, (that and we’re selfish).

I think, having put these thoughts down, that general greatness is probably not quite achievable. Maybe it has been achieved by a select few writers, but I do wonder about the fairness of my views: can the likes of Henry Gray’s Anatomy of the Human Body, and Darwin’s On the Origin of Species be safely measured against A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh, or J. K. Rowlings Harry Potter? Can an airport novel reasonably be considered against an historical biography?

My answer is no – blowing all my thoughts out of the water, the measure of ‘greatness’, even certain measures of success simply have to be subjective. Can you imagine how much work it would involve to compile a list of the greatest ever, if the category was “anything”? Even if you specify it to books, or poetry, or pieces of music – it would take a monumental effort to classify what is greater.

So my conclusion would be that ‘greatness’ is subjective, that hard and fast rules are hard to apply (though my impressing of three distinct groups could work, if each measured group is filtered to category specific sub-groups).

What does this mean for me? Well if I were to ever write anything good enough to be published – my aim would be for it to be the one of the ‘greatest’ in as many of the genre’s or categories it applies to. So if I write a romantic comedy, set in Berlin, during the year 2080, based on the dating life of an albino alligator, it would be one of the greatest romantic comedies, one of the greatest novels set in Berlin, one of the greatest future based novels, one of the greatest novels based on the dating life an alligator (and albino alligators). Of course you would have to practice some common sense, there probably aren’t that many books based on the dating life of an albino alligator after all, so unless you were really desperately to put “greatest” next to the blurb of your book, or your writing CV, you would probably not be quite that specific.

Of course, ‘greatness’ may not be something I’ll ever achieve – which is why my happiness at being a writer is not dependant on this measure. That isn’t the point of the story – that point is, I’m at my happiest if I’m trying to achieve ‘greatness’.

In Barrington Moore’s Reflections on the Causes of Human Misery and upon Certain Proposals to Eliminate Them, he says this of revolutionaries: “[...] He is corrupted by the very process of achieving power”, which I, being the romantic that I am, believe it for it to apply, it must apply in both positive and negative senses, therefore striving to achieve ‘greatness’ through scrupulous means leads me to happiness and satisfaction, before I even get there.¹

¹ Of course what Barrington Moore probably meant was you have to use unscrupulous means to achieve power, and therefore you are corrupted before you get there – I’m just a silver lining kind of guy, and wanted to finish on a positive, after setting the self destruct on my cosy little idea of ‘greatness’