Post-Modern Life.

Post Modern. It’s a phrase most of us know in our spines. It’s like a furniture advert jingle or the basic layout of the McDonald’s menu. Sometimes I think I know exactly what it means and sometimes I have no idea why it even exists.

What does it mean to the novel? What is a post-modern novel? Stig Abell of the prestigious Times Literary Supplement stated on the TLS podcast that ‘post-modern books always seem like they were fun to write but don’t tend to be fun to read’. It’s an interesting and well articulated point.

I’m still a little unsure of what the form is, but I’m beginning to come around to the feeling that the switch from linear narrative to something more nebulous could be more fundamental to our view on the world.

When you have a library in your pocket and your reality is driving then FaceBook, then email, then Instagram, then takeaway then horrible tragedy in a far off land while listening to music that seems somehow familiar, somehow like childhood and ten other things you’ve heard before, what is our everyday but fractured?

Sometimes it’s best not try too hard. Sometimes it’s best just to cook something nice and go for a walk. I’ll see you next week.

 

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Flatpack Hangover

We all have a clear picture in our imaginations of what it is to be the suffering writer. We envisage a manic depressive grinding out words in between planet-class drinking sessions. If you were at university with me I probably shouldn’t remind you of that.

Although I still indulge this type of behaviour occasionally, my driving job keeps me grounded. Recently, though, I had some time off and, well, you know where this is going…

Let me be clear, the beginning of this vlog maybe humorous but it impacted on my creativity and the way I related to others for days. People, don’t do it.

I’m going to start moving away from the ‘booktuber’, five things you might like about this book format. Or I won’t. Who can say at this point?

What I do intend, though, is to move towards showing what it’s like to try to fit a writing career around working a full time job. In line with this, the vlog will show a more rounded picture of what (shudder) #writerslife is like.

Finally, I apologise for the sound quality. The IKEA research was a good idea that I didn’t do justice. Either way, the basic skinny is that I’m writing a story with a section based in IKEA. I needed to find out how many people would be in the Bristol store at Sunday morning peak. I approached a member of staff and straight out he was able to tell me.

Better sound quality and camera work is on the way. I promise.

Vlog linked below.

Raining Correspondence

It’s raining today. I haven’t been for a walk. I’ve been brushing past the walls of the house, going from room to room.

I’ve completed a machine load of washing, watched the latest posts from Casey Neistat, Molly Burke and Doug Demoro. I’ve watched short reportage on what doctors in the United States think of the health care system there (universal healthcare would be better), on what Jammidodger thinks about being asked whether he has a penis or not (don’t ask him) and a sci-fi short called Good Business (was great).

I’ve read another section of Olga Tokarczuk’s book, Flights. I’ve completed a couple of challenges on FORZA Horizon before my ageing Xbox 360 crashed claiming it couldn’t read the discĀ (the game is saved onto the hard-drive via download).

I’ve rewatched an episode of Star Trek TNG where Crusher falls in love with an alien who sort of dies but then doesn’t. It’s not a favourite (Gates McFadden never really seemed to believe her character).

I went upstairs again to my room, tried to fix my tripod (I made it much, much worse) then opened this laptop I’m typing into now and stared at a blank WordPress draft for fifteen minutes.

Then a sound.

Our officious little spring-loaded letter box snaps shut. It’s probably jus…

Oh, a letter. In it I find a note from a friend and two bookmarks. Bought back in April, the laminated cards have been packed and unpacked in Cuba, Mexico, USA, Japan, China, New Zealand, Qatar and finally back to the UK where they eventually found themselves in a recycled envelope being brought back into the world with my face looking down.

For the first time since waking up, I smile. I cook a stodgy lunch (bought burgers in brioche buns with some home-made caramelised onions (there probably isn’t any other type) and curly fries, enjoying being fifteen again.

The rain has cleared and I walk out into the humid day, finding the library shut and the tourists thick on the ground. It’s okay, though. Somebody sent me a letter today.

We take communication easily; we’re in constant touch with everyone. Virtually connected to anywhere; we can see or hear anything we choose. We still value touch, though – just take a look at the recent increase in sales of vinyl.

Do me a favour. Sit down, pull out some scrap paper (you don’t need to buy new) do something with it and send it to somebody. I know they’ll love it.

Bookmarks from Lauren