Many of our authors are in other parts of the globe, so I’ve been getting on the phone, or sending questions to local interviewers so that you can get to hear their voices. Here’s the first of these: Mi L Holliday, author of the lovely Surf & Turf from Lovers’ Lies, who is currently in Japan.
© Arachne Press 2013
Katy Darby was at Brixton Book Jam on the May Day bank holiday, giving a bravura performance of her Stations story, The Horror, The Horror. The audience got into it and there were cries or encouragement, anguish and indeed, horror, as the true ghastliness of the film Unbearable and its evil twin, Nazi Sharks in a Trench unfolded.
Well done Katy, and well done audience!
© Arachne Press 2013
I was at an informal poetry evening last night, hosted by Arachne Author Bartle Sawbridge. In a local wine bar a substantial number of people turned up to read their own poems and much-loved poems by other people on the theme of Journeys.
Among the many excellent poems was this one, read by its author Dominic Elliot, who has kindly agreed to let me feature it here, knowing Arachne’s obsession with the Overground. (You don’t know we are obsessed with the Overground? You haven’t read Stations yet then?)
So thank you Dominic!
The Overground service arrives in Brockley in 2010
The station approach from Coulgate Street will soon be grassy,
Already coffee-barred, it’s gently sloped and strewn with bark,
A bosky renaissance, designed to soothe and not to nark,
To cool, and calm, and foster finer feelings – not the arsy.
It’s cheerio to Charing Cross, the Overground is ‘ere!
It’s ‘ello Dalston, gliding in a single air-conditioned carriage,
Of squeezing, and security, of customers the perfect marriage;
From Penge to ‘Oxton, toiletless convenience without peer!
Rejoice! However wrong, on screen and speaker all is clear.
Welcome or not, we now have Information! ‘Oo needs a porter,
With updates and apologies dinning deep into the ear?
Rejoice! the Info Age has dawned – and Info’s plentiful as water,
What’s more, as long as you touch in and out, trains ain’t as dear.
Rejoice! for journeys now are frequent, and they’re shorter.
© Dominic Elliot 2013
A quick recap (or, heck, you could go read the whole of Part 1): from a field of 45 submissions five brilliant stories battled triumphantly through the Liars’ strenuous selection process, and with the help of a little light feedback (a nip there, a tuck there) are in fine fettle and ready to be paired with five wonderful actors from the Liars’ stable. Or is it an “unstable”? What IS the collective name for the over a hundred actors on the Liars’ books?
It is this wonderful resource that is the unique and enviable raison d’etre of Liars’ League; it was the happy marriage of a desire to see short stories read to their fullest impact, and Katy Darby and Tim Aldrich’s links to the acting fraternity, that lead to the foundation of the League, and is still the reason why it works so well. Great stories, read by pros. This is where the magic begins!
Katy does a call out to all of the actors; who’s available for both rehearsals and performance? (Pesky actors, sometimes they get like, y’know? paid work!) Who can do both a German and an Afghan accent? If it’s a first person story, who (as far as possible) embodies the narrator – the essence – of the piece? We are fortunate indeed that our actors cover a wide range of ages and types, of backgrounds and accents.
The nature of the event – performed readings – attracts talent from the worlds of voiceover (such as recent VOX 2013 Best Female Voiceover Artist winner Louisa Gummer) and audio books (such as Saul Reichlin, the voice of Steig Larsson’s novels on audio, who’s reading on Tuesday! TODAY), as well as more traditional acting forms, and we welcome them all! If you’re an actor interested in performing for the League, see So, you want to read, then, do you?
Once the actors have had a chance to read the stories, it’s time for the Man & Machine rehearsals!
WARNING: This is an artist’s impression. Actual rehearsals may not be quite as civilised…
So, on Sunday night, fighting grey skies and a Northern line reluctant to carry anyone anywhere, we descended upon the oft-used Kentish Town kitchen of the long-standing Liars’ patron mysteriously known only by a single initial – Q. We encourage and prefer it if the authors can turn up as well, but sometimes their input is limited to a few guideline comments, delivered from afar. (Or “Leeds” as it is sometimes known).
First up for the rehearsals was “The Love Song of the Predator Drone” by Owen Booth (here!), to be read by first time Liar actor Henrietta Clemett. Henrietta has been on the Liars’ books for a while – heads were scratched as to where and when she had her audition; we think it might have been at the Wheatsheaf (the previous Liars’ venue, before we outgrew it). She quickly found her feet and even Owen’s lengthy sentences were no match for her German and Afghan accents.
As she read, Katy and I chipped in directions and suggestions while Owen sat in the corner laughing at his own jokes … Some of the suggestions needed a small amendment to the text – a repeated word here, a need for a pause there, or in one case me getting entirely the wrong end of the stick (silly me), though others kindly agreed that perhaps I wouldn’t be the only one. Being read to is a very different beast to reading the story yourself, and you don’t have the chance (it would somewhat destroy the flow) to ask the actor to repeat a line you didn’t quite get. A quick on-the-fly edit by Owen later removed the possible obstacle, and on with the reading.
Different pieces pose different challenges to the actor-readers. The second rehearsal (What I Am Without by Richard Smyth (Not here!), read by Adam Diggle) raised a perennial difficulty; how the audience can distinguish between the various voices when there is only one reader. In this case made doubly complicated because the narrator was… well, no, I won’t spoil the surprise! Adam had read for the Liars’ at a related event, (Willesden Herald Short Story Prize) but this too would be his first Liars’ League event proper. Naturally, he aced it, but as mentioned in the selection process blog, it is in matters of voice that some good stories prove to be well-nigh unperformable. Occasionally – when the story is strong enough – we cheat, and drag two actors up onto stage, but that really wouldn’t have helped in this case – you’ll see what I mean when you come watch the show TONIGHT – you ARE coming, aren’t you? Or, if you find this blog in some distant and hazy future, seek out Part 3 for links to the recordings.
The third rehearsal was “The Archive of Ivan Dragoyevich” by Alan Graham (here!), read by Peter Noble. Both Peter and Alan are Liars’ League regulars, and by some strange mind meld thingy, were in perfect synch as the story began.
Like a misaligned video/audio track though, some issues came up as the story proceeded, and as we sat trying to imagine ourselves into the deeper and darker scenarios that Alan had created, well, I for one was thankful for the creature comforts of a cup of tea and a Katy Darby baked cake …
The two remaining stories were rehearsed before and after the traditional Sunday session, (due to actor availability) so this was a short rehearsal for us – giving those who needed to brave bus replacement services a chance to do so with relative impunity. The only thing that remained, official business wise, was to decide the running order.
Those of you who have been to Liars’ nights before know we like to end on a high. usually with a comic story, but there is much more to it than this. With three stories in the first half and two in the second, we’re looking to give you an emotional and literary roller coaster. Our stories for this theme include horror and humour, dark and light, short and long, fantasy and gritty realism. After much debate, the running order will be:
Duct Tape, Masking Tape, Whatever by Darren Lee (Lovers’ Lies author), read by Sabina Cameron
What I am Without by Richard Smyth (Lovers’ Lies author), read by Adam Diggle
The Archive of Ivan Dragoyevich by Alan Graham (Weird Lies author), read by Peter Noble
The Car Mover by Rosanna Boscawen, read by Saul Reichlin
The Love Song of the Predator Drone by Owen Booth, read by Henrietta Clemett
Unless of course, it isn’t.
The next blog, Part 3, will detail the event itself, but really, the biggest favour you could possibly do yourself, is to turn up on Tuesday TODAY!!! at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square and watch it live!
© Liam Hogan 2013
A Guest Blog from Ellie Stewart
I had writer’s block for two years. I finished university and suddenly found myself faced with an open world I couldn’t navigate: I couldn’t see a future in it. This was brought on by many things – one was the delayed grieving for my mother who had died seven years before.
The block was, I think, not so much caused by the fact that I had nothing to write, but because I didn’t think what I had to say was remotely important. I was depressed because I thought I was worthless, and because I thought I was worthless, I felt all of my writing was terrible and of no consequence at all.
I would write dark little poems for myself alone, and showed my writing to no one. Whenever I tried to write anything ‘good’ (that is, not personal and not about what I was feeling) I was stumped. I’d sit in front of my computer for hours while my boyfriend drifted further and further away from me in another room, and I’d crunch out four or five insignificant lines.
I thought: what I really want to say is shameful. This is what distances me from other people, this is what makes me small and unloveable – these are the words I can never say.
It was actually in the darkest depths of this swamp that I found the power to write. It was summer, and my cat had set about on a murder spree of the mice that lived in the gardens along our street. For months she brought in these tiny, perfectly formed little creatures: sometimes still alive, often dead. It was deeply upsetting to see such wanton cruelty and such suffering, whilst at the same time realising that these animals were small and unimportant and, after all - this was life. One day I was looking at the dark little eyes and miniature feet of one of the mouse corpses left beside my bed and I suddenly saw the world with absolute clarity. Bleak – of course – not full of love: but it was my truth, and suddenly I didn’t feel ashamed.
And I wrote a snip of story about a mouse called Walter who decides one day that he wants to die. And then I wrote more stories about animals, and about death, and I started a blog. And from that day on I was able to write. I wrote and I wrote and I’ve got better and better since then.
What did I do? I wrote the truth. I wrote what I knew, what I wanted to say. I suddenly realised that I didn’t have to feel ashamed for writing stories that were sad, and bleak, and made people feel uncomfortable. This is a conviction that I have held ever since. I think it applies to everyone who is worried that their life story isn’t interesting, or that what they have to say isn’t important, or because they want to write about themselves that somehow makes them selfish. Everyone’s story is important, and deserves to be told – I believe that’s true.
Ernest Hemingway had some good advice on writing and the self-doubt that prevents its creation. ‘All you have to do is write one true sentence, ‘ he said. ‘Write the truest sentence that you know.’
And of the living souls, I recommend a speech made by the genius Charlie Kaufman (screenwriter of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Adaptation) for the BFI in 2011. He is an utterly endearing man: one struggling with self-doubt, who has a desperate desire for love and approval (like most of us), with honest and insightful things to say about the process of writing. His advice to the aspiring screenwriters who had gathered that evening was this:
‘What I have to offer is me, what you have to offer is you, and if you offer yourself with authenticity and generosity, I will be moved.’
So – write what you want to, write it true, but above all: write.
© Ellie Stewart 2013
Hello and welcome back to Liars’ League! Oh, you’ve not been here before? Well, it’s simple enough. As the motto says, Liars’ League is where Writers Write, Actors Read, Audience Listens, Everybody Wins. Each month we select the very best stories submitted on a theme, match them up with our carefully-chosen stable of talented actors, and then read them aloud to you, the story-hungry audience, at a pub in central London. We’ve been doing it for six years, and we tell the “Lies” in London Lies and Lovers’ Lies – these being anthologies of stories previously read out at Liars’ League, and published by Arachne Press; hopefully there will be many more such collaborations to follow.
Let me introduce myself a little more fully. My name is Liam Hogan, and by sheer bloody-minded persistence, (I sent the Liars a story every month for about five years) I was inducted into the League as a Writer Liar six months ago. We also have Actor Liars, and Liars Almighty, (also known as “Katy”s), without whom none of this would be possible.
In a series of three blog posts, I’m going to give you an exclusive glimpse of what happens behind the scenes of our monthly event, from the “There can be only five! (or six)” story selection that is Part 1, through the tea and biscuit fuelled rehearsals process, and concluding with the event itself. This is a rare opportunity and privilege, as the Liars are naturally rather secretive creatures, and even I am not permitted to show you everything. The pit into which two deadlocked stories are cast to fight it out to the bitter death for instance, can only be alluded to in hushed tones and by secret signals …
This month’s Liars’ League, on the 14th May, is themed on Man & Machine. (Future themes are available on the Liars website) At the close of the deadline on 7th April we had 45 submissions. This number varies, some themes are more popular than others, but the trend is definitely upwards, which shows we are onto a good thing! One of the 45 – of course – was mine, (I am a Writer Liar, after all) but when the stories are sent on to the League members for selection, the names are removed so that no-one knows which story came from which author.
The basic method of voting is simple – each Liar selects their favourite five. Their favourite five, that aren’t written by them, alas … Then the total votes for each story are totted up, and through the miracle of the democratic process five winning stories – or sometimes six, if two are short – emerge.
And this is where having a League of comprised of Writer Liars and Actor Liars pays dividends, because when the votes are collated, the ones selected will not only be the best stories to read, but also (and for Liars’ League, more importantly), the best to perform. If you’re an author looking for advice on how to get the Liars to pick your work, remember that! Some very good stories don’t make it: either because they’re too difficult for a single actor to read (too many disparate voices perhaps) or simply because they’re not sufficiently on theme. Check out Niall Boyce’s advice, or browse and read the winning stories from past themes for a flavour of what we like.
Usually there will be one or two stories that have enough votes to secure their place outright, but there will also be a larger number on equal votes from which the other stories must be selected. Enter the pit of …
No, no, not quite yet. You see, while the Liars vote for their top five, they may also give as many “honourable mentions” as pleases them. These can and are used as deciding votes and will usually be enough to carry some stories through. But this is also a time for Liar Almighty discretion; some stories may perhaps be more suitable for another theme, or we might have two stories too similar to be included in the same bill of fare. While all stories are chosen on merit, we still have to have a balanced evening’s entertainment.
Only after these considerations is the pit employed. It’s an ugly spectacle, leaving a single victor, dripping black ichor and shredded sentences over the lifeless body of its adversary. Sometimes the victor will require patching up before it is fit for the event (in other words, we might send it back to the author for a light edit).
And then finally the deed is done.
White smoke emerges from the Liars’ lair, and we have five stories ready for the next gruelling stage – the rehearsals. The successful stories are reunited with their delighted authors and an announcement is made to the hushed, expectant crowds waiting patiently for news. Here then, are the winning stories for Man & Machine :
What I am Without by Richard Smyth (Arachne Press author - Lovers’ Lies and the forthcoming Weird Lies)
Duct Tape, Masking Tape, Whatever by Darren Lee (Arachne Press author – Lovers’ Lies)
The Love Song of the Predator Drone by Owen Booth
The Archive of Ivan Dragoyevich by Alan Graham (Arachne Press author – the forthcoming Weird Lies)
The Car Mover by Rosanna Boscawen
Only one other task remains, which is where my submission comes back into it. (You hadn’t forgotten I’d entered one, I hope?) All the stories that got at least one vote were thought by a highly qualified and extremely dedicated Liar to be a Top Five story, so even though it may not have made the final cut, it’s still a story we liked from an author we’d like to encourage. Stories with votes earn feedback from the Liars who voted for them, (which may seem odd, as we have to kind of work out why we think the other Liars did not vote for it, but at least we’re likely to say nice things!) and are passed back to the authors, including me.
The next blog, (Tentatively called “Part 2”…) will detail the black art of matching actor to story, and the tea and biscuit fuelled rehearsal process. Stay tuned.
And do please clear your calendars now, for the Event itself, Man & Machine, 14th May, The Phoenix, Cavendish Square , Doors at 7pm!
‘Write every day,’ they say.
‘You’re not a writer unless you’re writing,’ they yell.
‘Write, write, write!’ goes the clamour of voices in my head.
But they’re sneaky, these voices. Duplicitous. They also say things like
‘Hey, the football’s on!’
or ‘Spend some time with your kids, you idiot!’
or ‘Your wife’s going to divorce you unless you take her out tonight.’
They remind me – constantly, irritatingly, loudly – that I have a family, a life, a job, and several million things to do which are much more important/easier/more fun than trying to write. There are a thousand things other I can do which are less likely to result in my self-esteem being kicked to black, blue and yellow bruises than writing. There are at least twenty things I have to do – today, this minute, immediately - or the consequences will be both severe and irreversible.
‘And anyway,’ says the one particular voice, the slimy, grey-sounding little whine. ‘You don’t even have anything to write about, do you?’
So, sometimes I write, and sometimes I don’t, and if I’m not feeling guilty about writing too much, I’m feeling guilty about not writing enough, and the world turns, and I turn with it, and before I know it, I’ll be dead.
And so will you.
Okay, so perhaps that’s a little pessimistic. But the problem I have with writing is exactly this: I want to write every day and I can’t.
Five years ago, I thought this had finished me as a writer. I’d been scribbling stories for about four years, and I’d had some small successes. Competition wins. Anthology publications. Stories on-line. I even made a (miniscule) bit of cash.
And then, one day, I stopped.
Looking back, it had been coming for a while. Without getting all personal about this, things had become a battle: writing versus life. And life won.
So for the next four years I wrote nothing apart from a month’s worth of short stories and flashes one January when I dipped my toe back in the water only to quickly pull it back out again, shocked at how cold and uninviting it had become in my absence.
And then I got an email. Someone wanted to publish one of my stories in an anthology, an old thing I’d forgotten about that had been featured at a literary reading four years previously. I looked back at the story, embarrassed at how dreadful it was [it isn't! - Cherry], but I said yes anyway. And I lay awake that night, thinking, I can do so much better.
[For example, Jason's beautiful story in Lovers' Lies, A Time and Place Unknown - Cherry]
That was April 12th last year. Ever since that night, I’ve been writing. Four stories a month, regular as clockwork (almost). I’ve won £200 and had six stories published. That’s all. In a year. When I look at it like that, in black and white, in makes me want to give up again.
But I’m not going to.
Because here’s the thing I’ve been looking for, and the thing that I’ve suddenly realised – today, literally about an hour ago – I can get, easily, without destroying my family or losing my job in the process, the thing that is going to make me a better writer, a more widely published writer, and a richer writer (there, how’s that for confidence…?):
It’s a thing called momentum.
First though, an anecdote. I participated in last November’s NaNoWriMo – a month-long rush to write a 50,000 word novel in exactly thirty days. And I did it. I wrote, on average, 1,700 words a day (actually, mainly at night) and came out of it with a novel.
It’s rubbish, obviously.
But it’s a novel, and it’s mine, and in my brighter moments when I think about it I realise that actually, if I could only find the time, I reckon I could pull it and prod it and push it and caress it until it becomes something just about publishable.
And the thing that made me get through that month was the thing I’ve just realised I can get without having to write nearly two thousand words a day (which translates as about two to three hours of time away from my wife and my kids and my job and my guitar and the television and my books and my life every single day for the rest of my life…)
The thing that I had in bucketfuls for that whole month was momentum.
And it’s the thing that I believe makes a writer a writer.
So, how to keep writing every day? How to convince yourself that you’re a writer by actually writing something, day after day after day, forever? How to do this thing, and not get sacked/divorced/a reputation as some kind of mad recluse?
Well, here’s how, in six easy imperative soundbites (followed by some details and stuff).
(And, yes, I know, five would probably follow the genre conventions of an article a little more closely, but number six is important).
1. Buy a notebook. Now, I know this is nothing new. I’ve bought literally hundreds of notebooks in my time, and I’ve been as full of good intentions as they’ve remained empty of writing. No, the thing isn’t just buying the notebook, it’s using it. Carrying it, every day, everywhere, and not being embarrassed by whipping it out and writing down whatever it is that’s just sparked the writer in you. If someone asks you, ‘Hey, what you doing with that notebook?’ you say, ‘I’m writing in it.’ and you just get on with it. So, if there’s a big football game on that evening, watch it. If you’ve got a sick kid to attend to, off you go. If your scowling significant other wants to eat out for a change, all well and good. Because you’ve already done your writing for the day! It’s that line you scribbled down about the man who you saw at the bus-stop with the sad eyes and halitosis.
It’s that conversation you transcribed as you listened to the two women in front of you in the queue talk about at completely cross purposes about a) Maggie’s funeral b) carrots.
It’s that four-line poem you scrawled across the page in the middle of the night when you’d just woken up from that weird dream about trying to get a girl’s phone number in a bar full of men with bare chests and horse heads. You might not have actually sat down in front of a screen and written a story yet, but you’ve been a writer, and sometime soon there you’ll be, deskbound, turning the stuff in your notebook into something a little more substantial.
2. Diversify. I write short stories. But you know what? I can write poetry, too. Or articles (maybe, you be the judge…) I used to write songs, and I’m going to start again. I’ve got a blog. There’s a novel sitting under my bed just begging to be ripped apart and put back together again. And there’s always another novel to write. No more sitting there thinking, ‘I can’t write tonight because I haven’t got an idea for a story,’ because there are so many other things to write.
3. Forget about the muse. Stephen King writes very engagingly in his perfectly-titled book ‘On Writing’ about the muse, and how you can’t wait for her to turn up (and actually, King’s muse is a he…). Just write, says King, every day, and eventually the muse will find you, because if you’re not writing, how’s the muse supposed to know you need her (or him)? So I say, sod inspiration. Perspiration first.
4 Don’t be embarrassed into submission. That poem is awful. That song sounds like the sixteen-year-old you wrote it. No one reads the articles on your blog. Your stories keep getting rejected. The novel doesn’t work, will never work, and no novel you ever write is ever going to work. Yeah, well, join the club, and make the decision: Do you want to get better, or do you want to give up?
5 Don’t forget to live. You can’t write all the time. Otherwise, all you’ve got to write about is writing, and that’s pretty dull (although £100 of the £200 I won last year came from a story about writing, or trying to write, or not writing, or something like that anyway…)
6. Don’t beat yourself up. I ride a bike to work most days, and the best advice anyone ever gave me about riding a bike to work most days (apart from ‘wear a bloody helmet, idiot!’) was to not beat myself up on the days when I simply couldn’t be bothered and jumped in the car instead. So, you know what? If you want a day off from this writing lark, take one.
But don’t take two.
© Jason Jackson 2013
Jason has been published twice by Arachne Press.
Stations and London Lies and Lovers’ Lies contributors tell us about the writers they admire
Andrew Blackman, Bartle Sawbridge, Rosalind Stopps, Adrian Gantlope, Joan Taylor-Rowan:
Paula Read, Caroline Hardman, Anna Fodorova, Cherry Potts
© Arachne Press 2013
Our final Cityread event showcasing Stations at Gayton Library, Harrow:
Wendy Gill on packing up for a never-ready son’s move to Dalston
Cherry Potts on the ghosts of Rotherhithe:
Bartle Sawbridge on an Estate Agent’s spiel hijacked by a local:
and Paula Read on love burgeoning in Canonbury:
© Arachne Press 2013
Keats Festival info is now up on their website.
They are charging £10 for the writing workshop and £5 for the readings. You do need to book! Contact Keats House on 020 7332 3868, or email them at keatshouse@cityoflondon.gov.uk
thoughts about books and writers and the tales they tell
Acerbic, pithy and/or witless bookstuff
NLP Coaching and Training
9th-16th September 2011
